Homespun Bride

by Jillian Hart

  “Finn? Oh, I didn’t know.” Noelle choked the words out past the expanding lump in her throat. She swallowed but it refused to budge. “Is it very serious?”

  “Serious enough or I would have never come back to help my ma and Aiden out.”

  Of course. His exciting cowboy life. Impossibly, the emotions tangled up in her throat expanded more, and she could not speak.

  “Where do you want your coffee?”

  “Oh, I can carry it.” She’d never felt so awkward.

  “I don’t mind. Besides, I filled it awful full.”

  “The parlor, then.”

  “Follow me.” His steps struck like thunder in the whir of her mind. Somehow she made her feet carry her around the table and through the door, which he held for her.

  “I came in to check the wood boxes,” he told her, talking uneasily. So, he did feel the awkwardness between them. “Is there anything else that needs doing? I might as well make myself useful as long as I’m here.”

  Throat aching, heart aching, she could only shake her head once in response. His boots were a slow and sure rhythm in contrast to her own.

  She almost forgot to count her steps as she left the corner of the dining room table to make the long path to her armchair by the hearth. The familiar cadence of his gait, his scent of hay and winter and horses, the rustle of his movements and the coziness of his presence all sweetly affected her, and against her will.

  “On the table by the chair?” he asked.

  “Please.” She slipped into her chair.

  “There’s a Bible on the table, too.” His tone dipped with tender understanding. “You must miss being able to read that.”

  “Very much. The Bible was my mother’s, and it’s a comfort just to have it near.” One of her questions about him rose to the surface like a soap bubble. “I remember you said you’re no longer much of a praying man. Why?”

  “It’s complicated, like most things.”

  “Yes, faith is complicated. I wrestled with it for a while after the buggy accident.”

  “I imagine so. It’s hard to understand why God would let someone as gentle and kind as you be blind.”

  Always kind and gentle, that was Thad, too. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed him. “I’ve learned to accept it.”

  “Seems to me that would be awful tough.”

  “It was for a while, but I’m blessed in so many other ways.” That was a dark time she tried not to think about. She had learned to accept. “Whatever you’re struggling with, you should never let anything come between you and God.”

  “Don’t you go trying to bring me back to my faith. I’ll find my way, don’t you worry.” His footsteps retreated. “Tell the maid I’ll be out in the stables if Robert should need the doc again.”

  “Thad?”

  “What is it, darlin’?”

  “There is one thing you could do for me. There’s a sorrel mare in the corner box stall.”

  “I know the one. She’s a sweet thing. If I don’t miss my guess, she’ll be foaling in a week or two.”

  “Would you keep a careful watch on her? Solitude is special to me.”

  There was a moment of silence. “Then you can count on me.”

  Was it her imagination or were his words heavy with regret? Or was it sadness? She listened to his steps fade and the kitchen door whisper shut. Even if she sat perfectly still, she could not stop all the ways her heart felt for the man.

  And all the ways she didn’t.

  She reached for her Bible, careful not to disturb the full cup of steaming coffee, and hugged the treasured volume to her. You can count on me. Why did Thad’s words trouble her? This wasn’t the first time he’d said something that seemed to have a deeper layer to it.

  The last thing I ever want to do—The last thing I would ever do is hurt you. His words puzzled her. She could not reconcile Thad’s sincerity with the man who’d shattered her heart.

  How would a man who had knowingly broken her heart also be the man who stayed to clean the stable, see to the horses, chop wood, run errands and ride for the doctor at a moment’s notice? The real truth was that he had always been hardworking and sincere and caring. Except for that one terrible point in time.

  The fire popped and crackled, and, exhausted, she laid down her Bible and reached for the bracing cup of coffee. A wave of chatter floated down from upstairs, bringing with it notes of measured happiness and hope.

  That happiness could not penetrate her deeper sorrow.

