Gingham Bride

by Jillian Hart

  “Ladies.” Ian tipped his wide-brimmed hat, exposing thick dark locks that only enhanced his manliness.

  Not that she was noticing such things. Fine, maybe she was, but only as a casual observation. She could not forget what he had done to her.

  Her feet stumbled forward and she was aware that her friends were curtsying in greeting, but all she wanted to do was to push him away and out of her sight. He had no right walking into her life like this. He was supposed to be at the farm, perhaps riding the fields, proud of his soon-to-be acquisition.

  “Why are you here?” She didn’t mean to sound sharp. The words simply came out that way.

  “I was in town and about to head home. When I realized the time, I figured I would stop by.” He didn’t seem perturbed by her tone, not at all. “It would save you the walk.”

  “I would rather.” Oh, she knew what he was up to. Asserting his authority over her, as if she was one of his horses. “Besides, Earlee and I walk part of the way together.”

  “Then I would be happy to have your friend join us. The wind is kicking up. It’s bound to be a mighty cold hike.”

  “I’m used to walking in the cold. It doesn’t bother me. In fact, I prefer it.” Her chin hiked up; she couldn’t help it. She felt her friends’ curious glances and, in Lila’s case, a shocked look. More misery filled her up. This man was already making her sound like her mother.

  Instead of getting angry, like Da would have done, instead of putting her in her place or shaming her in front of her friends, Ian shook his head. His rich chuckle was like to warm the chill from the twilight air.

  “Whatever you want suits me just fine, lass. I thought you would prefer to take a ride behind Duchess. I was going to let you drive her, but maybe another time. If you change your mind, let me know. Nice to meet you, ladies.” With a gentlemanly tip of his hat, he turned and strode away, his boots crunching in the icy snow.

  “Fiona!” Scarlet whispered, scandalized. “Look at his horse. It’s the nicest one I’ve ever seen.”

  “Much finer than ours,” Lila agreed. “Meredith’s family’s horses, as amazing as they are, couldn’t hold a candle to that one.”

  “Plus, your Mr. McPherson is quite dashing.” Kate gave her a nod. “I would say yes.”

  “I don’t mind walking on my own.” Earlee gave her a shove. “Go ahead. You can tell us all about it before church on Sunday.”

  They all meant well. Fiona studied each dear face, shining with happiness and hopes for her. With McPherson watching, there was no way she could explain. Nor was there time to.

  “C’mon, Earlee.” She grabbed her friend’s hand and tugged her along. “You’re not walking home alone in the dark, and Ian’s right. It’s getting colder by the minute.”

  “I don’t want to intrude.” Earlee dragged her feet and looked to everyone else for help.

  “Go with her!” Scarlet ordered. “Or she won’t say yes to him.”

  “Have fun, Fee!” Lila called out.

  “Your beau will have to bring you early to church!” Kate had reached her father’s sled and was beaming. “Don’t let him forget.”

  Oh, he wasn’t about to. She could see that as plain as the grin on his face. That dimpled grin, the one that made the setting sun fade in the sky and the earth fall away from beneath her shoes. Proof that the man had entirely the wrong effect on her. She was determined to keep him well away from her heart. She wouldn’t stop trying until she had accomplished that goal.

  “Wait, Fee.” Ian stopped her, sounding far too happy, more proof he was a scoundrel of the worst sort. Taking delight in her discomfort. Using her friends’ good intentions to his own advantage. “Let your friend in first, and then you can sit in the middle.”

  “Next to you?” She would rather have a tooth pulled. But neither did she want poor Earlee to feel uncomfortable being forced to sit next to a stranger. Well, fine. She waited next to him while he helped Earlee onto the board seat.

  “Don’t even think about it,” she warned him, jerking her hand away. She did not need his help getting into the odd-looking sled. “Where did you get this?”

  “I made it with scraps I found around back of the barn.”

  “Yes. That explains it.” Only Ian would have the finest horse in the county and the worst vehicle. She ignored his chuckle as she scooted onto the seat beside Earlee.

