Bluebonnet Bride

by Jillian Hart

  “Not forgotten.” He brushed her cheek with his fingers, and the velvet warmth of her skin fired his blood. “I can’t figure why you aren’t married, a beautiful woman like you.”

  “You’ve been to town. You ought to know why. There will be no wedding bells for me.”

  “Someday a man’s going to come courting. You wait and see.”

  She withdrew from his touch, the light in her fading like day into night. Water splashed as she scrubbed a bedsheet against the washboard. “A man courting me? That’s never going to happen. I’ll forever have men, even men like you, trying to steal kisses in the dark.”

  She kept scrubbing and he had the odd feeling she was crying, but he saw no tears on her cheeks. She kept scrubbing as if she hadn’t understood what he’d been trying to say.

  * * *

  The sun blazed on his back and his muscles burned from cutting the heavy lumber, but that didn’t stop him from thinking of her all morning. He dug his gloved fist into the nail bucket and loaded his shirt pocket. His gaze drifted eastward toward the rise in the road that hid the Holmstrom farm from his sight.

  He could see Linnea in his mind’s eye—slim and graceful, the wind in her skirts, the sun in her hair. The quiet smile that softened her face and made her heart show in her eyes. Had she cried when he’d driven away? Or did she save her sadness for nighttime when no one was looking?

  A movement against the prairie made him blink. But her image remained, her skirts snapping in the wind and hugging her soft woman’s curves.

  A sunbonnet shaded her face and capped her golden curls. He wanted to rip the hat from her head so he could see the wind tangling her hair. So he could wind his fingers into her soft curls and hold her in another kiss.

  “Working hard, I see.” She shaded her eyes with one hand.

  “Trying to. Hope to get this done in a few days.”

  The wind plastered her dress to her like a second skin. Not even her petticoats or her corset could hide the curve of her hips and breasts.

  Such nice breasts, too, he realized. It wasn’t gentlemanly of him but he noticed.

  “My mother sent you this.” She held out a covered plate, one he noticed now through the glare of the sun. “She didn’t want you to have to head home for lunch. This time I think the motives are pure. She’s finally accepted you won’t be a permanent fixture around here, so you’re safe.”

  “As long as she shares her baked goods with me, I’ll forgive her for anything.”

  “Why? I’m not about to.” Linnea’s smile said otherwise.

  He stepped close so that only the wind separated them. Close enough to see the violet sparkles in her deep-blue eyes and her bottom lip quiver. Their fingers brushed as he took the plate. Through leather gloves, his skin tingled.

  She was beautiful when her cheeks turned as delicately pink as prairie roses.

  “Mama added a second helping of her tosca cake. She’s playing favor to your sweet tooth. But don’t worry. I’ve already told her you’re not looking for a wife, a man who looks the way you do.”

  “What way is that?”

  “Oh, there’s your complete hair loss and the unfortunate size of your nose.”

  “She believed that, did she?”

  “Sure. She’s still charmed by you, so I’ll have to enlighten her to your other nasty qualities.”

  “I have nasty qualities?”

  “Bad enough to discourage her.” Her grin dazzled. “I have yet to tell her about your gambling habit. Mama will be appalled.”

  “Break it to her gently, Linnea. I don’t want her to stop feeding me completely.”

  She laughed and he felt renewed. Her mouth was lush and relaxed, her lips a dusty-rose shade that made him salivate like a bee circling a flower. He was hungry and wanting and buzzing.

  She spun around as if she couldn’t wait to get away from him.

  “Hey, Linnea. Are you just going to leave me like this?”

  “Sure, why not? You’re a grown man. You can eat by yourself.” She tugged at the blue brim of her sunbonnet. “Mama wanted to invite you into the house, but I talked her out of it. Said you probably didn’t want to interrupt your work.”

  “Sure. Why would I want the chance to get out of the sun for a while?”

  “That’s what I thought. You’re a tough army major. You’re used to eating outside with flies for company.”

  “Flies? I’m not attracting flies.”

  “That’s what you think.”

