Wolf Creek Widow (Wolf Creek, Arkansas Book 4) by Penny Richards

she would shed no tears over how she looked, just as she’d shed no tears since Elton’s last assault. Things were what they were and all the crying in the world would not change them. Aunt Serena would tell Meg that she was still pretty and that inner beauty was the important thing—not that she was doing too well in that department, either. Rachel would tell her that the weight would return and that her body would soon regain its glow of health. She would tell Meg to be thankful she’d been spared to bring up her children.
    Done with self-pity, Meg drew in a shallow breath and donned the clothes she’d worn the previous day. When she and Nita finished the laundry, she’d heat some water for a bath and make herself presentable. A good scrub always made her feel better.
    She thought of Ace plucking the twig from her hair and wondered in dismay what he’d thought about her appearance. Her body flooded with sudden shame. For all her faults, maybe
because
of her excess vanity, her mother would be the first to tell her that there was no excuse for not taking care of your appearance. Aunt Serena would second that, but for entirely different reasons.
    Filled with a new purpose, Meg went into the kitchen, coaxed the coals into a small fire and put on some coffee. Oh, how she’d love to have one of those pretty white granite stoves Gabe Gentry sold at the mercantile!
    She’d no more than thought it when she pushed the ridiculous notion from her mind. In the scheme of things, a new stove was the last thing she should be thinking about. She went back to her room, picked up her brush and began to work the tangles from her hair. By the time she’d finished and plaited it into a long braid, the coffee was ready and the early-morning sun was streaming through the clean windows.
    After a breakfast of coffee and leftover corn bread fried in a little butter and drizzled with sorghum molasses, Meg took the remainder of the mending and a second cup of coffee to the front porch. She sat in the warmth of the morning sun while she plied her needle. She was finishing her third cup when she saw Nita coming down the lane on her horse. She was alone.
    “Good morning!” the older woman called as she neared the house.
    “Morning,” Meg replied, wondering why Ace wasn’t with Nita.
    “Ace went on into town to pick up the laundry in our rig,” she explained without Meg asking. “He thought it would save a little time. He has my ironing board with him.”
    Meg nodded. She still found it hard to believe that a man as blatantly masculine as Ace Allen would willingly do wash. “So we should have the water hot enough to start by ten or so,” Meg said, calculating how much time the trip both ways would take.
    “I’d say that’s about right,” Nita agreed, sliding from the gelding’s back and hitching him to the post.
    “I was wondering if we could heat some water for a bath when we finish,” Meg asked in a hesitant voice. “I...I’m a mess.”
    “Of course we can,” Nita said readily. “I should have thought of that yesterday. Why don’t we heat your bathwater along with the laundry water and have that behind us before Ace gets back? That way we can throw in your clothes at the end. We have plenty of time.”
    “That sounds wonderful. Thank you.”
    “Have you had breakfast?”
    Meg nodded. “I fried up some corn bread and had it with butter and molasses.”
    “One of my favorites,” Nita said with a smile. “I see you’re working on the mending Ace brought yesterday.”
    “Yes. I didn’t quite get finished last night.” She blushed. “I fell asleep in the rocker.”
    “Well,” Nita said, “that’s not so surprising. You’ve had a busy couple of days, and you’re still recovering. You’ll be back to your old self soon.”
    Her old self. Meg didn’t think she wanted to be her old self. That woman was spineless and took what was dished out to her, whether she deserved it or not.
    “Why on earth