Homespun Bride by Jillian Hart Page A

affection he felt. “Pardon me, your uncle seems like a fine man but not that good with horses. I’m worried about that stallion in there.”
    â€œAs am I. My uncle is inexperienced with horse handling. He’s city raised.” She turned her attention back to Sunny, who didn’t seem to mind more petting a bit. “My aunt is not pleased with this notion of his to quit the bank and realize his dream of raising horses.”
    â€œPleased? Nah. It’s worse than that. When I left, she was lighting into him real good.” Thad came close to reach for the reins. “Doesn’t a family like this have hired stable help?”
    â€œWe’re between hands right now. Henrietta disapproved of the last one’s interest in one of her daughters—my cousins. Two are in town at school, and two more were sent away to finishing school. That’s where Angelina will be next year, especially if another stable boy becomes interested in her again.”
    â€œOf course. I suppose a family has to be careful of its reputation.”
    â€œMy aunt seems to think so. Listening to her, it would be impossible to find anyone good enough for her daughters to marry.” Noelle kept a careful lid on her heart. Hearing the creak of the saddle and the jingle of the bridle as he obviously gathered the reins so he could mount up, she stepped back so he could leave. Good. She didn’t have anything to say to him that hadn’t already been said.
    He was the one who seemed to be lingering. “Well, now, I’d better get along.”
    â€œYes.”
    Perhaps she’d answered too quickly. Perhaps that single word had been too sharp. She hadn’t meant it to be, but it was too late to change the awkward silence that settled between them like the frigid air. She was sorry about that. “I shouldn’t have—”
    â€œNo, don’t.” He stopped her with a hand to her arm. “You have every right to hate me.”
    She didn’t hate him, but she couldn’t seem to correct him, either. His touch made a sweet, heartfelt power sweep through her, and it was unsettling. In memory came the summer’s heat beating on her sunbonnet, casting a blue shade from the bonnet’s brim, the scent of fresh cinnamon rolls and ripening wild grasses, and the pleasantly rough texture of Thad’s large hand engulfing hers. Grass crushed beneath her summer shoes as they left their picnic basket and strolled near the river’s edge.
    The memory of color and shape and sight came, too. She remembered the way Thad’s thick, collar-length hair shone blue-black with the sunlight on it. His eyes were the honest blue of the Montana sky before sunset. She could see again the shape of his sunbrowned, handsome face, rugged with high slashing cheekbones and a strong blade of a nose. His jaw had been cut square and stubbornly; she supposed it still was.
    The horse—Sunny—gave a low nicker of complaint. Thad’s hand fell away from her arm, the bridle jingled and Thad spoke. “Looks like your horse and sleigh are ready to go.”
    The past spiraled away, bringing her solidly into the present with not even the memories of images and color before her eyes.
    In darkness, she stood shivering in the cold, listening to the clip-clop of the mare, Miss Bradshaw’s gait and the faint hush of the sleigh’s runners on the icy crust of snow. Hurt rose up like a cold cutting fog until it was all she could feel.
    As if from a great distance she heard her aunt and uncle saying goodbye to Thad, she heard the beat of his steeled horseshoes on the icy ground and felt the tears of the girl she’d used to be, the girl who believed in love and in the goodness of the man who was riding away from her. Even now.
    Please let him move on, Lord, she prayed as Henrietta’s no-nonsense gait pounded in her direction. Please take this pain from my heart.
    She didn’t want to feel,