by Jillian Hart
This was a Meredith he’d never seen before, another side of the puzzle that was the woman. A bell jangled as she opened the store’s glass door, waltzing toward him like sunshine on the darkest of days. As her shoes tapped on the damp boardwalk, he launched off the seat and, with a bow, held out his hand.
She lifted a slender eyebrow, perhaps sensing his sarcasm. He could not stop the rolling crest of emotion threatening to take him over. The snow did not touch him, the wind did not chill him as she laid the palm of her hand softly against his. Time stopped, his soul stilled and her gaze found his.
Wide-eyed and startled, she did not move. Nor did he. A second stretched into a moment without heartbeat or breath, and he felt as if eternity touched him. It was only her stepping up into the buggy. She looked away, her hand slipped from his and it was as if the contact had never been. They were once again separate. She, with her chin in the air and he, standing below her on the boardwalk with weak knees.
“Shane?” Minnie gripped the back of the front seat bouncing in place as he took his place at the reins. “Can we swing by Maisie’s house again? Please, please, please? I’ve got to give her this.”
“A note? But you just saw her.” He released the brake, trying to pretend he was not shaken, but his voice came out thick and raw.
“But it’s important,” Minnie pleaded. “Please?”
“You were in school all day with her.” He gave the reins a snap, checking over his shoulder for traffic as the mare moved out, pulling them along behind her. “Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”
“No, or I wouldn’t have asked you.”
What he would give to be as thick-skinned as Braden. Then it would be easy to disappoint the pixie with the fairy-tale freckles and eyes just like Meredith’s.
If he turned his head, he could barely see Meredith out of the corner of his eye sitting as regal as a princess clutching the wrapped bundle on her lap.
“Fine,” he said to the little girl. “But I’m going to need something in return.”
“Whatever can I do for you, Mr. Connelly?” Minnie asked primly, bouncing on the seat.
“I’m partial to molasses cookies. Put in a good word with Cook for me, would you?” While Minnie laughed in agreement, he noticed the hook in the corners of Meredith’s rosebud mouth. She fought a smile she could not fully suppress, and to him it was as if spring had returned.
Chapter Seven
The shady outline of the house appeared in the twilit snowfall, telling her they were home. She gathered her things the moment the buggy stopped rolling and hopped down before Shane could reach her. He looked busy enough tending to Sweetie; perhaps she had a rock in her shoe with the way he knelt, the mare’s hoof resting on his knee.
Ignoring the temptation to gaze upon him a few moments more, she offered Minnie a hand. She had to make sure the girl did not slip as she landed with a two-footed thud. The flakes were larger and wetter, hitting like little slaps against her hood and her face, smacking in imprecise rhythms against her coat and the ground. Warming, the snow had grown slick and dangerous.
“Sorry I couldn’t help you,” Shane shot over his shoulder, apologetic and sincere. A furrow dug into his forehead. Worry for the horse?
“Is Sweetie all right?” she asked, concerned. She adored their little mare.
“Just a little heat is all, I think.” The concern returned to narrow the hard ridges of his face and made more prominent the high cheekbones and the straight blade of his nose. “Tomorrow you fine ladies will not be riding in that buggy.”
“You mean we have to use the barn sled?” Minnie skipped over to the kneeling man and rubbed her hand across Sweetie’s flank. “The one used for hauling hay?”
“Depends on what the weather brings.” Shane gently returned the mare’s hoof to the ground, rubbing her comfortingly. “If there’s more snow, then yes. If the weather warms, it will be on horseback.”
“That would be great. Wouldn’t it, Meredith?”
Minnie’s dimples flashed.
“Either choice would give Mama the vapors.” She should be turning on her heels and putting as much distance possible between her and Shane. So why were her feet carrying her toward him?
Dumb decision, she told herself. The man was nothing but trouble. The kind of trouble she knew best to avoid. “Papa won’t allow it.”
“The mare is fine today, but drive her tomorrow in worse conditions and she could founder.” The disdain evaporated, replaced by a grim set of his expressive mouth, and she realized his feelings were over the horse’s welfare and not because she was anywhere near him.
