Patchwork Bride

Of course not. However soon her father talked her mother into changing her mind, it could not come fast enough. First thing tomorrow she would have to face Shane. Dread filled her. The thought of him waiting for her alongside the buggy, reaching out his hand to help her up, being able to listen in on her conversations with Minnie from the front seat, filled her with a burning mix of confusion, hurt and rage.

Well, she didn’t care about his hurtful words. Her pride was wounded, that was all. So what if he didn’t like her? Why would she want him to? She simply didn’t have to like him. She pulled out the chair and sat down, her spine straight, her back to the window. What she needed to do was to banish all thoughts of the man from her head.

Pleased with her plan, she could focus on her sisters’ conversation.

“No, Minnie, I can’t drive you tomorrow.” Tilly smoothed a wrinkle in her skirt. “I wish I could, but I promised Mama I would help her finish your new dress. You are growing like a weed, little sister.”

“I am.” Pleased, Minnie grinned, showing off her adorable dimples. “Pretty soon I ought to be tall enough to ride a wild mustang. Then I could help break next year’s new horses and Papa wouldn’t have to hire anyone to do it.”

“I don’t think that’s likely to happen, not if Mama has anything to say about it.” Worrying the discussion would turn to the hired men, Meredith changed the subject. “What about the day after tomorrow? Can you drive me then, Tilly?”

“I have a meeting at the church that afternoon, but I think we can work it out. Unless Mama has objections about the road conditions. After all, you can’t miss going to your weekly sewing circle.” Her older sister stared at her intently, as if trying to see at something beneath the surface, something Meredith did not want anyone to know. Tilly shook her head, as if she could not figure it out. “I understand not wanting one of the new hired men to drive you. I’m shy around strangers, too.”

Shy? That was hardly the problem. She thought of how she’d bantered with Shane, how he’d made her blush and laugh and quip. She feared her face was heating and her emotions would show and her sisters would guess at the truth.

You don’t like him, Meredith, she reminded herself. It’s impossible. He’s impossible.

“Oh, Meredith wasn’t one bit shy when they met up with us on the road,” Minnie burst out. “She and Shane talked practically the whole way home.”

“Is this true?” Tilly studied her again, her curiosity greater and her scrutiny more intent.

Heat burned her cheeks. She could feel her skin across her face tighten. Surely she was blushing. A dead giveaway. “I was polite to him, nothing more. I assure you of that.”

“But you’re blushing.”

“Because I feel uncomfortable.” That was true. Uncomfortable with the way Shane made her feel, with her hurt dignity and with this discussion. “You know I have plans that have nothing to do with finding a man to marry me right out of school. What would I want with an iterant horseman who is here for two months at the most and then he’ll leave, never to be seen again?”

“I wasn’t thinking of that.” Tilly shrugged, her slender shoulders sagging a notch. The hint of sadness that overcame her was heart-wrenching. “I was wistful, that is all, hoping that true love would come your way, since it is sure not to be coming to mine.”

“Don’t say that.” Meredith slipped onto her knees before her sister, gathering her slim hands in hers. “There is always hope for true love. Emmett is simply busy with his business.”

“Oh, he was never truly interested in me. I was the one. It was all me. I mistook his politeness for more, that’s all.” Although her chin came up and she pasted on a smile, there was no disguising the hint of heartbreak on Matilda’s dear face, a sorrow she kept hidden. “A girl has to have wishes, or what else does she have?”

“God. Family. Principles.” Mama thundered into the room. They had all been so engrossed they hadn’t heard her until she towered over them, glowering. “Some men are more appropriate to love than others, my girls. Now, why aren’t you studying? And, Matilda, shouldn’t you be downstairs sewing?”

“Yes, Mama,” they muttered in unison, Meredith leaping to her feet, Tilly pushing off the bed and Minnie bouncing once before hopping two-footed to the floor.

Meredith glanced over her shoulder, drawn by the lit windows gleaming in the dark evening, unable to stop a deep pinch of regret and, to be honest, a wish that Shane had not been Papa’s hired man. That they had parted ways at the driveway and he had kept riding so she would have been left with the romantic tale of their brief meeting, a moment in time when she could have forever believed in the man and his dimples, his good humor and character. She could have lived the rest of her days with the legend of their meeting and what she had believed him to be.

Now that she knew the truth, there was no legend, no sweetness, no tale of romance. Just the broken pieces of what had never been.

In the long gray shadows of dawn, Shane dragged on his boots by the back door, head pounding and eyes scratchy from what fell far short of a restful night’s sleep. He’d been fitful, unable to drift off on the top bunk of what was a comfortable feather tick, in clean muslin sheets and plenty of blankets. After a hard day’s ride he should have slept hard enough that only Braden’s rough shaking by the arm could have woken him.

“Quit dragging your feet and let’s get the morning started.” Braden growled as he jammed one arm and then the other into his riding jacket. “We’ve got work to do.”

Not that he minded work. No, he thrived on it. He loved every aspect of horse care from the shoveling to the riding. But this morning a dull ache stabbed his temples as he finished tying his boots, winced when the wind caught the door and smacked it against the wall. He grabbed his coat.

Dawn hadn’t yet softened the night’s shadows, but already the horses were stirring, some more enthusiastic than others, nickering for attention and feed. Braden led the first animal out of her stall—a demure white mare—and cross-tied her in the breezeway.

“Get to work.” Braden handed him a pitchfork and left him to take care of business.

A lot must have been on his mind last night because it tried to surface as he worked. He dug the tines into the soiled straw and hiked it into a pile. He worked with quick, even strokes, lifting and turning the fork, making fast work of the roomy stall before moving onto the next. Was Meredith far from him mind?

