Patchwork Bride. Jillian Hart

I am at heart.” There was no way he could know how wrong he was. She worried that no matter how hard she tried to be otherwise, she would always be Robert and Henrietta Worthington’s daughter, expected one day to be the perfect wife living an impeccable life of giving parties, raising well-mannered children and upholding the family’s fine reputation. She feared her dreams of teaching children would never be realized.

      “It’ll only take a moment to hitch up.” He whistled to his horse.

      The wind gusted, batting the troubling lock of hair back into her eyes. She swiped at it, wondering how she must look standing in the mud with her hair a tumble and her skirts spattered enough to hide the intricate shirring and stitching and expensive satin hem. Easy to see how he could mistake her for a country girl, which she truly longed to be. Her friends, Fiona, Earlee and Kate, were country girls and some of the best friends a girl could have. She wanted nothing more than to be like them.

      The spotted bay gelding trotted obediently forward, nose outstretched, nickering low in his throat in answer to his master. Shane took a moment to stroke his horse’s nose, and Meredith remembered his gentle touch. Another shiver slid down her spine imagining being taken up in his arms. If a girl were to lay her cheek against his broad chest, she might feel safe and sheltered. Maybe even treasured.

      There she went, spinning daydreams again.

      “Are you coming, Braden?” Shane knelt to squint at the buggy’s rigging, his horse nibbling at his hat brim.

      The other man didn’t answer, only nudged his big black horse forward. This one appeared much older, his face weathered and not a hint of softness on his features. When he rode by Meredith, it was like an arctic wind blowing by, cold and impersonal. Definitely not a friendly man.

      The first drops of rain pelted from the sky. They struck the ground like wet bullets, tapped on her bonnet and plinked in the enormous puddle at her feet. The prairie stretched around them to the horizon without more than a single barn in sight, one big curtain of rain. With no one else on the road, she suddenly felt vulnerable. A small hand crept into hers—Minnie’s.

      “Do you reckon they are outlaws?” Her littlest sister’s whisper was incredulous, and her big blue eyes widened with excitement.

      It was hard to tell the manner of man Shane Connelly was, and even harder to guess at the older man who was hitching the two horses alongside their gray mare. But Shane must have heard Minnie’s whisper, for he glanced over the wheel well and let his eyes twinkle at her. Humor danced in those dark blue depths and told her all she needed to know about the man.

      “No, I reckon he’s a never-do-well with an appalling reputation,” Meredith answered wryly.

      “True.” Shane’s gravelly tone deepened as he chuckled. “I am one sorry renegade.”

      “Are you like Robin Hood?” Minnie boldly asked. “Do you help those down on their luck?”

      “I have been known to aid a lovely country miss or two, if the peril is great.” When Shane rubbed a hand over his gelding’s muzzle, a softness came over him.

      A kind man, then. Hard not to like that.

      “You’ve got a pretty horse,” Minnie spoke up. “What’s his name?”

      “This is Hobo. He’s an—”

      “Appaloosa.” The single word tumbled across Meredith’s tongue. “He’s beautiful.”

      “You know of the breed?”

      “My father has a fondness for Western lore,” she answered, her face heating. Was she really blushing? “Perhaps I do, too.”

      “Perhaps?” He questioned, his dimples deepening.

      “Fine. I love everything Western, but it’s not ladylike to admit it and my mother would have an apoplexy if she heard me say it.”

      “Then it’s best not to tell her.” He winked, and opened his mouth about to say something else when the other man hollered out to him.

      “That’s enough, Romeo. I’ve got the horses hitched. Time to push.”

      “Gotta go.” Shane waded to the buggy box and positioned his hands on one side of the soiled fender. “You two ladies might want to hop onto the grass.”

      “I told you. I intend to help.” She mimicked his stance on the other side of the buggy by bracing her feet and placing her hands. “If this happens again, I want to know what to do.”

      “I really don’t think—” His argument was cut off as a “Git up!” from Braden rang from the front of the buggy.

      Horse hooves clamored on sodden, wet earth. The vehicle rocked forward and then back. Another “Git up!” and the buggy rolled forward again. The mud gripped the wheels, refusing to let go.

      A little help please, Lord. She prayed and pushed with all her might, fearing there was no way the vehicle would move. She fought visions of their little driving buggy stuck here in the middle of the main road to town for the rest of the rainy season. Folks would have to somehow maneuver around it, muttering about that Worthington girl who had the poor sense to have dropped out of finishing school.

      “Harder!” Braden shouted as he tromped through the mud and grabbed the bumper nearest to her. Even Minnie took a position and pushed. The buggy rocked again, almost out, before it sloshed back into the muck.

      She hardly noticed because what was she watching? Shane. Out of the corner of her eye, his grimace fascinated her. All her friends, except for Fiona who was engaged, agreed no man ever had been as handsome as Lorenzo, the most gorgeous boy in their class at school. But now she begged to differ. Shane Connelly was stunning, but something beyond his physical good looks made him captivating—some strength of spirit, she suspected, and a steadfast character, she hoped.

      The buggy lunged forward, suddenly rolling up out of the muck. Mud flew off the fast-turning wheels and sprayed like slop across her face, cold and wet. Too late, she realized she was the only one standing directly behind one of the wheel wells. Ooze clung to her eyelids and dripped like thick cream frosting down her face. The earthy taste seeped between her lips. The cold weight pressed on her, penetrating her bodice and weighing down her skirt.

      “Oh, Meredith,” Minnie soothed, shocked. “Your dress is ruined.”

      Humiliation seeped into her, as cold as the mud. She swiped the yuck from her eyes with her sleeve and only managed to smear it.

      “Whoa!” Shane and Braden shouted together from a fair distance away, stopping the horses on the uphill slope of the road. When young Mr. Connelly turned around and spotted her, a wide grin stretched his mouth and he shook his head slowly from side to side. “Something tells me you are a whole peck of trouble, Miss Meredith.”

      “She is,” Minnie spoke up, sounding pleased as punch. “It’s her first time driving the buggy alone.”

      “Minnie, don’t tell him that.” Really, she looked bad enough without adding “idiotic, inexperienced driver” to the list. That was what she felt like. Out of her element, when she wanted to fit in so badly. Too badly—maybe that was what the Lord was trying to tell her.

      “You are a right mess.” Shane pulled out the handkerchief again and wiped the white surface across her eyes. This close, she could see there were green threads, too, in his deep blue irises, to match the gold ones, and something noble within.

      There she went, being fanciful again.

      “The good news is that your horse and buggy are fine, aside from the mud.” He folded the cloth to scrub at her nose and cheeks. His nearness was a funnel cloud, pulling her helplessly toward him. “You, miss, I’m not so sure about. Maybe Braden and I had best see you home.”

      “No!” That came out a mite defensive, but she could imagine Mama’s reaction. “Please, if our mother knew there was a mishap, she wouldn’t let me drive again. It’s imperative for me to become a