A tiny fission of relief rippled through her, like the wind through the snow. Odd, the effect this man had on her.
“What’s founder?” Minnie asked. “It sounds bad.”
“It means to go lame.” He rose to his full six feet. “Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of her. She needs a bit of rest and some pampering. She’s an old mare and we don’t want to ask too much of her. Unless you don’t care what happens to her.”
“Of course we do.” She stroked her fingertips along Sweetie’s neck, smiling when the animal leaned into her touch with a nicker. Such a sweet girl, really. “We want the best for our Sweetie.”
“Don’t let anything happen to her, Mr. Connelly.” Minnie wrapped her arms around the mare’s front leg, holding on tight. The horse lipped the brim of her cap with affection.
“I won’t, shortcakes. And you might as well call me by my given name.” He gave her braid a tug. “Don’t forget your promise to me, now.”
“Not on my life.” Minnie flushed, gazing up at him between her long curling lashes. She released the horse and took off, book bag bouncing on her shoulder. “I’ll go talk to Cook right now!”
Fine, so he was kind to Minnie. He was probably the kind of man who was great with children. She could admit that he wasn’t all bad. The deep fading notes of Shane’s chuckle rumbled through her, scattering her senses, drawing her to him like the snow to the earth. Vaguely, she heard Minnie shut the front door with a thud and she realized they were alone. With the curtains of white cocooning them from sight of the house, they could very well be the only two people on the high Montana prairie.
“Thank you for being so nice to my sister.”
“No need for thanks. She’s a good kid, and I’m not as bad as you think.” Dimples hinted, bracketing his mouth with the promise of more. “I don’t know how, but you heard what I said about you last night. Isn’t that right?”
It was hard to read the tone of his voice, for it was dangerously light and bordering on amusement, but the set of his features and the lines of his face remained like stone.
“The bunkhouse door was open,” she confessed. “The cookies were still in the oven when Sadie bundled up your meals. She wanted you to have dessert, but she was busy helping Cook with the dishes, so—”
“You volunteered.” He finished her sentence, nodding slightly. He laid a hand on Sweetie’s withers, a touch to let the mare know he hadn’t forgotten she was standing hot and lathered in the icy winds. His attention did not flicker, his gaze latched on to Meredith’s in understanding. “You came to serve us dessert? You? Did your mother know?”
“Don’t act so surprised. I wanted to ease Sadie’s workload a bit, that was all.” Snow flocked her curls, enveloping her with purity and drawing the feelings he had refused to acknowledge a little closer to the surface. She flushed, as if embarrassed. “I wanted to apologize for how Mama treated you. That’s why I volunteered. I felt so bad about what she said to you, and the way she said it. But things didn’t work out according to plan.”
“That’s fairly obvious since I never did get any of the cookies.”
“I’ll make sure you get double dessert with your supper tonight.” She cast her gaze downward at her shoes, where she toed the snow. Her hair fell around her, soft bouncy curls around the most beautiful face he had ever seen. She appeared troubled, and vulnerable.
&nbs
p; “Braden was concerned you would distract me from my work. That’s what you overheard. Do you want to apologize for what you said about me in the school yard?” He had to ask. He had to know if she forgave him.
Her toe stilled. She pulled herself up like a ballerina, elegance and grace, and her blue eyes began to sparkle like an ocean storm. The corners of her mouth tipped into a full-fledged grin, dazzling in its honesty. Trouble glittered there along with a measure of amusement. “That I am not sorry for,” she trilled, spinning in the snow to waltz away from him. “Now we’re even.”
“Even?” The way a woman’s mind worked puzzled him greatly.
“We’ve both agreed we are not interested in the other whatsoever, so now we may as well call a truce.”
“A truce?” He knew from the sound of her gait that she was on the steps.
“As long as it’s not terribly disagreeable to you.” She disappeared into the storm, lost to his sight, her voice as buoyant and as warm as a May breeze.