  She left him laughing, and he watched her amble through the meadows bright with brown-eyed Susans and cheerful bluebonnets. With the wind buffeting her calico dress against her like a second skin, Seth couldn’t look away.

  She stopped to pick a few flowers, probably for her mother, before heading to the house. That was Linnea, always doing for her mother.

  Had anyone ever picked flowers for her?

  Tenderness welled within him so sweet and bright it hurt like a wound, but he wasn’t afraid of it. Love had come to him a second time in his life like the miracle of summer to the plains.

  He wasn’t going to let it pass him by.

  * * *

  Morning came to the prairie not with a whisper but a celebration. Birdsong announced the dawn before the first ray of light breached the colorless horizon.

  Seth breathed in the fresh scent of the morning. The fragrance of wildflowers and wild grasses lifted like the sweetest perfume he’d ever known. The scent reminded him of Linnea as he picked a fistful of the purple-blue flowers.

  The first peep of gold over the eastern hills made the world glow with a strange half-darkness. Then the rays of golden lengthened and deepened. Rose and lavender lashed together at the horizon and streaked out to touch the clouds. The sky turned peach at the farthest edge of the plains.

  The land waited with a sudden hush. Seth laid the flowers and a thimble on Linnea’s front step. Emotion slammed into his chest like a runaway train. And as the sun rose and brought light to this corner of the world, he swore it did the same to his heart.

  “Mama, I’ve got the cows to milk,” Linnea’s voice came muffled through the wall. “We’re going to need to churn butter this morning.”

  The doorknob creaked as it turned, and Seth hurried into the field. He heard the hinges squeak open as he knelt in the tall grass. If he took off his hat, he didn’t think she could see him.

  She carried two empty milk pails, one in each hand, and closed the door with her foot. Her skirts swirled around her shoes as she skidded to a stop on the porch. Her jaw fell open as she stared at his offering.

  He rubbed his clammy palms on his trousers. He’d never been so nervous. Didn’t she like the flowers? Had he done the wrong thing?

  She set the milk pails to the ground with a clink and knelt to gather the bluebonnets. She cradled them in her lap and ran her fingertip over the delicate blossoms.

  Was that a smile on her face? He couldn’t tell, but if his heart kept beating this fast, it was going to kill him. He was too old for this.

  She lifted the flowers to her face and breathed deeply. Her eyes drifted shut as if she were savoring the fragrance and the beauty.

  His knees weakened and he sat fully on the ground. Spellbound, he watched her, joy dawning in him so bright and unexpected it left him reeling.

  She snatched up the thimble and studied it. Ran her thumb over the delicate flowers on the enamel surface. She looked down the road in either direction. Then the corners of her mouth curved.

  He saw his future in her smile.

  Chapter Nine

  Linnea simply stared at the thimble in her hand. The baked enamel surface gleamed pale as new butter. She traced her finger across its surface made bumpy by a spray of painted-on flowers.

  So delicate. And expensive. Finer than anything she owned.

  Who could have given such a thing? Surely it was not meant for her mother.

  All through her morning chores, it bothered her. She’d left the bluebonnets i
n a cup on the table. The thimble remained a weight in her pocket, real and undeniable.

  She milked the few cows that remained in the pasture, met the dairy wagon come to buy the milk and fed the new calves. Mama had toasted bread, eggs and ham ready by the time she returned to the house.

  Don’t even think someone’s courting you, Linnea. Romance was not likely to come looking for her.

  Midway through the meal, Mama set down her glass of fresh milk and cocked her head. “Goodness, is that the major already? Should I fry more eggs?”

  Seth? Linnea bolted out of her chair and pushed aside the curtains snapping in the open window.

  He sat on the high wagon seat looking like a man from her dreams. Self-assured, trustworthy, kind. He drew his oxen to a stop in the yard.

  “How are you this fine morning?” He tipped his hat and his blue gaze snapped as if he thought himself so charming.

  Oh, the man was far too saucy. “Better, but then you drove up. Still attracting flies, I see.”

  “Well, ma’am, I’m a male of the species, so I guess that can’t be helped. But if you want running water piped into your kitchen, you might consider holding back your remarks until I’ve finished.”

