Abigail's Secret (A Whimsical Select Romance Novella) by Tamara Ternie
Authors: Tamara Ternie
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her person from the Winslow property and the sight of Brice from her near-to-crying eyes.
Her stallions had another idea. They led her wagon into a soft patch of dirt and the cart’s wheel sank and buried itself deep into the earth. She looked toward Brice’s house and watched with dismay as he mounted his horse. He was coming to her rescue.
“Please,” she pleaded to her team. “I’ll give you whatever you want. Carrots, sugar, anything, “she begged. “Just get us the blasted Hell out of here.” Yet as she suspected, it did no good.
“What are you doing alone this far out of town?” he yelled out at her.
His question and tone raised her ire in spite of the fact that he looked dash-fire fetching. Finer than she’d ever seen him. The waves of his coal black hair rested unfashionably wild to his shoulders and Abigail thought the societal blunder suited him well. It afforded him the appearance of having boyish charm, yet the firm creases aside his emerald green eyes provided testimony to his manliness. He stood before her jacketless and wearing only a shirt and vest with baggy grey trousers. Abigail steadied her breath and forbade her inner yearnings to surface.
On ce gaining her composure, Abigail finally said, “As I am a grown woman and not a child, I have it on my own authority to go wherever I wish.”
“Well your cousin should be flogged for alloying you such liberties,” he said angrily. “Of all places in Mecklenburg this is the last place you should find yourself.”
Abigail looked back toward the house and saw the woman standing in the middle of the path. She waved at Abigail and called out a greeting. Abigail reluctantly returned a nod for her salutation, but all she truly wanted to do was pull each tress from the woman’s head for laying her hands so familiarly on Brice. It was then she realized that she agreed with Brice. Being at his home was the last place she should have been on that day, or any other.
“ I’ll be remedying my poor judgment once my wagon is freed.” She snapped opened her silk gilded fan and drove the heat away, regardless that the weather didn’t dictate the need.
“The hell you are.” Brice maneuvered the horses back and forward until the wagon pulled from the hole it had been buried. He then looked at her thoughtfully. “Give me a moment to say goodbye to my guests and I’ll see you back to town.”
“You can go back to your guest now, Brice . I can return just as safely as I came.” She looked down the lane and saw the woman still lingering there. Abigail wondered if the woman was as equally jealous as she was of her. “You can go back to your dallying with that woman.”
His lips bowed into a smile. Brice looked down the lane and nodded his head toward the woman who anxiously awaited his return. “Dallying? Lily Sue?”
“That’s my daughter,” a harsh voice came. The corn stalks opened up and revealed a very large, rusty gut of a man with an exceptionally wide chest and neared to stand seven feet tall. If his size wasn’t intimidating enough, the iron-branded scar on his face was. The letters MS had at one time been seared into his skin and left behind a permanent mark to publicize his shame and crime. She immediately wondered who he had killed.
“This is Edward Smith,” Brice said. “He’s Lily Sue and my late wife’s father.”
“Oh,” is all Abigail could manage, whether out of embarrassment or intimidation from the man’s size and manner, she wasn’t sure. She curtsied and respectfully lowered her head, but Abigail looked away when the man sneered at her.
“Lily Sue said you might need help,” the man snorted out at Brice.
“Wheel w asn’t too deep and I got it out.”
T he man rambled off an unintelligible reply and stomped off down the lane toward his daughter. Abigail wondered what type of woman Brice had married to have been reared by such a horrid man. She had
Her stallions had another idea. They led her wagon into a soft patch of dirt and the cart’s wheel sank and buried itself deep into the earth. She looked toward Brice’s house and watched with dismay as he mounted his horse. He was coming to her rescue.
“Please,” she pleaded to her team. “I’ll give you whatever you want. Carrots, sugar, anything, “she begged. “Just get us the blasted Hell out of here.” Yet as she suspected, it did no good.
“What are you doing alone this far out of town?” he yelled out at her.
His question and tone raised her ire in spite of the fact that he looked dash-fire fetching. Finer than she’d ever seen him. The waves of his coal black hair rested unfashionably wild to his shoulders and Abigail thought the societal blunder suited him well. It afforded him the appearance of having boyish charm, yet the firm creases aside his emerald green eyes provided testimony to his manliness. He stood before her jacketless and wearing only a shirt and vest with baggy grey trousers. Abigail steadied her breath and forbade her inner yearnings to surface.
On ce gaining her composure, Abigail finally said, “As I am a grown woman and not a child, I have it on my own authority to go wherever I wish.”
“Well your cousin should be flogged for alloying you such liberties,” he said angrily. “Of all places in Mecklenburg this is the last place you should find yourself.”
Abigail looked back toward the house and saw the woman standing in the middle of the path. She waved at Abigail and called out a greeting. Abigail reluctantly returned a nod for her salutation, but all she truly wanted to do was pull each tress from the woman’s head for laying her hands so familiarly on Brice. It was then she realized that she agreed with Brice. Being at his home was the last place she should have been on that day, or any other.
“ I’ll be remedying my poor judgment once my wagon is freed.” She snapped opened her silk gilded fan and drove the heat away, regardless that the weather didn’t dictate the need.
“The hell you are.” Brice maneuvered the horses back and forward until the wagon pulled from the hole it had been buried. He then looked at her thoughtfully. “Give me a moment to say goodbye to my guests and I’ll see you back to town.”
“You can go back to your guest now, Brice . I can return just as safely as I came.” She looked down the lane and saw the woman still lingering there. Abigail wondered if the woman was as equally jealous as she was of her. “You can go back to your dallying with that woman.”
His lips bowed into a smile. Brice looked down the lane and nodded his head toward the woman who anxiously awaited his return. “Dallying? Lily Sue?”
“That’s my daughter,” a harsh voice came. The corn stalks opened up and revealed a very large, rusty gut of a man with an exceptionally wide chest and neared to stand seven feet tall. If his size wasn’t intimidating enough, the iron-branded scar on his face was. The letters MS had at one time been seared into his skin and left behind a permanent mark to publicize his shame and crime. She immediately wondered who he had killed.
“This is Edward Smith,” Brice said. “He’s Lily Sue and my late wife’s father.”
“Oh,” is all Abigail could manage, whether out of embarrassment or intimidation from the man’s size and manner, she wasn’t sure. She curtsied and respectfully lowered her head, but Abigail looked away when the man sneered at her.
“Lily Sue said you might need help,” the man snorted out at Brice.
“Wheel w asn’t too deep and I got it out.”
T he man rambled off an unintelligible reply and stomped off down the lane toward his daughter. Abigail wondered what type of woman Brice had married to have been reared by such a horrid man. She had
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