“Not too terribly disagreeable,” he admitted. “Marginally bearable.”
“Good. Then we’re in perfect agreement.”
He searched for the hint of her shadow, the movement of her skirts. The lamplight at the window glinted off a golden curl, the only sign of her in the storm. He did not know why she drew him. But if the grin on his face and in his soul were any indication, he was in trouble. Big trouble.
“Have a good afternoon, Just Meredith.”
The door swung open and heavy footsteps tapped onto the porch. “What is going on out here?” Mrs. Worthington demanded. “Meredith, why are you speaking with this person? You could catch your death standing in the cold. Get inside before you freeze clean through.”
“Yes, Mama.” There wasn’t a contrite note to her words as they died on the wind. The door creaked shut, and she was gone. The brightness within him, the one she had put there, remained.
“C’mon, Sweetie.” He knelt to unbuckle the traces. “Let’s get you washed, rubbed dry and tucked in your warm stall. What do you say?”
The mare nickered in agreement, and they headed off together, side by side as the snow warmed, and crystal drops of ice rained down on them.
“It’s lovely fabric, Meredith.” Tilly’s gentle alto chased away the icy remains of Mama’s mood. Their mother had long since retreated from the parlor although her reprimand had not.
“Meredith, it would please me if you did not talk with the hired men.” She could still hear the authority and ring of Mama’s footsteps as she’d crossed the wooden floor of the parlor. “I’m in the middle of tea. Now I do not wish to be disturbed again.”
She had disappeared down the hall to the solarium in the north wing. Now and then women’s voices merry with conversation drifted down the long hall that separated the wings of the house. Mama was hosting another gathering of her friends, all the finest wives of the wealthiest families in Angel County. She knew her mother meant well, but how on earth was she going to avoid speaking with Shane? Especially now that her pride was no longer hurting?
“I liked it better than the silk Mama insisted on.” Meredith turned her thoughts back to the fabric she was showing her sister. She thumbed the purple cotton fabric with the tiny sprigged rosebuds. “Lila pieced a patchwork quilt years ago done in calico fabrics and I’ve always admired it.”
“Calico quilts can make a room feel cozy and snug.” Tilly’s understanding was worth more than all the money in the world. “It will make a nice addition to your hope chest.”
“My far-in-the-distant-future-perhaps chest,” she corrected, lifting the folded fabric and giving it a shake. The plentiful yards tumbled over the sofa in a cascade of ivory cotton and miniature green leaves. “Maybe it will be for my first place when I’m on my own as a teacher.”
“Your plans may change.” Tilly took an end, holding it out. “The right man may come along and save you from my fate.”
“You are not a spinster yet, Matilda.” She ached for her poor sister, whose beauty ran deep, but it was a sad state of the world that many men did not measure a woman for her internal beauty. The one slight interest Matilda had from Emmett Sims, a local teamster, had faded away. While she had never expressed her disappointment, Meredith knew it was there, a secret sadness her older sister did her best to hide. She did not know how to comfort her and sighed. “And even if we both grow old without husbands, there are much worse fates.”
“True. There is pestilence and plagues.” Tilly gathered up the material in her arms, drawing yard after yard into a messy bundle. “Or we could take up smoking.”
Thinking of their rebellious younger sister, they burst into laughter. Their peals echoed against the coved ceiling.
“Can you imagine?” She helped Tilly with the last bit of fabric. “Mama would burst.”
“If we did that, we would have to take up horseback riding, too.”
“Maybe chewing tobacco.”
“We could learn to spit.”
“So much for the family’s reputation.”
“From couth to uncouth in sixty seconds.” Tilly gasped, sputtering. “It would be a total waste of our finishing school.”
“True.” She led the way through the dining room, the last vestiges of laughter fading. “Have you ever thought how different our lives would be if we weren’t Worthingtons?”
