Patchwork Bride. Jillian Hart
of the group, would pen him as an intriguing hero of a fantastic tale. Lila, ever the romantic, would compare him to the most handsome boy in their high-school class, Lorenzo. Kate and Scarlet would heartily agree and start dropping hints about the status of their hope chests, the reason they met every Saturday afternoon to sew for a few hours. A sewing circle of friendship and of hope, they tatted doilies, embroidered pillowslips and pieced patchwork blocks for the marriages they would all have one day.
Yes, this chance meeting was going to be a huge topic of conversation come Saturday.
The rain turned colder, falling like ice, striking the great expanse of prairie with strange musical notes. Beauty surrounded her, but she could not take her eyes from the handsome wanderer.
“What did you do in your former life?” Was that really her voice, all breathless and rushed sounding? Her face felt hot. Was she blushing? Would he notice?
“Back home, my father and grandfather are lawyers, although now they have many partners to manage the firm.” He let his horse fall back, to keep pace beside her. “As the oldest son, I am a great disappointment traveling around on the back of a horse.”
“I think it takes courage to follow your own path.” Courage was what she was trying to find for herself.
“Could be courage. My father called it stupidity. My mother said it was stubbornness. She was none too happy with me when I left, since she was in the middle of planning my wedding to a young lady of their choosing.”
“You ran out on a wedding?”
“I never proposed, so I didn’t see as I had an obligation to stay for the ceremony.” Dimples belied the layer of sorrow darkening his voice.
“Your parents had your whole life mapped out for you?”
“Mapped out, stamped and all but signed and sealed.” Understanding layered the blues in his eyes and softened the rugged, wild look of him. “Something tells me your parents adore you. They want the best for you, and that’s not a bad thing, as long as it’s what you want, too.”
“Tell that to Mama.”
“Sounds like our mothers are cut from the same cloth.”
The howl of wind silenced and the veil of rain seemed to vanish as he leaned over in his saddle, close and closer still. The sense of peril returned, fluttering in her stomach, galloping in her veins and did she turn away?
Not a chance.
“No one I know has a mother like mine.” Strange they would have this similarity between them. “Is yours overbearing, impossible, full of dire warnings and yet she’d throw herself in front of a train to save you?” she asked.
“Yep.”
“Does she drive you beyond all patience with her meddling and fussing and trying to do everything so your life is easier?”
“That would be an affirmative.”
“And you love her so much you can’t bear to say no and disappoint her?”
“In the end, I did say no and it broke her heart.” No way to miss the regret. It moved through him, deep like a river, reflecting on his face, changing the air around them. “It was hard for her to let go, but I wouldn’t be the man I wanted to be unless I made my own life. She’ll come to see that in the end.”
“So she hasn’t forgiven you?”
“Nope. Not yet. But I’m confident she will come to see I was right.”
“That wasn’t the answer I was hoping for.” If only following her own path would not potentially cost her her mother. “I’m praying my experience will be different from yours.”
“Your mother doesn’t want you to be a teacher?”
“She doesn’t want her daughters to work.” She hadn’t corrected his misimpression of her as a simple country girl, so how did she explain her mama’s view of society and a woman’s role in it? “My only hope is that Papa will understand.”
“Then I’ll pray for that, too.” Serious, his words, and so intimate that it was as if they were the only two people on the entire expanse of the plains. Completely odd, as she’d never felt this way with anyone before. It was as if he’d reached out and taken her hand, although they did not touch. A tug of warmth curled through her, which was sweet like melting taffy and enduring in the way of a good friendship.
“Meredith!” She felt a tug on her sleeve. “Don’t forget to turn.”
She blinked, the feeling disappeared and the world surrounding her returned. Wet droplets tapped her face, the jingle of the harness and the splash of the horse’s hooves reminded her that Minnie was at her side, home was within reach and the time to say goodbye to this man had come.
“Is this your driveway?” Shane broke the silence between them, one brow arched with his question.
Did he feel this way, too? As if he did not want the moment to end?
“Yes.” The word rasped past the regret building within her. She drew Sweetie to a stop, knowing he would go his way, she would go hers and she would never see him again. Her spirit ached at the thought. “Where are you headed?”
“To a ranch somewhere in these parts.” He knocked off the rainwater gathering on the brim of his hat. “Since we’re running late, we might as well see you to your door. Braden, is that okay with you?”
“Goin’ this way anyway,” came the answer as the older, gruff man pulled his mount to the roadside and consulted the telegram in his pocket.
“Guess that means we don’t have far to go.” He shivered when the wind lifted, knifing through his wool coat. Nearly wet to the bone, he ought to be eager to get into dry clothes and thaw out in front of a fire. Gazing down at Just Meredith, he wasn’t in much of a hurry. “You ladies must be freezing. The temperature is falling. I could dig a blanket out of my saddle roll. Might keep you warmer.”
“That’s very gentlemanly of you, but we’ll be fine.”
“Meredith!” Minnie protested. “I’m cold. Look. It’s starting to snow.”
“No wonder I’m half an icicle.” Nothing like a joke to warm a fellow. He twisted in his saddle to tug on the ties and pulled a folded length of red wool from beneath the oiled tarp protecting his things. “This ought to keep you two ladies a little more comfortable.”
“Thank you, Shane.”
He liked the way she said his name with a touch of warmth—unless he was imagining that—and a bit of respect, which he didn’t mind at all. He gave the blanket a snap, settled it over the ladies’ skirts, nearly falling out of his saddle to hand over the edge to Meredith so she could tuck it around her and Minnie. Leaning close, an odd sense of warm curled around his ribs, something tender and fine like first light on a spring morning.
Once she had the blanket settled, she gathered the reins in her slender, smooth hands. In retrospect, maybe he would have thought about that more and realized it was a sign. That a country girl’s hands wouldn’t look soft and pampered instead of callused and rough from work. But the bit of warm felt cozy in his chest, a nice and wholesome thing, so he didn’t think too much as he followed the buggy off the main road and down a narrower drive curving between a copse and tall fencing.
Braden signaled him. “I don’t want you gettin’ too friendly with any of the neighbors.”
“Are you tellin’ me you want me to be rude?” He angled his brim against the driving snow tapping against his hat and stinging like icy needles on his jaw.
“Not rude, no. But I want your mind on horse business.”
“It will be.” The chance to keep learning at Braden’s heels was all he wanted. So why did his gaze stray to the buggy? Although he couldn’t see Meredith from this angle, he wanted to, as