Homespun Bride

So, he hadn’t been as nameless as he’d hoped. She had recognized him. Don’t let that affect you, man, he told himself, but it was impossible. He’d hoped to spare her this, nothing could come of digging up the past, rehashing things that could not be fixed. They were both changed people now. Strangers.

Why, then, was the small flame of tenderness in his chest struggling to life again? It was tenderness in a distant sort of way, in a wish-her-well sort of way. It could never be anything more. He wouldn’t let it be.

All he had to do was to look around. When he’d been here before, a blizzard’s heavy downpour had cut off his view of this grand home, the elaborate spread, the plentiful fields that would yield quality wheat. Such a place could not compete with the claim shanty he lived in now, behind his brother’s modest home. Such a place could not compete with the land he planned to buy—when he found the right place that he could afford, that is.

No, there was no storm now to hide the differences between him and Noelle. The differences, which had always separated them, always would.

Henrietta Worthington gasped. “Noelle! Shame on you. You’ve known who this man is this entire time? Why haven’t you said anything? And why don’t we know this friend of yours? Come in—”

“He is no friend of mine. Not anymore.” She cut off her aunt with her gentle alto, giving no real hint of the emotion beneath.

Anger? Bitterness? Or was it nothing at all? Probably the latter, Thad realized. Lost love first left hurt and anger in its wake, then bitterness, and finally it was forever gone, leaving not so much as ashes to show for it or an empty place for all the space and power it had taken over one’s heart.

Proof that love was simply a dream, not real or lasting at all.

“I’d best be going.” He gave Noelle one last look. Figured this would be the last time they would come face-to-face. He didn’t intend to spend much time on this side of the county. He didn’t intend to play with fire; he’d only get burned if he tried. He knew that for certain. All he had to do was gauge it by the narrowing of the aunt’s gaze, as if she were taking his true measure.

And Noelle, what would she see in him now if she had her sight? Probably the man who sweet-talked her out of one side of his mouth and lied to her out of the other.

He took a step back, already gone at heart. “Not that it’s my business, Mrs. Worthington, but don’t go driving that black gelding again. He’s no lady’s horse. It’s not worth your lives if he bolts a second time.”

It was Noelle who answered, who’d stepped into the threshold with her wool cloak folded over one arm, staring directly at him. “That sounds as if you care, and how can that be?”

“My caring was never in question.” He took another step back and another. “I’ll always want the best for you. Take good care of yourself, darlin’.”

“I’m not your darling.” She tilted her head a bit to listen as he eased down the steps. “Goodbye.”

His steady gait was answer enough, ringing against the board steps and then the bricks and the hard-packed snow. She felt the bite of the cold wind and something worse. What could have been. Thad was a lost path that would be forever unknown, thank the Lord. She thought of all the reasons why that was a good thing, but his words haunted her. Was he simply saying the easiest thing, or part of the truth, or was there more truth to tell?

She told herself she wasn’t curious. Truly. She didn’t want to know the man he’d become. So why did she wait until she heard the creak of a saddle and the faint jangle of a bridle, a horse sidestepping on the icy crust of deep snow before she stepped back into the warmth and closed the door?

“Noelle Elizabeth Kramer!” Henrietta burst out. “Why didn’t you tell me you knew that man?”

“I don’t. Not any longer. That’s simply the truth.” Why did she feel emptier as she hung her coat back on the tree? “I knew Thad long ago before, from my school days. As it turned out, I did not know him very well at all.”

Henrietta fell uncharacteristically silent, and Noelle wondered if her aunt was compiling a list of questions on the man’s character and wealth. Which would be completely expected, but Thad was bound to be a disappointment to her aunt’s high standards for an acceptable beau for one of her daughters.

From the corner of the parlor, Matilda gasped. “Do you mean he once courted you?”

“No, there was no courtship.” No official one. Why it shamed her now, she couldn’t begin to explain. It had all seemed terribly romantic to a sixteen-year-old girl with stars in her eyes and fairy tales in her head, to secretly meet her beloved.

Oh, it had been terribly innocent; Thad had been respectful and a complete gentleman, had never dared to kiss her even after he’d proposed to her. But now, looking back with disillusionment that had forever shattered those fairy tales and dimmed the stars, she could see a different motive. Not a romantic one, but a less than noble one. He’d courted her behind her parents’ backs, purposefully fooling them, and for what?

In the end, he’d chosen to run instead of marry. In the end, if there had been any truth to his courtship, then his affection for her had paled next to the strength of his fear. At least, that was the way she’d rationalized it. That’s why his words were haunting her. My caring was never in question.

Perhaps his caring had been only that. Caring and not the strong, true love she’d felt for him. Either way, it hardly mattered now. She knew his true measure beneath the handsome charm and solid-appearing values. Thad McKaslin was not a man of his word. He was a coward. A man who ran instead of stayed.

“What about his family? Does he own property?” Henrietta persisted. “That’s a fine young man. And handsome. Don’t you think, Matilda? Noelle, you must tell me what you know about him. Here’s your cloak. We’re still attending to our errands in town. I’ll not be put off my cause, you know.”

Noelle fumbled with the garment Henrietta pressed into her hands. Certainly she knew that; why had she rehung her cloak in the first place? It simply went to show how tangled up her emotions were. A mess of them, threads of old hurt and confusion and the sharp tang of lost love were as hopelessly knotted. “I’m afraid I know very little about Mr. McKaslin. He left town long ago. I never knew what became of him. I never cared to.”

After she’d finally accepted that he’d broken his vow to her. That he’d left her waiting for a promise he’d never meant to keep.