“Now and then.” Tilly’s smile remained, but it had turned sad. “Emmett and I—”
She didn’t finish. She didn’t have to. Events might have turned out differently for Tilly. He was a teamster, a common occupation about which Mama had made her opinion very clear. Meredith couldn’t help her suspicions. “Do you think our mother said something to discourage him? The way she’s treated Shane makes me wonder. Do you think she did the same with the Sims brothers?”
“Who knows?” Tilly shouldered open the kitchen door. “If Emmett didn’t care enough about me to stand up to Mama, then…” She said no more, turning away, disappearing into the kitchen.
Meredith caught the door. She didn’t know what to say to ease her sister’s devastation. She wished there was a way to piece those broken dreams back together for her.
“I’ll be happy to get this washed up for you, Meredith.” Sadie’s voice rose above the clatter Cook was making at the stove. The scent of baking pork roast filled the air. “This is lovely fabric. It will be a perfect match with those blocks you are piecing.”
“Thanks. I think so, too. Would you like the scraps when I’m done?”
“Oh, I would love them. Thank you.” Sadie curtseyed, her accent sweet as the delight on her face. Soft auburn curls tumbled down beneath her ruffled cap. “It will go well with the scrap quilt I’m making.”
“You’ve started a quilt?” Sadie was another sad story. The girl was the same age as Meredith and her friends, but she was an indentured servant, working off the cost of her steamer and train fare from Ireland. She was poor without family to help her and without the chance for an education. The difference in their lives, although they were a month apart in age, reminded Meredith how fortunate she was. Why the Lord had blessed her well and not Sadie, she did not understand. “I would love to see it.”
“Truly? I can show you on Sunday.” Her only day off. “I’ve just started piecing my first blocks.”
“The beginning is always so exciting.”
“Yes, and—”
“Sadie!” Cook bellowed. “I’ll not have you wasting time like a lazy lout. Get over here and scrub these pots.”
“Yes.” Sadie bobbed her head in acquiescence, shot Meredith an apologetic shrug and gathered the big ball of fabric into her arms. She disappeared into the lean-to where the washtubs were kept.
“Out!” Cook commanded with a straight-armed point. “I have work to do.”
“Sorry.” Tilly and Meredith together backed out of the kitchen. Pots clanged and banged, the sound chasing them through the dining room.
Against her will, her shoes skidded to a stop at the wi
de windows. She could not say why as she looked over the garden and glimpsed at the barns. Ice clung to everything, sheeting the glass panes, dripping from exposed tree branches and varnishing the great expanse of snowy ground. Shane was out there, lost to her sight. She didn’t know why her thoughts returned to him now, but thinking of him made quiet joy whisper through her. She was Just Meredith to him again.
He caught glimpses of her through the rest of the afternoon. When he hauled buckets of water from the pump behind the main barn, the windows of the house glowed golden through the gray, catching his attention, a haven of light and shelter in the freezing storm. Ice beat against his face as he caught sight of her sewing industriously while Minnie paraded around the parlor with her slate in hand, perhaps practicing her spelling homework.
Later, after nightfall and several trips with the wheelbarrow to clean the stalls, he saw Meredith at the dining-room table, bent over her schoolbooks. The ice-glazed glass made the scene ethereal, as if out of a dream. The way she sat, spine straight, arms folded primly on the table before her, made her endearing, an image he carried with him back into the horse stables when he took up his pitchfork.
“Tomorrow we start working with the yearlings in the morning. The two-year-olds in the afternoon.” Braden sauntered up to fling forkfuls of clean straw into the newly mucked-out stall. “We’ll be up and at work by five to get a full twelve-hour day in. I want to get our work done as fast as we can. The missus paid a visit to me today, and I’m already eager to be outta here.”
“Can’t blame you there.” He could well imagine what the woman had told a rough-and-ready like Braden. All he had to do was to imagine what his own mother would have said. She looked down on anyone who performed manual labor. According to her last letter twelve months ago, she looked down on him, too. “Some folks put a lot of importance on the wrong things.”
“That’s why I work with horses.” Braden shook the last of the straw free from the tines and backed down the breezeway. “Horses make sense to me. People don’t.”
