Homespun Bride (4 page)

In the end, he'd chosen to run instead of marry. In the end, if there had been any truth to his courtship, then his affection for her had paled next to the strength of his fear. At least, that was the way she'd rationalized it. That's why his words were haunting her.
My caring was never in question.

Perhaps his caring had been only that. Caring and not the strong, true love she'd felt for him. Either way, it hardly mattered now. She knew his true measure beneath the handsome charm and solid-appearing values. Thad McKaslin was not a man of his word. He was a coward. A man who ran instead of stayed.

“What about his family? Does he own property?” Henrietta persisted. “That's a fine young man. And handsome. Don't you think, Matilda? Noelle, you must tell me what you know about him. Here's your cloak. We're still attending to our errands in town. I'll not be put off my cause, you know.”

Noelle fumbled with the garment Henrietta pressed into her hands. Certainly she knew that; why had she rehung her cloak in the first place? It simply went to show how tangled up her emotions were. A mess of them, threads of old hurt and confusion and the sharp tang of lost love were as hopelessly knotted. “I'm afraid I know very little about Mr. McKaslin. He left town long ago. I never knew what became of him. I never cared to.”

After she'd finally accepted that he'd broken his vow to her. That he'd left her waiting for a promise he'd never meant to keep.

“Perhaps he left to make his fortune.” There was the rustle of wool as Henrietta slipped into her coat. “Perhaps he has very respectable family back East.”

“I'm afraid I don't know.” Noelle lost count of her steps and had to reorient herself. Three more steps and she was at the door. The handle felt warm from the radiant heat of the fireplace, which was blazing on this frigid, late-winter morning—like her emotional tie to Thad. “But if I were you, I wouldn't depend on Thad McKaslin as a reliable kind of man.”

When she stepped outside, the still morning air seemed to wait expectantly, as if some wonderful thing were about to happen. But what? She lived a quiet life teaching piano and crocheting and sewing for her five cousins' hope chests. The days, while happy, were predictable and routine. Why did it feel as if something was about to change?

Simply her wishful thinking, no doubt. Before she'd lost her sight, she had a love for romantic novels. Or, she reasoned, maybe spring really
was
right around the corner. It was, after all, late January. A month and a few weeks more and March would be storming in. It had been her father's favorite time of the year.

Her father. She missed him so strongly, it was like taking an ax to her midsection. She gripped the rail and froze a moment, drawing in the fresh, icy air. He'd been at her side when she finally accepted that Thad had abandoned her. He'd run away from marrying her. After she confessed, her father had comforted her and reassured her as she cried for the pieces of her shattered heart and broken dreams. Only the death of her parents had hurt with that same keen-edged grief.

I miss you, Papa. She felt the lonesomeness for him as solidly as the boards at her feet. Her knees felt weak as she tripped down the steps. Thad had brought all this up. Simply waltzing into her home, pretending he was such a good dependable man. Why the pretense? She already knew the kind of man he was.

An opportunist, her father had said to her, kindly, while she'd sobbed. She remembered how her mother had come into her room with a steaming pot of tea for all of them. She sure ached for her parents' comfort, their company, everything. They had held her up after her innocent illusions had been so thoroughly destroyed.

If they were still alive, they would be the first to reassure her and to send Thaddeus McKaslin back on his way to wherever it was he'd run off to. Good riddance.

But as she reached the brick walk, she heard the low, deep-throated nicker of a horse's greeting and the chink of steeled shoes shifting in the ice-crusted snow. Was it Thad's horse? Was he still here? And why was she allowing herself to be so upset by him that she hadn't paid enough attention to remember if she'd distinctly heard him riding away or not?

The horse's bridle jingled and she could hear him take a step her way. She held out her hand and the steel-shod hooves padded closer. This time the low nicker was accompanied by the radiant warmth of a horse's big body, and the tickle of whiskers against her fingertips warned her a second before the horse scented her palm and rubbed against her.

Oh, she loved horses. She cherished the warm-silk feel of his muzzle and stroked the animal's nose.

“You are a handsome one,” she said, running her fingers over the length of his nose to his forelock. He snorted as if in answer and pressed into her touch. Joy, warm and quiet, flowed through her. “I miss riding the most but you'll just keep that secret, right? My aunt does not approve of women horseback riding, even sidesaddle.”

The horse seemed likewise offended as he snorted and leaned in, lowering his head to give her better access; at least that's how she chose to think of it. “It's a pleasure to be with a well-behaved horse. That's not usual around here now that my uncle has—”

An angry, buglelike whinny shattered the morning's peace. Noelle spun toward the sound—the stable. That new stallion of Uncle Robert's was so spirited, he was dangerous. “—has decided he's a horseman,” she finished.