Not a chance.

Worse than that, he couldn’t stop thinking of home. As merry golden light fell through the cracks in the walls and the double doors open on either end of the barn, he lost his battle to keep sad things buried. Maybe it was this place, he conceded, with its impressive stone-and-wood manor house. The no-expenses-spared stables and fine pedigreed horses reminded him of his family’s stable back home. Not that Father was a horseman by any means, but he took pride in owning the best driving horses in White Water County. Appearances were everything in his family.

His guts still twisted up remembering the pressure he’d felt as the firstborn. The love he’d tried so hard to earn most of his childhood until he finally figured out that if you had to earn it, then it wasn’t love. Not the real thing, anyway.

Although he’d been gone a while, he missed his family. Just because he couldn’t get along with them didn’t mean a lack of love. He thought of Grandmama and her kitchen full of delicious smells and her plain house full of blooming flowers. Mother with her narrow view of the world and her belief that she ought to control what she could of it. His younger brother who was always in and out of one scrape or another. Hard to imagine him buckling down to work in Father’s and Grandfather’s firm and being groomed for politics. He missed the boy’s constant ribbing and antics.

Homesickness tugged at him. There were good things he missed—wrestling with his brother, riding with his dad, his mother’s cookies and his grandmother’s understanding. Sure, he missed home, although he did not want to be there.

“Time to harness up the gray mare for the schoolgirls.” Braden’s announcement rang through the barn like a death knell.

Shane grimaced. In truth, he’d been hoping to put that task off as long as possible. Nothing to be done about it but put aside his pitchfork, leave the rest to Braden and go in search of the old, placid mare.

Sweetie greeted him with hopefulness. Recognizing the gleam in those big brown eyes, he searched his pockets for a sugar cube. She took it daintily from his palm, a polite girl. Hard not to like her. Her beauty wasn’t in long, perfect lines or the quality of her breeding, but in something far more important. He led her gently through the barn to the buggy he’d washed while his hands froze in yesterday’s last bit of daylight and slipped a collar over her neck.

“Whatever happens—” a voice broke the silence behind him “—don’t let Meredith talk you into driving.”

“Yes, Mr. Worthington.” He’d met the patriarch of the family late last night after all the barn work was done. He didn’t have an opinion of the man one way or the other. Worthington hadn’t been as off-putting as his wife and was far friendlier. Shane gave the mare a pat. “I expect the roads to be tough going, so I’d like to get an early start.”

“Wise. I’ll inform the girls.” Robert hesitated like a man with something on his mind.

Here it comes, Shane predicted. He buckled the gray mare into the traces, bracing himself for whatever warning or judgment the wealthy man was about to make. Most likely a threatening warning to stay away from the Worthington daughters.

“It was hard to let Eli go. He had been a fine employee. Always took care of my horses and my girls. I never gave either of them a moment’s worry when they were in his care.” Robert cracked a smile, a masculine hint of Meredith’s, and he had the same stormy blue eyes.

This job meant a lot to him so he would take the warning on the chin. Not let insult to injury show.

“I can read between the lines,” Worthington went on. “The mud on the girls. Mud on the buggy. And poor Sweetie was barrel high. I noticed you cleaned the buggy, boots and tack without saying a word. You helped the girls when they needed it, and I’m much obliged. I can rest easier knowing they are in safe hands with you at the reins.”

Sometimes folks surprised you, Shane thought as he gave the last buckle a tug. Maybe this would be a better assignment than he’d figured, not that he was looking forward to driving Miss Meredith Worthington around town. But this was what Worthington wanted, so he would do it to the best of his ability. “I won’t disappoint you, sir.”

“You say that like a man who has no clue what he’s in for.” Worthington shook his head, retracing his steps. “Meredith is not happy about this. Consider it a word of warning.”

Meredith. As if his thoughts had summoned her, she bustled into the barn, dusted with snowfall and clutching a big stack of schoolbooks in the crook of her arm. If the scowl on her beautiful face was any indication, she was about as thrilled with the situation as he was.

Chapter Five

Her plan to banish Shane Connelly from her thoughts backfired like a Winchester with a jammed cartridge. Meredith swiped snow from her face as she took smaller and smaller steps toward the waiting buggy. He was there, as remote as stone, as unmoving as marble. He did not even seem to be breathing.

Perhaps it was especially difficult for him to be anywhere in proximity to her. She pushed Minnie ahead of her, gently nudging her along so she would reach the buggy first. She’d worried over this moment all night long, whenever dreams would pull her from her sleep, taunting dreams of Shane’s smile, his dimples, the snap of aliveness she’d felt in his presence. Regret had chased her all night long, keeping her sleep fitful and dawn a welcome release. She’d risen out of bed, dreading each step she took, each word to her sisters, every bite at the breakfast table because it led her all inexorably here to this unstoppable moment as he helped Minnie into the buggy’s backseat and then held out his gloved hand.

Memories of that hand in hers mocked her. Worse, he gazed past her, as if she didn’t exist to him. Much worse than she’d anticipated. She didn’t have to worry about meeting his gaze and being reminded of his words last night. She ignored his hand and clamored into the buggy of her own accord, settling her skirts and reaching for the lap robe before he could help.

You can be tougher than this, Meredith. She set her chin, focused her gaze forward, aware of his hesitation, so near to her she could hear him breathe. His gaze scorched her, raking the side of her face like a touch. If she turned and dared to face him, would she see regret softening the rugged angles of his handsome face? Or would she see his disdain?