  “It’s sort of cute,” Earlee whispered. “It’s fun.”

  “Yes, I’m in stitches I’m having so much fun.”

  Why did Ian have to laugh—again? This was not funny. Not from her view, anyway. He settled in beside her, his arm pressing against hers. She was safe and protected, and that was completely the wrong way to feel. No, she had to stop these sorts of troubling emotions. This was horrible, she decided. It was like sitting next to a big pillar of immovable steel. If she tried to scoot farther away from him, then she would risk inching Earlee off the end of the seat.

  “Good meeting you, Schmidt.” He tipped his hat to Kate and her father as they trotted by.

  “Hope to see you Monday.” Mr. Schmidt said nothing more and in moments the Schmidt sleigh was out of sight.

  What, exactly, had he been discussing with her friend’s father? The man was infiltrating her life. How did she stop him? He hauled a folded blanket from beneath the seat and shook it. Rich wool tumbled over her, and somehow it was his caring she felt, warm and strong like a hand curled in hers. She found the hem and stretched out the blanket to full length, making sure Earlee had enough to keep her warm. Ian filled her senses, the pleasant male scent of his skin, the rhythm of his breathing and the rustle of his movements. He was the only color she saw in the twilight world.

  She barely remembered to wave goodbye to her friends standing shoulder to shoulder in the alley. The sled jerked forward roughly on the rutted snow. Ian’s arm moved against hers as he handled the reins. She didn’t want to notice his tensile strength and his kindness when he spoke to his mare. The wind knifed through her with shocking cold and stung her eyes. The street flew by in a blur.

  “Why are you seeing Mr. Schmidt on Monday?” Earlee asked as the horse and sled stopped at the busy intersection. “Is it because you plan on taking Fiona to school?”

  “I’m hoping to get a job at the mill. Mr. Schmidt said he would put in a good word for me with his boss.”

  “You’re going to find work here, in Angel Falls?” It sounded permanent, as if he was entrenching himself not only in her life but in town. The more he did that, the better the chances were that he would never leave.

  “You don’t want me lounging around like your father, do you?” Gently, as he did many things, he smiled at her.

  “The less you are like Da, the better.”

  It all made perfect sense. Getting a job showed he was responsible—not that she wanted to see any bit of him in a positive light. She refused to like him, and that was that.

  Thank heavens there was a break in the traffic. Ian eased his mare into the bustle. The wind gusted, making it too cold to speak, so they glided down the street, decorated for Christmas, in silence.

  “Thanks for the ride.” Fiona’s friend climbed out of the sled, clutching her bag. “I hope to see you again, Mr. McPherson. If you’re a churchgoing man, you might want to come with Fiona on Sunday. We have a fun Sunday School class. There are lots of young people our age—”

  “I might like that, thank you.” It sounded mighty fine to him. He noticed he was alone in that opinion. Fiona retreated to the far edge of the bench seat, and he felt her horror as simply as if she were still pleasantly against his arm.

  “Earlee!” She choked, turning as white as snow. “How could you?”

  “I just thought he might want to beau you to church—”

  “I’m starting to really dislike that word.” She looked as if she were being torn apart, and he knew why. The wind had carried to him her friends’ whisperings, and he had heard enough to know they assumed a bond had formed between them. />
  They were not wrong. On his side, at least. A blind man could see the pretty lady’s disdain for him.

  “What word? ‘Beau’?” Fiona’s friend asked innocently. “Oh, I see what you mean. You’re right. ‘Beau’ is the wrong word. You’re engaged now. How exciting. I should not tell you this, but I’m going to start a little present for your hope chest. I know you haven’t started filling one yet, and you need help before your wed—”

  “That is really sweet of you.” Fiona looked over her shoulder, and he could read the longing on her face as she searched the shadowed, endless prairie. The falling twilight hid the scattering of houses and barns, making it seem lonely and vacant. As if a person could be lost from her problems there forever. “You are the best friend, Earlee.”

