Short Straw Bride by Dallas Schulze

little smile. “Do play something, precious.”
    “Only if Mr. McLain promises to make allowances. I feel a little shy. I don’t often perform for anyone but the closest family.”
    “You played two weeks ago at my house with half a dozen people watching,” Cora said. “Didn’t look shy at all, then.”
    “I’m sure no one needs to make allowances for your performance, Miss Williams.” Luke spoke quickly, staving off the explosion he could see building in his hostess’s face. “I’d enjoy hearing you play.”
    About as much as I’d enjoy having a tooth pulled.
    Anabel conjured up a pleased blush before turning to the piano, where her music, by coincidence, of course, just happened to be laid out. It didn’t take more than a few measures for Luke to realize that Miss Brown was either completely tone deaf or a terrible liar. Anabel might have a natural talent but it sure as hell wasn’t for piano playing.
    He was starting to wonder how much of this he’d be expected to suffer through when Eleanor came to the door of the parlor. She didn’t speak and no one else seemed to notice her presence but Luke knew the moment she appeared.
    As Daniel had said, there wasn’t much to her, but what there was was very neatly packaged, Luke thought, admiring the feminine softness of her figure. After all, when it came to women, a man didn’t need more than an armful and Eleanor looked as if she’d provide plenty to hold on to on a cold winter’s night.
    He was grateful to see that she’d left off the ugly hat she’d been wearing both times he’d seen her. Her hair was drawn back from her face, but the severe style was softened by the delicate fringe of soft curls that had escaped to frame her face. He found himself wondering what her hair looked like when it was down. Would it curl over a man’s hands, pulling him closer to her? And would she welcome a man’s passion or be frightened by it?
    He was surprised to realize that he was becoming aroused just looking at her. Irritated with himself, he looked away, turning his eyes to where Anabel sat abusing the piano keys, thereby missing the wistful look Eleanor turned in his direction.
    Though he certainly wouldn’t choose a wife based solely on her cooking skills, Luke was pleased to find that Eleanor’s were more than adequate. He and Daniel had hired a cook but he’d quit almost a month ago and since then, they and the hands had been cooking for themselves. Even when they’d had a cook, the food had been less than inspired. The meal spread out before him was the best he’d had since his mother’s death. The biscuits were as close to pure heaven as he’d ever eaten in his life. He said as much, and from the startled look Eleanor shot him, he suspected few compliments came her way.
    “Thank you.” Her voice was low and soft, just as he remembered it, and Luke added another item to his list of prerequisites for a wife—a pleasant speaking voice. He didn’t want to spend the rest of his life with a woman with a voice like a cat who’d got its tail caught under a rocking chair.
    Anabel, who’d been seated next to Luke, looked annoyed that someone had noticed her cousin. When Hiram Danvers seconded Luke’s comment about the biscuits, her pout became a little less studied and not nearly as pretty as it had been. Eleanor looked uncomfortable with the attention being given her and Luke decided that modesty was a good attribute in a woman.
    Though Luke participated in the conversation, his attention was centered on the dark-haired girl across the table from him. He saw nothing to make him think his first assessment had been in error. The more he watched Eleanor Williams, the more convinced he became that she’d make a suitable wife. Her looks were pleasant, her demeanor quiet—she was the very picture of the docile bride he’d described to his brother.
    When the meal ended, Eleanor rose and began to clear the table. Luke noticed that neither Anabel nor her