  “Major, can it be?” Mama crossed the room in a flash and bounded out onto the porch.

  She turned her sightless gaze toward him. “I thought you only meant to put a pump in the field. But to think we will have the luxury of water in our house! I cannot thank you enough.”

  “He’ll probably raise the rent, Mama.”

  “Or I could be sweet-talked into making a trade. Say a batch of cinnamon rolls and we call it square.”

  She wanted to stay mad at him, she really did. But he winked at her, that impudent man who thought he could kiss her anytime he wanted, and heaven help her! Every bit of her anger blew away like leaves on the wind. She was helpless to stop it.

  What had he told her? Someday a man’s going to come courting. You wait and see.

  He didn’t bring the flowers, Linnea. But she wanted him to be the one. Because that would mean he saw her, the woman she was and not the reputation gossip and judgment had made.

  A fluttery, excited feeling gathered deep within her. What if he’d left the flowers?

  “Major, come join us for our meal. I shall fry more eggs for you.”

  “I’d love to accept, but I’ve already had my breakfast. Tomorrow?”

  “Wonderful.” Mama clasped her hands.

  “I don’t know, Mama. We’re already feeding him lunch. Maybe we should start charging him. Let’s say a dollar a meal.”

  “Any chance I can bargain you lovely women down to fifty cents?”

  “She only teases, Major! Dotter, behave yourself.”

  Laughing, Seth snapped the reins, his dazzling gaze meeting Linnea’s, bold and confident.

  What on earth was she going to do about that man?

  * * *

  The next morning there were bluebonnets on her doorstep. They were only wildflowers, she told herself, but they were her favorite.

  Who had left them?

  She wandered down to the road, where no recent tracks disturbed the dust from town. But Seth had already arrived, judging by the two-toed hoofprints of oxen and the deep impressions from a loaded wagon.

  She ran to the back of the house and spotted him in the field. Shovel in hand, he waved to her and went back to work.

  He hadn’t left the flowers, she reasoned with herself. Why would he?

  Maybe he’d seen who had.

  Forgetting about her waiting chores and every reason why she’d vowed not to be alone with Seth Gatlin, she marched through the tall grasses and dancing wildflowers.

  He glanced up, adjusted his hat as the breeze dallied across the prairie between them, then went right back to work. He didn’t look back up, either. He kept shoveling and emptying the shovel in a smooth rhythm as if he were hoping she’d walk right on past him.

  Sure, now that she wasn’t handing out free kisses in the night and maybe more, he refused to speak with her. How could he make her angry when she’d just forgiven him?

  “Isn’t it a little early in the morning to be picking wildflowers?” Seth commented when she drew near. “Or did you decide to come over and pick on me next?”

  She felt ashamed. She’d been the one who had started this, angry with him, determined to keep him at arm’s length. Then she saw the small crook in the corner of his mouth. So, he was teasing her.

  “A man who’s about to be served breakfast might think about being nicer. My next chore this morning is gathering the eggs, and all it would take is one little misstep and all the fresh eggs might wind up falling. Mama won’t know the difference if she’s scrambling eggs already broken in the basket or ones I’ve scooped off the chicken coop floor.”

  “You win. I’m bein’ nice from now on.” He leaned on his shovel and grinned at her. A captivating, saucy, far-too-tempting grin that ought to be illegal. “I saw those flowers on the doorstep when I drove over. Got an admirer you’re not telling anyone about?”

  The devil danced in his eyes, but his words rang with such sincerity she didn’t know whether to believe him or not. “You didn’t see anyone?”

  “Nope. Not a soul.” He didn’t blink once. Not once.

  “This is the second morning in a row. You wouldn’t happen to know who picked these for me, would you?”

  “No idea.” He shook his head, but his gaze felt soft as a touch to her face. “See? Didn’t I tell you someday a man could come courting?”

  “Yes, you did.” She took a step back, studying him thoroughly. “If you ever see anyone leaving flowers on the step, would you tell me who he is?”

  “You have my solemn word on it.” He grabbed his shovel, his gloved hands so strong, yet she knew how tender they could be.