Please, don't let my uncle get hurt, Lord.
She took a step off the brick walk and stopped, unsure of the uneven drifts of snow that would be no challenge if she could see them. Not that she could help if there was a problem, but she wanted to help. Robert knew next to nothing about horses, although he was certain he knew everything, the poor, dear, misguided man. Perhaps that's where Thad was, giving her uncle a hand and a word of advice. Robert needed it.

The front door slammed shut and Henrietta barreled down the steps with the speed of a tornado. “Where is my horse? Why hasn't Robert brought out Miss Bradshaw?”

“I don't know why your mare is not hitched up yet. It sounds as if he's having problems with the stallion again.”

“The stallion? What about my mare? He'd best not even contemplate the possibility of my driving to town behind that—that creature! As if that new gelding hadn't been bad enough of an experience. We shall meet peril for certain. Wait here, dear.” Henrietta tromped by on the walk, her shoes striking against the brick and then muffled by the snow.

Noelle imagined her aunt lifting her skirts and wading through the snowdrifts like a Viking conquering the fjords. Since she had to stand alone in the cold, she may as well get better acquainted with Thad's horse. As if the horse agreed, his bridle bit jingled—perhaps he was shaking his head—and then he nosed her hand for more affection.

How could she resist? She savored the little joys of it. The alive feeling of the warm, velvet coat. The rhythmic breathing hot against her hand. The ticklish muzzle whiskers. The heart of the horse as he politely lipped at the pocket of her cloak. She liked him; it was hard not to. Once, in simpler times, she had dreams of horses and living all her life with them—and Thad.

Thad. At least she didn't have to worry about him lingering around, or coming back into her life to stay. His leaving was a certainty. She ran her fingers through the horse's coarse forelock. What was keeping Henrietta's sleigh?

S
eeing her haloed by the frozen mist and chatting with his horse was like being kicked by a bull. He'd been kicked several times, so he knew exactly how it felt. The sight of her knocked the wind from his chest. She looked like his dreams. She looked like his idea of heaven. Always had. Always would.

“So, McKaslin,” Robert Worthington said from the finely built stable's main aisle where he fastened the last buckle on a docile mare's harness. “What do you think of my fine purchase in that stall over there?”

Thad looked up and down the aisle; only a few stalls were occupied and one by a white horse showing his teeth. He wasn't sure exactly what to say to compliment the ill-tempered colt. The scent of newly cut wood and fresh shavings at his feet told him this enterprise of Worthington's was brand-new.

Noelle's aunt marched into sight. “Is that fine purchase the reason my sleigh is not ready? Poor Noelle is out there half-frozen in this cold. She's fragile, you know that.”

“I know, dear. Just had a bit of a problem is all. McKaslin gave me a hand.”

“A problem? It looks like a wild bull got loose in this stable—”

Noelle. Thad's attention swung back to her and stayed there. She was petting Sunny. The mustang was no fool. He was nosing her hand affectionately, looking as though he wanted nothing more in the world than to win a smile from her. Poor fella. Thad knew how he felt. He'd once felt the same way.

Seeing her again—Whew. He froze in place. He'd wanted to avoid her this morning so he wouldn't cause her any pain, but now he realized he wasn't as tough as he liked to think.

He could resist making a mistake like her again, but what he couldn't seem to do was to stop the pain. Why, it was impossible to forget how his love for her had once filled his spirit the way a rising sun filled the hollows of a mountain's peak.

Time to leave, man. He nodded in Worthington's direction. “Good luck with that wild boy of yours.”

Robert looked up from rechecking the bridle buckles and grinned. “You say that like you think I need good luck.”

I think you're gonna need more than that. Thad glanced at the big white stallion, teeth bared and ears plastered flat against his head, and was glad he didn't have to deal with that animal. “I hope you got a good price for him.”

“Cost me a pretty penny.”

That's what Thad was afraid of. “I meant a low price, sir.”

“Well now, he's got excellent confirmation. And his pedigree. Why, it's about as impressive as it can be.”

“I'm not about to argue with you, but personally I like a horse who isn't keen on biting me when I get anywhere near him.” Thad tipped his hat. “Good day to you, ma'am.”

“Uh, well, thank you, young man.” With the ferocity of an army general the fine lady squinted her eyes and looked him up and down. “Do you have relatives up north?”

“I believe so. My father's side of the family.”

“Very well. It showed a fair amount of character to deliver our lost packages. You went out of your way when you didn't need to.”

“I just did what anyone would do.” He took a step away before she could invite him back into the parlor for supper or some such nonsense. He didn't figure that she'd want much to do with him if she knew the truth about the way he'd treated Noelle. “Again, good luck, Mr. Worthington. You be careful when you're handling that stallion.”

“I intend to.” Robert straightened and took the mare by the bit to lead her, but seemed frozen in midstep. He glanced through the wide, open double doors to the picture Noelle made, befriending the gold-and-white mustang. “You wouldn't know a good horseman you could recommend to me, would you? I could use some help around here.”