  Thad put off going into the house as long as he could. He’d scrubbed the water troughs, washed out the feed trays, took note of what feed was running low and even spent some time working with the new mare. She had a long way to go before she was a reliable horse, but he had faith in her.

  He especially made sure to keep a careful watch on the expecting mare, as Noelle had requested. He imagined she didn’t ride anymore. That was too bad since she loved horses so much.

  As he trudged through the snow to the house, he couldn’t think of anything else. Only her. She still amazed him. She was more beautiful and as good as ever.

  How could love be there all long and he hadn’t known it? Against all common sense, he wanted to take care of her and cherish her. Every fiber of his being longed to protect her with all of his devoted heart.

  You are a sorry case, Thaddeus McKaslin, he thought as he beat the snow off the steps. Hadn’t Aiden said it? You’re going to get sweet on that Kramer girl again, and that’ll be a mistake.

  And what had he told his brother? No one knows that more than I do.

  It didn’t seem as if he knew that now. No, the past and its mistakes and pain seemed to be forgotten whenever he was with Noelle. It was a mistake to let himself care about her again. Plain and simple.

  But did that stop the spark of tenderness in his heart when he remembered her in the kitchen with her scorched skirt and determination to be helpful to her family? That flame of tenderness grew until it had warmed his cold winter’s heart. He wanted to make her smile again. He wanted to put happiness back into her life. He wanted to love her the right way for every minute of every day to come.

  Whoa there, his thoughts were like a wild horse running away with him. He leaned the shovel against the siding. For a moment there in the kitchen, it had been almost like old times. Words had come easily, there had been a zing of emotional connection between them and a moment of understanding that made him hope, just a little, that maybe—maybe—she could forgive him.

  He knocked the snow from his hat brim and stomped his boots on the back step. His pulse was rattling in his chest, and he felt as if he were about to step in front of a speeding train as he opened the door. The lean-to was chilly but the kitchen was warmer. As he shrugged out of his winter wraps in the empty room, he had to admit that he’d been half expecting to see her here, doing what she could to help out.

  That skunk smell had faded some, but not enough that he wanted to linger in the kitchen. He marched past the huge worktable, the rows of counters and the wall of glass shelves, and found himself in the dining room. It, too, was full of polished wood furniture and shelves of fancy doodads. But no Noelle.

  He didn’t spot her until he stepped foot into the parlor. She was asleep on the couch, stretched out the length of those stout-looking cushions, her head resting on a throw pillow. Her hands were pressed together beneath her chin as if in prayer.

  An overwhelming lightning bolt of affection hit him. Left him thunderstruck.

  He loved her. Beyond all rhyme and reason, beyond all good sense and possibility, he loved her.

  Quietly, he took the afghan off the back of the couch and covered her. She didn’t stir. He gently tucked the warm knitted wool around her and stood over her, watching her sleep. Hopes came to life in his soul—hopes he could not let himself look at—but they were there all the same.

  No good could come from his feelings and he knew it. But that did not keep the love in his heart from growing un
til it was as solid as the Montana Rockies and just as lasting. Until nothing in this world could alter it.

  He resisted the urge to brush away wisps of pure chestnut from her face. The thick coil of her braid fell over her shoulder, and she could have been a painting, framed in the soft spill of the lamplight and the glow from the fire. His chest cinched with a physical pain as he backed away.

  He might be low on faith, but he was starting to believe there was a reason God had led him back to Angel County. Maybe he was meant to be here to help her through this time. Perhaps he was meant to watch over her until her uncle was able to do so again.

  And then what? Did he have a chance with her?

  As he climbed the stairs in search of the missus, he couldn’t rightly see how Noelle was ever going to forgive him for jilting her. He had to be sensible. As much as he wanted her to forgive him, it wasn’t likely she would ever trust him again.

  His steps were heavy as he headed down the long hallway. He had a lot of work to do before nightfall. Maybe it would be best if he concentrated on that.