  Remembering the feel of his fingers against her face and the heat of his kiss, she hugged the flowers carefully in her arms and headed back to the house.

  * * *

  Linnea rubbed the sweat from her brow with the edge of her apron. Although she’d banked the fire, the iron stove radiated heat.

  Exhausted from her morning’s work and from preparing the meal in sweltering temperatures, she covered the fried chicken with a cloth.

  A tiny meow came from Mama’s chair cushion. Linnea pushed aside the hem of the lace tablecloth to find the new kitten making her way toward the chicken.

  “No cats allowed on the table, sorry.” She curled her hand around the kitten’s tummy and lifted her gently. The calico meowed in protest because the chicken did smell good.

  Linnea grabbed her sewing basket on the way to the door and welcomed the merely warm breeze and fresh air. Summer was on its way. She could smell it in the ripe, sharp scent of the grass and the tartness of the earth.

  The leaves on the fruit trees behind the house rustled merrily, dappling sunshine. The sweet scent of the tiny growing apples, peaches, pears and plums blended together and made her stomach growl.

  Mama’s needle paused. She sat on a bench in the dappled shade. “Are you done cooking so soon? I was of the mind to get off my backside and help you.”

  “You’ll stay out of the heat. End of argument.” Linnea set the kitten in Mama’s lap, and the calico leaped right off. “Maybe it will be cooler tomorrow.”

  “Ha! I think our summer has come early. It is hot in the shade.”

  “Want me to fetch you some water?”

  “You are too good to me, dotter. Sit down and keep me company. I have been listening to the major’s progress with the digging. Already he is halfway to the house.”

  Linnea eased down onto the bench, which happened to give her a perfect view of Seth Gatlin. His shovel drove into the ground over and over again. His masculine form was pleasingly proportioned, she noted, with wide shoulders, narrow hips, powerful legs.

  She shouldn’t be noticing.

  “I am going in to fetch more thread.” Mama set down her crocheting. “N
o, I need no help, and the house will be cooler now that you are no longer cooking. Sit and rest, Linnea. You work too hard.”

  “There is much to do.” She didn’t mind, and as soon as her mother was safely inside the house, Linnea closed her eyes. The breeze played with her damp bangs and cooled her heated skin.

  “Dreaming of your admirer?”

  She opened her eyes to the sight of Seth Gatlin striding past her vegetable garden. “You think that’s funny, don’t you? An old maid like me getting flowers from somebody.”

  “Not at all. You’re a beautiful woman, Linnea.”

  “Not with a ruined reputation.”

  “A wise man might not care.”

  “Like who?”

  Seth leaned one shoulder against the tree trunk. His eyes were as dark as midnight while he considered his answer. “Take the man who bought your quilt from Mrs. Jance, for example. He might have left the flowers.”

  “How would you know a man bought my quilt?” She couldn’t bear to think he was teasing her, not about her feelings and not like this.

  “I was in Mrs. Jance’s shop that day running an errand, and saw the whole thing. The Widow Johanson was there, too, and she was speechless, I’ll tell you.”

  He swept off his hat and the wind tousled his dark locks. He looked rakish and impudent and so desirable she didn’t dare hope.

  “You think the same man who bought my quilt left me these flowers?”

  “One and the same, I’ll bet.”

  “Well, you saw the man who bought my quilt. Who was he?”

  “I’m not telling you. That would ruin the romance.” He knelt until he was eye-to-eye with her and only the breeze separated them. “I wouldn’t want to do that.”

  “I didn’t know you were a romantic man.”

  “No, but life is dull over at my place, so I figured watching you and your secret admirer might be fun.”

  “Fun, is that what you call it? Torture would be more accurate.”

  “Now, see, that’s a matter of perspective.” His gaze fastened on her mouth. His eyes went completely black.

  The air between them crackled.

  “Major, are you still here? I heard you two talking, and so I made a plate for you. I bet you are as hungry as a wolf!” Mama hesitated on the threshold, holding one of the serving platters in both hands. “I do not dare take another step for fear of spilling. Come rescue me.”