“I, uh—”
Me.
He clamped his mouth shut before the words could escape. He needed a job, but not that bad. Besides, Noelle wouldn't like that idea. And the notion of facing who he was every day—the man she made him remember. The man she saw as a coward. That's what he felt like, even though he knew it wasn't true.

Maybe Noelle's opinion of him meant more than he'd ever thought. He steeled his chest and took a step back, staring hard at the ground, at his scuffed boots, anywhere but where she stood, framed in silver light. “I'll let you know if I hear of anyone.”

He left the husband and wife to their chatter, keeping his eyes low, feeling the ache of regret tug at him. There she was. He could sense her somehow like warmth on a spring breeze. What did he do? Walk up to her and make pleasant conversation? He didn't reckon she wanted that. He didn't, either.

The trick was to keep control of that spark of caring in his heart. Keep it small and eventually it would snuff right out. That was his hope anyway.

She must have heard him coming because she turned toward him. There was no smile on her face and she stood in shadow. He'd always remembered Noelle as she'd been when he'd left her—she'd never aged or changed for him in memory, but time changed everyone.

He saw that now. The way hard loss and sorrow had changed the shape of her mouth and eyes, no longer wide with an easy, assumed happiness. Her face was as soft as a rose blossom still, but leaner. Time and maturity had sharpened her high cheekbones. Her emerald-green eyes, still so lovely, did not twinkle and smile at him with good humor, the way they once had. The way they never would again.

She was lovelier than ever, but changed. It was the change now he saw, not the similarities to the young woman he remembered.

“You have a very polite buddy,” she said gently, politely. “Unlike my poor uncle's horse.”

“Sunny's the best. I'm lucky to have him.” He didn't bother to hide the 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.”

“As 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.”

“Pleased? 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?”

“We'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.”

“Of course. I suppose a family has to be careful of its reputation.”

“My 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.”

“Yes.”

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—”

“No, 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, especially after all this time, the ragged pieces of her spirit broken. She'd waited at the window for Thad watching the moon rise and the stars wheel across the sky. She stood waiting, shivering as the September night turned bitterly cold. Still she'd waited, believing in the goodness of the man she loved—a goodness that didn't, apparently, exist. She'd believed in a love that wasn't true.

Now, five years later, she felt the burn of that old heartache and gulped hard to keep it buried. The pieces of that shattered love still cut like tiny shards of sharp glass.

At least I know he will move on, she thought.
Please, Lord, let that be soon.

Her world was dark and pragmatic. She set her chin, gathered herself and turned toward her aunt's approaching steps. “You have your letter? I wouldn't want you to face such a perilous trip to town and realize you'd left the letter behind.”

“Exactly.” Henrietta sounded cheerful and it was no trouble at all to imagine her delighting in the prospect of more drama. There was a rustle and shuffle as she gathered her skirts. “I certainly pray we shall not run into any further trouble. Now that Robert has agreed to take that beast of a runaway to the sale this very day, I am most relieved.”

“Yes, but think of whoever buys the gelding,” Noelle pointed out, struggling to put a smile on her face, as Robert took her elbow and helped her into the sleigh. “There is more peril awaiting that unsuspecting buyer.”

Robert chuckled, warm and deep, a sure sign he was amused. “I will make it clear the gelding has certain training problems, so that we won't have that on our consciences.”

“Good.” Noelle patted his hand before she let him go. “Thank you for that. I don't want anyone to get hurt the way—” she swallowed hard, forcing the past back where it couldn't hurt her “—we almost did.”

“And I'll drive you two lovely ladies to town myself, just to make sure there are no more mishaps.”

Henrietta's humph of disapproval was loud enough to disturb the placid Miss Bradshaw. The mare sidestepped in her traces with a quick
clip-clip
on the ice. “Robert, you'll not hitch that beast to this vehicle!”

“Now, my dear, I'll just tie him behind the sleigh. There will be not a single thing to worry about.”

“We shall see when we get safely to town.
If
we get safely to town.” Henrietta gave the lap blanket a sound snap, shaking it out.

Noelle felt the rasp of the blanket fall across her knees. Whatever her losses and lessons in her life, she was so grateful for her wonderful aunt and uncle. Their love, their acceptance and their funny ways reminded her of her own parents. She hooked her arm through Henrietta's and held on tight.

 

By noontime, the freezing fog had been blown apart by a cruel north wind bringing with it the look of snow. Thad reckoned the growing storm cloud in the northeast might bring another whiteout. With the responsibilities at the home place partly his now, too, Thad worried about the livestock. He blew out a breath, knuckled his hat back and glanced around the busy town street.

Angel Falls was still a small town by most standards, but it had grown in the time he'd been away. There were more shops, and the look of the street was fancier, as if the whole place, despite the current recession, was managing to thrive. Fancy ribbons brightened up one window, colorful ladies' slippers another, even here at the far end of Second Street, making him feel out of place as he looked for the land office. But he did spot a bookstore. He'd have to go in there another time.