  The school bell’s final tones lingered on the crisp February afternoon as she tried to avoid the deep drifts of snow between the school yard and the road. She didn’t want to ruin her new shoes, so she’d hiked her woolen skirts and flannel petticoats up to her ankles. She was in the middle of taking a shockingly unladylike step over the drifts when she heard a familiar chuckle.

  “Careful there, you might slip.”

  Noelle’s shoe hit the ice on the street side of the snowdrift, and for one perilous instant she felt the heel of her new shoe slide. If she fell on her backside in front of the handsome Thad McKaslin, she’d have to let Mother send her off to finishing school in Boston, as she’d been threatening to do for the last year, because she could have never faced him again.

  Heaven was kind to her because her shoe held, she heaved herself over the drift and realized Thad had stopped his horse and was standing beside his sleigh. He tipped his hat to her, and a quivering hope sprinkled through her like the snow through the sky.

  He held out his gloved hand. “This is my lucky day. I was just in need of some help.”

  “You need my help?”

  “Yep. I just finished building my sleigh, and I need to see how she drives with two passengers.”

  “I see. You couldn’t find anyone else?”

  “Who else? I don’t see anyone. Only you.”

  One look at that grin of his, wide and dimpled had her smiling, too. A gaggle of smaller schoolkids went screaming past them, and Noelle didn’t tell him the school yard and the street were both crowded with lots of other students.

  “I know exactly what you mean,” she told him shyly as she placed her hand on his palm. “I don’t see anyone else, either.”

  His fingers closed over hers, and the tenderness she felt in his touch showed in his blue eyes, too. His eyes were blue as her dreams. As blue as forever.

  Thad. Noelle woke with a start and a heart full of longing. The fringe edging of an afghan tickled her chin. When she sat up, it slipped to the floor with a swish. The vibrant images of her dream clung to her. The blue sky and brilliant snow and handsome man faded in clarity and color until there was only darkness. Disoriented, she realized where she was by the steady tick of the clock, the lick of the fire in the big fireplace, and the sofa beneath her.

  She wasn’t sure what had awakened her, but her heart wouldn’t stop aching like an open wound that could not heal. She bowed her head, folded her hands and prayed with all of her might. Please, Father, take the memories of him I can no longer bear.

  There was no answer but a pop of wood in the hearth and the eerie howl of the wind kicking up against the north side of the house. She shivered, although she could not feel the cold wind, and she wished, how she wished that Thad McKaslin had never come back into her steady, placid, safe life.

  She had to stop thinking of him. She had to bank that tiny light of caring within her. He was not the right kind of man. He’d never been the right kind of man. She—a woman grown and wise to love and life—did not want Thad McKaslin. No, these feelings were coming out of what was past, out of memory of the schoolgirl she used to be, nothing more.

  She felt for the heap of the afghan and lifted it off the floor. She stood, holding her heart still, banishing all thoughts of Thad as she briskly folded the length of wool and tossed it somewhere on the couch—she heard it land with a whisper. She couldn’t sense much beyond the roiling longing in her heart and the wishes she could not let herself give voice to. How did you stop remembering what had hurt so much? And what had, once, brought her so much joy?

  This is not good, Noelle, you must stop this. She felt as if she were suffocating and could not get air, so she headed straight for the door. Careful not to make any noise to wake the house, she grabbed her cloak on her way out the door. Cold air hit her with a bitter force, sapping all her warmth and chilling her feelings like a sudden freeze.

  Ice crunched beneath her shoes. The cold moan of the wind swirled around her and filled in the lonely, empty places where her future and her dreams used to be. She pulled a pair of mittens from her pocket and tugged them on.

  The wind was picking up, bringing with it the promise of more snow. Winters were long by tradition in Montana Territory, and she knew it, so why then was she longing for spring? She breathed in the heavy scents of wood smoke and dormant trees and ice. The temperature was falling, and she breathed in the air cold enough to burn the inside of her nose and tingle in her chest. Today the world was especially dark to her, and she sorely missed the colors and look of things and the comfort in them.