  “No, you are the best friend.” The girl bobbed a curtsy in his direction. “Nice meeting you, Mr. McPherson. I hope to see you both on Sunday. Bye, Fee!”

  Well aware he was that his intended opened her mouth to argue, but her friend was already trudging up the snowy driveway to a ramshackle shanty, windows glowing like a beacon in the gathering dark. Her brow furrowed as she studied him. The bruise and swelling beneath her eye was like a bayonet to his chest. Tender emotions set his teeth on edge, because he could not brush those unruly curls from her face and caress the bruise away.

  “You are staring at me. Why?” She looked ready for a fight, but he was not fooled.

  “How is your head feeling?” He gave the reins an easy snap and Duchess stepped out, choosing her own pace in the difficult snow.

  “You don’t need to pretend you care. Actually, I prefer that you didn’t.”

  How could such a slight lass hold such fierceness? Not cruel and not harsh, but fiery, like a filly who did not want to be bridled. She reminded him of someone, another female he was fond of, although in a very different way.

  He guided Duchess around the sharp bend in the road and directly into the raging wind. He couldn’t say why he hardly noticed the stinging temperatures. His gaze, his senses, his very essence were glued to her.

  “I know you are mad at me.” Well he understood, so he did not fault her for it. “I’ve treated you unfairly, coming back like I did. Bargaining with your father for you.”

  “For the land,” she corrected him. A less attentive man might have missed the deep well of pain beneath the surface of her words. “You don’t want me. I’m just the means to land you can’t buy any other way.”

  “And what makes you think that, little filly?”

  “Filly? I am not a horse. Have you not noticed?” She whirled to face him, and although the darkness and shadows cloaked her, it was as if he could see the pain on her face, hidden beneath her anger.

  He could not argue with her. He shrugged, unable to deny it because he feared to say the wrong thing. He could not make her hurt worse.

  “Hard to believe once I almost thought you were a decent man. You are much more horrible than I ever guessed. Then you went and took—” She fell silent.

  He heard emotion catch in her voice, hurting with her. “You mean when I took your money?”

  She did not answer, but he sensed it. Deep inside it was like a door opening, and he could see her clearly in a way he had never perceived anyone before. The shadows tried to hide her as nightfall descended more deeply over the land and over them, but he didn’t need light to see that her anger was meant to push him away.

  “I’m not like your father, Fiona.”

  “Maybe, but you seem a lot like him to me.” Her disdain was layered, as if it did not come to her easily.

  Her opinion of him weighed heavily. He swallowed the sting in his throat, adjusted the reins into one hand and drew the small packet from his coat pocket. “I’m not completely like the man,” he argued.

  She didn’t answer, but he heard a distinctive harrumph, as if she highly doubted his statement. She had every right to her opinion, but did she have no belief left?

  The last of the sunset’s blaze disappeared from the underbelly of the clouds, the sky darkened and night fell grim and bleak. The cruel wind moaned, and he could only hope he was doing what God wished. It was hard to tell. He reined Duchess off the main road and onto the narrow drive.

  “Here.” He held out the small ledger.

  “What is it?” She took it, uncomprehending.

  “The record of your savings account at the bank. It’s in my name, but yours is on there, as well. It is safer than stashing it in the barn. You can keep adding to your going-away fund.” He halted them in front of the barn and turned to her with his feelings veiled. “That’s what you wanted, right?”

  Chapter Twelve

  She wished she could see his face to read his emotions. The darkness hid all, making it impossible to see if a lie or the truth shone in his gaze, if he was offering her a dash of hope or taking it away. She clutched the little book tightly. “Is this really mine?”

  “Every penny.” The winter air vibrated with his honesty.

  He hadn’t taken her savings. That single thought rolled around in her mind, first with disbelief and then acceptance. The hard shell she’d put around her heart cracked a fraction, leaving vulnerable places unprotected. “But if this is in your name, it is technically yours.”

