Short Straw Bride. Dallas Schulze
She widened her pretty blue eyes at him and thrust her lower lip out in the merest hint of a pout. Luke would have bet a good horse on the fact that she’d practiced that look in front of her mirror. He smiled and wondered if maybe her parents shouldn’t have spanked her a time or two when she was younger.
“Why don’t you play for us, dear?” Dorinda smiled indulgently.
“I’m not very good,” Anabel protested prettily, but Luke had the idea that it would have taken a tornado to budge her from her seat on the bench.
“Nonsense, my dear. Miss Brown said you had a natural talent,” Zebediah said. “Miss Brown learned to play in Boston,” he added proudly, giving the impression that Bostonians had some sort of an edge over the rest of the country when it came to piano playing.
“Miss Brown said the same thing to my Horace,” Cora put in. “And he can’t carry a tune in a bucket.”
There was an awkward little pause and Luke saw Anabel’s eyes flash with fury, the first genuine emotion he’d seen from her.
“Well, Anabel doesn’t need a bucket to carry a tune,” Dorinda said with a tight little smile. “Do play something, precious.”
“Only if Mr. McLain promises to make allowances. I feel a little shy. I don’t often perform for anyone but the closest family.”
“You played two weeks ago at my house with half a dozen people watching,” Cora said. “Didn’t look shy at all, then.”
“I’m sure no one needs to make allowances for your performance, Miss Williams.” Luke spoke quickly, staving off the explosion he could see building in his hostess’s face. “I’d enjoy hearing you play.”
About as much as I’d enjoy having a tooth pulled.
Anabel conjured up a pleased blush before turning to the piano, where her music, by coincidence, of course, just happened to be laid out. It didn’t take more than a few measures for Luke to realize that Miss Brown was either completely tone deaf or a terrible liar. Anabel might have a natural talent but it sure as hell wasn’t for piano playing.
He was starting to wonder how much of this he’d be expected to suffer through when Eleanor came to the door of the parlor. She didn’t speak and no one else seemed to notice her presence but Luke knew the moment she appeared.
As Daniel had said, there wasn’t much to her, but what there was was very neatly packaged, Luke thought, admiring the feminine softness of her figure. After all, when it came to women, a man didn’t need more than an armful and Eleanor looked as if she’d provide plenty to hold on to on a cold winter’s night.
He was grateful to see that she’d left off the ugly hat she’d been wearing both times he’d seen her. Her hair was drawn back from her face, but the severe style was softened by the delicate fringe of soft curls that had escaped to frame her face. He found himself wondering what her hair looked like when it was down. Would it curl over a man’s hands, pulling him closer to her? And would she welcome a man’s passion or be frightened by it?
He was surprised to realize that he was becoming aroused just looking at her. Irritated with himself, he looked away, turning his eyes to where Anabel sat abusing the piano keys, thereby missing the wistful look Eleanor turned in his direction.
Though he certainly wouldn’t choose a wife based solely on her cooking skills, Luke was pleased to find that Eleanor’s were more than adequate. He and Daniel had hired a cook but he’d quit almost a month ago and since then, they and the hands had been cooking for themselves. Even when they’d had a cook, the food had been less than inspired. The meal spread out before him was the best he’d had since his mother’s death. The biscuits were as close to pure heaven as he’d ever eaten in his life. He said as much, and from the startled look Eleanor shot him, he suspected few compliments came her way.
“Thank you.” Her voice was low and soft, just as he remembered it, and Luke added another item to his list of prerequisites for a wife—a pleasant speaking voice. He didn’t want to spend the rest of his life with a woman with a voice like a cat who’d got its tail caught under a rocking chair.
Anabel, who’d been seated next to Luke, looked annoyed that someone had noticed her cousin. When Hiram Danvers seconded Luke’s comment about the biscuits, her pout became a little less studied and not nearly as pretty as it had been. Eleanor looked uncomfortable with the attention being given her and Luke decided that modesty was a good attribute in a woman.
Though Luke participated in the conversation, his attention was centered on the dark-haired girl across the table from him. He saw nothing to make him think his first assessment had been in error. The more he watched Eleanor Williams, the more convinced he became that she’d make a suitable wife. Her looks were pleasant, her demeanor quiet—she was the very picture of the docile bride he’d described to his brother.
When the meal ended, Eleanor rose and began to clear the table. Luke noticed that neither Anabel nor her mother moved to offer any assistance. Since Eleanor didn’t seem to notice the omission, he assumed this must be another example of how she “earned her keep.”
As Eleanor disappeared into the kitchen, Anabel caught Luke’s eye. Her smile was pure invitation, too old for her sixteen years. Luke was surprised by his own lack of interest. Perhaps Anabel read something of that lack in his expression because her soft, pink Cupid’s-bow mouth tightened momentarily and something cold and hard flickered in her baby blue eyes.
Just like that mule Pa owned, Luke thought again. Remembering the mule’s tendency to bite when riled, he had to restrain the urge to shift his chair a little farther away from Anabel’s. But he underestimated her intelligence. Anabel knew exactly who was to blame for his indifference.
Eleanor carried in a pie and Luke’s mouth watered at the pungent, sweet smell of warm cherries. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had cherry pie. And if her pie was anywhere near as good as her biscuits…
“That smells mighty good, Miss Eleanor,” he said, enjoying the flush of pleasure that brought a sparkle to her eyes.
“Serve our guest first, Eleanor,” Dorinda Williams said, with the air of a queen giving out favors.
Still flushed, Eleanor set the pie down next to her aunt and used a narrow spatula to lift an already cut slice onto one of the small china plates that sat ready to receive it. It had never occurred to Luke that a woman could look graceful doing something as simple as serving a piece of pie, but there was a quick grace about everything she did and he found himself thinking that it wouldn’t be a hardship to watch her around the house.
Eleanor moved down the table and reached between him and Anabel to set the plate down in front of him. Luke was looking at the pie but out of the corner of his eye he caught a quick movement from Anabel. Eleanor gasped as her arm was jogged. The plate tilted and Luke’s white shirtfront was suddenly decorated with cherry pie.
There was a moment’s stunned silence as everyone at the table stared at the bright red cherries splattered across his chest.
“I’m so sorry. I don’t know how—”
“Eleanor, you clumsy little idiot!” Dorinda’s sharp voice cut off her niece’s breathless apology. “Can’t you do anything right?”
“It’s all right, Mrs. Williams,” Luke said.
“It’s kind of you to say so,” Zeb put in, his long face drawn in tight lines of disapproval. “Naturally, Eleanor will see to the cleaning of your clothing or its replacement. Tell Mr. McLain you’re sorry, Eleanor.”
“She’s already apologized.” Luke spoke before Eleanor could say anything. She’d set down the plate and grabbed Luke’s napkin and was dabbing at the stain on his shirtfront. He closed his fingers around hers, stopping her futile attempts to repair the damage. “I’m just glad the pie wasn’t hot,” he said, glancing up at her with a