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 haveforever 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 wasalways in and out of one scrape or another. Hard to imagine him
“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 haveforever 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 wasalways in and out of one scrape or another. Hard to imagine him
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