Gingham Bride. Jillian Hart

the shadows, towering over her, leading Flannigan by a short lead. He dismounted, sliding effortlessly to the ground. “He got a good run in, so he ought to be in a more agreeable mood for the journey back. Let me give you a foot up.”

      He was taller than she realized; then again, perhaps it was because her view of him had changed. He was bigger somehow, greater for the kindness he had shown to Flannigan, catching him without a harsh word or a lash from a whip, as Da would have done. She shook her head, skirting him. “I’ll ride Flannigan in. He ought to be tired enough after his run. He’s not a bad horse.”

      “No, I can see that. Just wanted to escape his bonds for a time.”

      Yes. That was how she felt, too. Flannigan nickered low in his throat, a warm surrender or a greeting, she didn’t know which. She irrationally hated that he had been caught. It was not safe for him to run away, for there were too many dangers that ranged from gopher holes to barbed wire to wolves, but she knew what it felt like to be trapped. When she gazed to the north where the spill and swell of land should be, she saw only the impenetrable white wall of the storm. Although the prairie had disappeared, she longed to take off and go as fast and as far as she could until she was a part of the wind and the sky.

      “Then up you go.” The stranger didn’t argue, merely knelt at her feet and cupped his hands together. “I’m sure a beauty such as you can tame the beast.”

      Did she imagine a twinkle in his eyes? It was too dark to know for sure. She was airborne and climbing onto Flannigan’s back before she had time to consider it. By then the stranger had limped away into the downfall, a hazed silhouette and nothing more.

      You could take Flannigan and go. It was her sense of self-preservation whispering at her to flee. It felt foolish to give in to the notion of running away, right now at least; it felt even more foolish to lead the horse home. Da had fallen into an especially dark mood these last few months since he had lost much of the harvest. Thinking of the small, dark sitting room where Da would be waiting drained the strength from her limbs. She dug her fingers into Flannigan’s coarse mane, letting the blizzard rage at her.

      “I’ll lead you.” His voice came out of the thickening darkness. There was no light now, no shades of grayness or shadows to demark him. “So there will be no more running away.”

      Her pulse lurched to a stop. He couldn’t know, she told herself. He might be able to lasso a horse, but he could not read minds. That was impossible. Still, her skin prickled as Flannigan stepped forward, presumably drawn by the rope. His gait rolled through her, and she felt boneless with hopelessness. The wind seemed to call to her as it whipped past, speeding away to places unknown and far from here, far from her father’s strap.

      This was December. She had to stick it out until May. Only six months more. Then she would have graduated, the first person in her family to do so. That meant something to her, an accomplishment that her parents would never understand, but her closest friends did. An education was something no one could take from her. It was something she could earn, although she did not have fine things the way Lila’s family did, or attend an East Coast finishing school as Meredith was doing. An education was something she could take with her when she left; her love of books and learning would serve her well wherever she went and whatever job she found.

      It will be worth staying, she insisted, swiping snow from her eyes. Although her heart and her spirit ached for her freedom and the dream of a better, gentler life, she stayed on Flannigan’s broad back. His lumbering gait felt sad and defeated, and she bowed her head, fighting her own sorrow.

      “I know how you feel, big guy.” Going home to a place that wasn’t really a home. She patted one mostly numb hand against his neck and leaned close until his mane tickled her cheek. “I almost have enough money saved up. When I leave, I can keep some of it behind for payment and take you. How would you like to ride in a boxcar? Let’s just think of what it will be like to ride the rails west.”

      Flannigan nickered low in his throat, a comforting sound, as if he understood far more than an animal should. She stretched out and wrapped her arms around his neck as far as they could reach and held on. Come what may, at least Flannigan would not be punished. She would see to that. She would take full responsibility for his escape.

      And what about the stranger? She couldn’t see any sign of him except for the tug of the rope leading Flannigan inexorably forward. There was no hint of the stranger’s form in the gloom until they passed through the corral gate and she caught the faintest outline of him ambling through the snow to secure the latch. Flannigan blew out a breath, perhaps a protest at being home again. She drew her leg over the horse’s withers and straightened her skirt.

      “I’ll help you.” His baritone surprised her and he caught her just as she started to slide. Against her will, she noticed the strength in his arms as she was eased to the ground. She sank deep and unevenly into a drift. His helpfulness didn’t stop. “Can you find your way to the house, or should I take you there?”

      “I have to see to the horses.”

      “No, that’s what I plan to do. Let me get them sheltered in the barn and then I’ll be seeing you safely in.” Stubbornness rang like a note in his rumbling voice.

      She had a stubborn streak, too. “I’m hardly used to taking orders from a stranger. These are not your horses, and what are you doing on this land?”

      “Your da invited me.”

      “A drinking buddy, no doubt. It must be poker night already.” She shook her head, plowing through the uncertain drifts and trailing her mittens along Flannigan’s neck until she felt the icy rope. She curled her fingers around it, holding on tight. “I don’t allow intoxicated strangers to handle my horses.”

      “Intoxicated?” He chuckled at that. “Missy, I’m parched. I won’t deny, though, I could use a drink when I’m through.”

      Was that a hint of humor she heard in his lilting brogue? Was he teasing her? He had a gentle hand when it came to horses, but he could be the worst sort of man; any friend of her father’s would be. Birds of a feather. She saw nothing funny about men like her da. She pushed past him, knocking against the iron plane of his chest with her shoulder.

      “Go up to the house, then, and you can wet your whistle, as my da would say.” Why was she so disappointed? It wasn’t as if she cared anything about this man. She didn’t even know his name. It just went to show that men could not be trusted, even if they were prone to good deeds.

      “That’s it? I help you bring in your horse and now you are banishing me from your barn?”

      “Yes.” Why was he sounding so amused? A decent man ought to have some semblance of shame. “Likely as not, my Da already has the whiskey poured and waiting for you.”

      “Then he’ll be a mite disappointed.” The stranger grasped the rope she held, taking charge of Flannigan. “Come along. The barn is not far, if I remember, although I cannot see a foot in front of me.”

      “Just follow the fence line.” She was tugged along when she ought to stand her ground. There was something intriguing about this stranger. It was not like one of Da’s fellows to choose barn work over cheap whiskey.

      “This is better.” She heard his words as if from a great distance, but that was the distortion of the wind and the effort as he heaved open the barn door. She realized she was the only one gripping Flannigan’s rope and held him tightly, leading him into the dark shelter of the main aisle.

      “Where is the lantern?” His boots padded behind her, leading Riley into the barn.

      “I was just getting to that.” Really. As if she expected them all to stand around in the dark. She wrestled off her mittens, ice tinkling to the hard-packed dirt at her feet, and felt with numb fingertips for the match tin.

      “Need any help?”

      “No.” Her hands were not cooperating. She balled them up and blew on them, but her warm breath was not enough to create any thaw. She must be colder than she thought. Boots padded