  “Aye, by law that would be an argument.” The blanket rustled, and his shadow rose as if into the star-strewn sky. “But this way your father cannot touch it, and you can. You can withdraw the full amount any time you wish. This means you can run. I won’t stop you, lass.”

  “You make no sense, McPherson. Last night you dragged me back to the house—”

  “Aye, so you would listen to what I’m asking you.” His strong, warm hand curled around hers, warm and significant, and held on tight. His fingers twined between hers were companionable, right. As he helped her from the sled, her fear of him began to drain. She landed beside him, defenseless and small. Snow slid over the tops of her shoes, wetting her stockings, but the sudden cold did not steal her breath the way Ian did.

  “What are you asking?” she asked.

  “To let me help you.”

  “You want to help me run away from you?”

  “Aye, why else do you think I have agreed to stay?” He shouldered open the barn door, waiting for her to enter first. “I intend to help you, Fee. I promise you that.”

  “And I suppose like any man you think that really means you are helping yourself?”

  “I came back for you.” As substantial as truth, as intangible as dream, and yet real all the same. “Why else would I have pawned what I had on me, all but my horse, to come back here?”

  “It was for the land.”

  “Which is no prize. It comes with a mortgage a man would have to break his back working to pay off. Surely you must know that.”

  “Johnny used to talk about it. He said Da was bad with money.”

  “I am not.” He waited, his feet planted, his legs braced, and in the shadows the starlight found him. “I came back to help you find a better life. I do not think I can go on with my own unless I know you are safe and well. Only the good Lord above knows why.”

  “I almost believe you.” Why was he doing this to her? How did he strip her defenses away with a few honest-sounding words?

  Only the Lord knew why she was susceptible to him. She wrenched away, having the advantage of knowing the inside of the barn by heart, and moved through the darkness faster than him. The horses whinnied, moving around in their stalls, and the cow lowed in greeting.

  “I pity the man who does marry you.” Amused now, his brief chuckle rang cozily through the barn. His chest bumped her shoulder blade as he reached around her to take the match tin before she could grab it.

  “You mean you pity yourself?” She whirled to face him.

  “I do, and the man who wins your heart. For he will fall in love with you so hard and strong he would give up anything for you. And you could crush him with a word and that temper of yours.” He struck the match, and t
he flame worshipped him as he lit the lantern.

  Why did he have to be so appealing to her? Why was he tearing her into pieces? When she suspected the worst of him, he proved to be a better man. The small book she clutched felt like a weight on her soul. “I don’t understand you. You make no sense.”

  “I’ll not argue with you.” He tugged the ledger from her grip. Outlined as he was by the golden, glowing light a more fanciful girl could imagine him the hero of a dime novel, a man who stood for all that was good in the world, who was both unwaveringly tough and endlessly gentle. He folded open the first page of the booklet and tipped it toward the light for her to clearly see.

  There was her money, all twenty-three dollars and forty-six cents. Not that she had doubted him. A strange aching emotion built in her throat, something she couldn’t swallow past—something she was afraid to look at too closely. Because then she would no longer be able to keep trying to hate him. Now there was no way to keep him safely away from her inexperienced heart.

  “Let us make a deal, you and I.” His rugged voice vibrated with layers too dangerous to think about.

  “I do not make bargains with men of your ilk.”

  “Perhaps just this one time, for tonight, you can amend that and come to an agreement with me. Better to deal with me than with your da, right?”

  “For a man who does not gamble, you know which cards to play.”

  “As your father says, life is a gamble. I have learned much with the losses I have been dealt.” His richly layered words drew both the light and the darkness.

  His honesty and sorrow touched her. The earth beneath her shoes tilted—again. She forgot to breathe—again. Every word she knew clumped into an incomprehensible ball in her brain. She hated that he was hurting. What was wrong with her that she wanted to comfort him? She knew sorrow well, and knew, too, that he had lost more than she had ever known. But his betrayal remained, and she could not afford to be kind. “What do you want, McPherson?”