“Perhaps he left to make his fortune.” There was the rustle of wool as Henrietta slipped into her coat. “Perhaps he has very respectable family back East.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know.” Noelle lost count of her steps and had to reorient herself. Three more steps and she was at the door. The handle felt warm from the radiant heat of the fireplace, which was blazing on this frigid, late-winter morning—like her emotional tie to Thad. “But if I were you, I wouldn’t depend on Thad McKaslin as a reliable kind of man.”

When she stepped outside, the still morning air seemed to wait expectantly, as if some wonderful thing were about to happen. But what? She lived a quiet life teaching piano and crocheting and sewing for her five cousins’ hope chests. The days, while happy, were predictable and routine. Why did it feel as if something was about to change?

Simply her wishful thinking, no doubt. Before she’d lost her sight, she had a love for romantic novels. Or, she reasoned, maybe spring really was right around the corner. It was, after all, late January. A month and a few weeks more and March would be storming in. It had been her father’s favorite time of the year.

Her father. She missed him so strongly, it was like taking an ax to her midsection. She gripped the rail and froze a moment, drawing in the fresh, icy air. He’d been at her side when she finally accepted that Thad had abandoned her. He’d run away from marrying her. After she confessed, her father had comforted her and reassured her as she cried for the pieces of her shattered heart and broken dreams. Only the death of her parents had hurt with that same keen-edged grief.

I miss you, Papa. She felt the lonesomeness for him as solidly as the boards at her feet. Her knees felt weak as she tripped down the steps. Thad had brought all this up. Simply waltzing into her home, pretending he was such a good dependable man. Why the pretense? She already knew the kind of man he was.

An opportunist, her father had said to her, kindly, while she’d sobbed. She remembered how her mother had come into her room with a steaming pot of tea for all of them. She sure ached for her parents’ comfort, their company, everything. They had held her up after her innocent illusions had been so thoroughly destroyed.

If they were still alive, they would be the first to reassure her and to send Thaddeus McKaslin back on his way to wherever it was he’d run off to. Good riddance.

But as she reached the brick walk, she heard the low, deep-throated nicker of a horse’s greeting and the chink of steeled shoes shifting in the ice-crusted snow. Was it Thad’s horse? Was he still here? And why was she allowing herself to be so upset by him that she hadn’t paid enough attention to remember if she’d distinctly heard him riding away or not?

The horse’s bridle jingled and she could hear him take a step her way. She held out her hand and the steel-shod hooves padded closer. This time the low nicker was accompanied by the radiant warmth of a horse’s big body, and the tickle of whiskers against her fingertips warned her a second before the horse scented her palm and rubbed against her.

Oh, she loved horses. She cherished the warm-silk feel of his muzzle and stroked the animal’s nose.

“You are a handsome one,” she said, running her fingers over the length of his nose to his forelock. He snorted as if in answer and pressed into her touch. Joy, warm and quiet, flowed through her. “I miss riding the most but you’ll just keep that secret, right? My aunt does not approve of women horseback riding, even sidesaddle.”

The horse seemed likewise offended as he snorted and leaned in, lowering his head to give her better access; at least that’s how she chose to think of it. “It’s a pleasure to be with a well-behaved horse. That’s not usual around here now that my uncle has—”

An angry, buglelike whinny shattered the morning’s peace. Noelle spun toward the sound—the stable. That new stallion of Uncle Robert’s was so spirited, he was dangerous. “—has decided he’s a horseman,” she finished.

Please, don’t let my uncle get hurt, Lord. She took a step off the brick walk and stopped, unsure of the uneven drifts of snow that would be no challenge if she could see them. Not that she could help if there was a problem, but she wanted to help. Robert knew next to nothing about horses, although he was certain he knew everything, the poor, dear, misguided man. Perhaps that’s where Thad was, giving her uncle a hand and a word of advice. Robert needed it.

The front door slammed shut and Henrietta barreled down the steps with the speed of a tornado. “Where is my horse? Why hasn’t Robert brought out Miss Bradshaw?”

“I don’t know why your mare is not hitched up yet. It sounds as if he’s having problems with the stallion again.”

“The stallion? What about my mare? He’d best not even contemplate the possibility of my driving to town behind that—that creature! As if that new gelding hadn’t been bad enough of an experience. We shall meet peril for certain. Wait here, dear.” Henrietta tromped by on the walk, her shoes striking against the brick and then muffled by the snow.

Noelle imagined her aunt lifting her skirts and wading through the snowdrifts like a Viking conquering the fjords. Since she had to stand alone in the cold, she may as well get better acquainted with Thad’s horse. As if the horse agreed, his bridle bit jingled—perhaps he was shaking his head—and then he nosed her hand for more affection.

How could she resist? She savored the little joys of it. The alive feeling of the warm, velvet coat. The rhythmic breathing hot against her hand. The ticklish muzzle whiskers. The heart of the horse as he politely lipped at the pocket of her cloak. She liked him; it was hard not to. Once, in simpler times, she had dreams of horses and living all her life with them—and Thad.

Thad. At least she didn’t have to worry about him lingering around, or coming back into her life to stay. His leaving was a certainty. She ran her fingers through the horse’s coarse forelock. What was keeping Henrietta’s sleigh?

Chapter Four

Seeing her haloed by the frozen mist and chatting with his horse was like being kicked by a bull. He’d been kicked several times, so he knew exactly how it felt. The sight of her knocked the wind from his chest. She looked like his dreams. She looked like his idea of heaven. Always had. Always would.