Homespun Bride. Jillian Hart

      Now, five years later, she felt the burn of that old heartache and gulped hard to keep it buried. The pieces of that shattered love still cut like tiny shards of sharp glass.

      At least I know he will move on, she thought. Please, Lord, let that be soon.

      Her world was dark and pragmatic. She set her chin, gathered herself and turned toward her aunt’s approaching steps. “You have your letter? I wouldn’t want you to face such a perilous trip to town and realize you’d left the letter behind.”

      “Exactly.” Henrietta sounded cheerful and it was no trouble at all to imagine her delighting in the prospect of more drama. There was a rustle and shuffle as she gathered her skirts. “I certainly pray we shall not run into any further trouble. Now that Robert has agreed to take that beast of a runaway to the sale this very day, I am most relieved.”

      “Yes, but think of whoever buys the gelding,” Noelle pointed out, struggling to put a smile on her face, as Robert took her elbow and helped her into the sleigh. “There is more peril awaiting that unsuspecting buyer.”

      Robert chuckled, warm and deep, a sure sign he was amused. “I will make it clear the gelding has certain training problems, so that we won’t have that on our consciences.”

      “Good.” Noelle patted his hand before she let him go. “Thank you for that. I don’t want anyone to get hurt the way—” she swallowed hard, forcing the past back where it couldn’t hurt her “—we almost did.”

      “And I’ll drive you two lovely ladies to town myself, just to make sure there are no more mishaps.”

      Henrietta’s humph of disapproval was loud enough to disturb the placid Miss Bradshaw. The mare sidestepped in her traces with a quick clip-clip on the ice. “Robert, you’ll not hitch that beast to this vehicle!”

      “Now, my dear, I’ll just tie him behind the sleigh. There will be not a single thing to worry about.”

      “We shall see when we get safely to town. If we get safely to town.” Henrietta gave the lap blanket a sound snap, shaking it out.

      Noelle felt the rasp of the blanket fall across her knees. Whatever her losses and lessons in her life, she was so grateful for her wonderful aunt and uncle. Their love, their acceptance and their funny ways reminded her of her own parents. She hooked her arm through Henrietta’s and held on tight.

      

      By noontime, the freezing fog had been blown apart by a cruel north wind bringing with it the look of snow. Thad reckoned the growing storm cloud in the northeast might bring another whiteout. With the responsibilities at the home place partly his now, too, Thad worried about the livestock. He blew out a breath, knuckled his hat back and glanced around the busy town street.

      Angel Falls was still a small town by most standards, but it had grown in the time he’d been away. There were more shops, and the look of the street was fancier, as if the whole place, despite the current recession, was managing to thrive. Fancy ribbons brightened up one window, colorful ladies’ slippers another, even here at the far end of Second Street, making him feel out of place as he looked for the land office. But he did spot a bookstore. He’d have to go in there another time.

      Was he on the right side of the street? He tugged the piece of paper from his trouser pocket and squinted at the address Aiden had scribbled down for him. A woman’s gruff voice lifted slightly above the drone of noise on the street. A familiar voice.

      “I shall never become accustomed to this weather!” Mrs. Worthington was climbing out of their sleigh a good half-dozen shops up ahead. “You’re likely to freeze sitting still in this wind. You must come in, dear.”

      “I have a difficult time in a crowded place. No, I’d best stay here and try not to freeze in the wind.” There was a note of humor to Noelle’s voice.

      A note that was like an arrow to his heart. Just a hint of humor, but without the brightness and the gentle trill of laughter he remembered so well. They truly were strangers, he reminded himself, surprised how much losing the last little piece of Noelle—the way he’d kept her in memory—hurt. So much for the notion of love. Not only was it ashes, but even long after the ashes had scattered, blown into nothing by the wind, the scar from the burn remained.

      Yes. He rubbed at the center of his chest with the heel of his hand. The burn remained.

      Mrs. Worthington hadn’t see him; her back was to him as she marched along the boardwalk and disappeared into a doorway. He stared at the numbers written on the paper. Sure enough, he’d have to head in Noelle’s direction. The last thing he wanted to do was to hurt her more. Chances were he could walk right by her without her knowing, since she could not see him. The boardwalks were fairly busy, and the noise from the street would disguise him well enough.

      He headed on in her direction. It was best not to say howdy to her, or the burn on his heart would start hurting fresh. He kept his gaze focused on the icy boardwalk ahead of him and did not look her way, but there she was in his side vision, alone and lovely and sitting in the cold, blind and alone. He had to fight the powerful urge to stop and stay with her, to watch over her until her aunt’s return.

      She’s not your lookout, remember? Not when her father forced him out of town the way he did. Not when her father had threatened his family’s land. The trouble was, his heart didn’t seem to care about all those sensible arguments. His spark of caring remained. There was a brightness within him that remembered, that would always remember, the schoolgirl who’d laughed so easily, saw wonder and joy everywhere, hummed with every step she took and was full of love and dreams.

      Maybe his notion of love being nothing at all was a poor one, when put to the test. Seeing Noelle made his heart cinch up tight. Did she still matter to him?

      The embittered part of him wanted to say no. No a thousand times. But as a gust of wind hit him square in the chest, he had to admit the truth.

      He’d gone through a lot of misery for her sake. He’d left home, his family and everything he’d ever known. He’d slept on hard ground in freezing weather and in mostly unheated bunkhouses come winter. He’d ridden hard from sunup until sundown in blazing summer heat long day after long day. He’d lived a life he did not like or want because somewhere beyond his unhappiness was her joy, bright and shining and everything she deserved.

      Yep, a wise man would just keep on walking and not give her another thought. He forced his boots forward on the icy boardwalk and kept on going.

      “Thad?” Her gentle voice said his name the way it always had.

      He could tell himself he didn’t remember, that she was a stranger to him, that the past was past. It didn’t matter so much for deep down in his heart, he would always know her.

      She turned toward him as if she saw him. Her sightless eyes looked at him but did not see him. He stopped in the middle of the boardwalk. “How did you know it was me?”

      “I’d know your gait anywhere. Do you see my uncle? He’s at the horse sale.” She sounded hopeful.

      She looked that way, too. She might not notice how easily her emotions played on her lovely face. He might not want to think about how easy it was for him to read her feelings. It always had been for him.

      Aching at all the things that had changed between them, he leaned over the hitching post to peer down the alley. Robert Worthington in his fancy tailored suit stood out in the crowd of cowboys and ranchers. “He’s right ahead, but he’s looking at a half-crazed mare. Doesn’t he have any horse know-how at all?”

      “My poor uncle means well, but he’s city born and bred. He’s spent his life reading books on wranglers and cowboys, so he has a lot of fictitious notions in his head.” Fondness shaped her soft face. “It’s been a lifelong dream of his to be a great horse trainer. The poor man has no notion of ranching or real experience handling horses.”

      “Where does he hail from?”

      “St. Louis.”