  The rail was thick with ice and she curled her hands around the thick board. The wind was against her left side, so she knew she faced westerly. The great rim of the Rocky Mountains should be straight ahead of her. She remembered how they speared upward from the prairie’s horizon. Night was falling, and the air smelled like falling snow. She knew how the sky would look—thick clouds, white with snow and dark with storm, spiraling together.

  What she could not know was the look of this sky at this moment and the exact shade of the mountains as they changed to match it. She hadn’t realized how her memory of color was fading with time. Was the sun still out? She strained to feel its cool brush against her cheek and felt none. Had it already sunk behind those oncoming clouds, and what colors had the sun painted them? She tried to imagine it, could not.

  Thad. Why was it that when she was with him, she could? She couldn’t explain it, so she breathed in the feel of the late afternoon and listened to the near silence of the plains.

  Memory took her over in a sudden wash of color and light. A late-winter’s afternoon much like this one with the promise of a storm. The sky was a hue of fluffy dove-gray. Every shade of white spread out in the landscape around her. Sunshine glossed the polished miles of snow like a hundred thousand diamonds. Thad had taken her hand to help her into his little red sleigh. At a gentle slap of the leather reins, his gelding carried them forward across the jeweled snow with a twinkle of merry sleigh bells.

  She realized that the musical clink of steel shoes on ice wasn’t in her thoughts. Someone was riding up to the house from the stables. Thad. If she looked into her heart she could see him, the way his head was down and his eyes low. He always sat his saddle straight and strong.

  “Howdy, there.” His baritone could warm every sliver of ice away. “Isn’t it a little cold for you to be just standing there?”

  “It’s not any colder out here for me than it is for you.”

  “Yes, but I have a sheep-skin lined coat.”

  “My shawl is warm enough for now. You needn’t worry about me, Thad.”

  “Sorry. Can’t help myself.”

  He didn’t sound sorry at all, and she ought to be upset about that. She didn’t know why she wasn’t. “Are you going to town on errands for my aunt?”

  “Yep. Got some business at the feed store, and then a stop for a few s
upplies the doc recommended. Your uncle’s looking better.”

  “Is he? I haven’t seen him recently. I must have fallen asleep on the sofa instead of going upstairs to sit with everyone.”

  “The way I hear it, you were up all night with Henrietta. Robert’s still as gray as ashes, but he’s looking better. He ought to be riding green-broke horses in a few weeks’ time.” The saddle creaked as if he’d shifted in it.

  Had he been in the house while she was napping? Had he seen her sleeping? Remembering the afghan and how she’d woken up with thoughts of him in her heart, she knew. He had been the one to cover her up.

  A horse nickered, and it sounded like a scolding. She couldn’t believe she had forgotten the mustang.

  “Sunny, please forgive my manners,” she said, feeling her way along the rail. She kept one firm grip on the banister in case she hit an ice patch and moved to a much safer subject. “How are you doing this fine day?”

  The horse gave a snort, and his bridle jingled as if he’d nodded his head to say “fine.”

  “He’s looking forward to the long ride to town,” Thad answered for his horse. “I promised to give him his head so he can pick the pace.”

  “You do that often?”

  “I’m not lord and master of this horse.” He said the words as if there was more, a story behind it, and a question she was supposed to ask.

  A question she could not, would not ask. She had to keep Thad at a distance—there was no other choice. She tugged off her glove and was rewarded with Sunny’s warm, velvety muzzle. She rubbed his nose gently. He exhaled into the palm of her hand, tickling her.

  Laughter vibrated through her. Making her feel like her old self again. But only for a moment. She fell silent when she felt Thad’s gaze like a touch to the side of her face.

  Why did a tiny spark of caring quiver to life within her? It was impossible to go back and repair the past like a rip in a seam. It was impossible to forget how he’d shattered her down to the soul. There was nothing to be done but to turn around and head toward the house, which is what she had to do.

  “Goodbye, Thad. Have a safe trip,” she said over her shoulder.