Homespun Bride. Jillian Hart

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      “We didn’t fall into the river. The sleigh stopped before that could happen. Fortunately.” Noelle knew she would never understand why this runaway horse had been stopped short of disaster, when another one hadn’t. Why the stranger had been in the right place at the right time to help them—this time. There was a greater mystery troubling her, though. Their rescuer. She wouldn’t stop wondering about that man—against all reason and all wisdom.

      “Divine intervention, beyond all doubt.” Matilda sounded so sure. “Mama said that man was an angel. She said she wasn’t sure how he’d been able to come through the storm like that and to stop that new horse of Papa’s just in time. Then he disappeared like he was called up to heaven.”

      “He took my hand to help me out of the sleigh and, trust me, he was a man and nothing more. He was no angel.”

      “Then how did he disappear?”

      “It was a blizzard. All he had to do was walk three feet and he would be invisible. You know how your mother is.”

      “Yes, but it’s a better story that way.” Matilda sighed, a girl of nineteen still dreaming of romance. “Do you think they exist?”

      “Angels?”

      “No, of course they do. I mean, dashing, honorable men who ride to a lady’s rescue.”

      “Only in books, I’m afraid.”

      “But the stranger, he—”

      “No.” Noelle cut her cousin off as kindly as she could and pulled her covers up to her chin. “He was probably mounted up and at the edge of town when the gelding broke away. I heard other men shout out to try to stop the horse. He himself said he only did what anyone would do.”

      “You don’t sound grateful.”

      “Oh, I am. Deeply.” She’d done her best to try to keep her calm; as she’d told her aunt, all’s well that ends well. But the truth was, about midway through supper the calm had worn off and she’d trembled in delayed fear and shook through most of the evening. Now, she felt worn-out and heartsick.

      Why hadn’t Thad introduced himself? Why had he used her blindness against her? He knew she couldn’t look at his face and recognize him, so he’d chosen to stay safely in the dark. Certainly no hero, not in her book, she thought, knowing that was the broken pieces of her heart talking, apparently still a bit jagged and raw after all this time. He’d been the one to leave her waiting at her window, with no note, no one to break the news to her, nothing.

      She squeezed her eyes shut, as if that could stop the hurt from flooding her spirit. It was a long time ago, and it didn’t matter now.

      Put it out of your mind, she ordered, but her heart didn’t seem to be listening. She would never forget the way it had felt to wait through the heat of the September afternoon and into the crisp twilight and refuse to give up on him. Vowing to wait however long it took, that’s how much she believed in him. How strong her love. But as the first stars popped out in the ebony sky and the cool night set in, she’d had to accept the truth.

      Thaddeus McKaslin, the man she’d loved with her entire soul, had changed his mind. Not the strong stalwart man she’d dreamed him to be, but a coward who couldn’t tell the truth. Who couldn’t commit. Who’d changed his mind, broken his promise and left town without her.

      Why was he back after all this time?

      Sharp footsteps knelled in the hallway. “Girls! I know you’re in there talking. Lights out! It’s past your bedtime.”

      “Yes, Mama,” Matilda answered meekly.

      Noelle knew her cousin was rolling her eyes, greatly burdened by her mother’s strict role in her life. She herself had been that way once, but it had taken tragedy and maturing into an adult for her to understand the love that had been behind her mother’s seemingly controlling behavior. Love, the real kind, was what mattered.

      “Good night, girls.” Henrietta’s steps continued down the hallway to check on her other children.

      “Good night, Matilda.” Noelle curled onto her side, listening to the rustle of bedclothes and the squeak of the mattress ropes as her cousin leaned to put out the light.

      She tried to let her mind drift, but her thoughts kept going back to Thad. To his questions as he’d walked her to the door. He’d asked about her blindness and her parents and her unmarried state. She added one more silent prayer to the others she’d said, as she did every night before she fell asleep, kneeling beside her bed moments earlier. Please watch over him, Father. Please see to his happiness.

      If a tear hit the pillow, then she was certain it was not hers. The storm droned and, finally warm enough, Noelle let sleep take her.

      Thad put away the last of the dishes and hung the dish towel up to dry. “You all set for the night, Ma? Is there anything else I can do for you?”

      “Not one thing. You’ve been a great help. You’ve had a long day, too. You go put your feet up and read some of the newspaper with your brother.”

      His older brother, Aiden, gave him a forbidding look over the top of the local paper.

      “I’ll go on over to the shanty, then, where my books are. Good night.”

      “I’ll make pancakes tomorrow morning just the way you like them.” Ida glowed at the prospect and untied her apron. “Good night, son.”

      Aiden didn’t look up from his reading. “’Night.”

      The clock was striking nine as he closed the back door behind him. He had to fight the blizzard across the yard and through the garden to his dark, frozen shanty. Typical Montana weather, snowing just when you thought there couldn’t be any more snow left in the skies.

      He found his home dark and empty and cold. As he knelt to stir the banked embers, air fed and sparked the coals. They glowed dull red and bright orange and he carefully added coal until flames were licking higher and bright enough to cast eerie shadows around the tiny simple dwelling.

      He left the door open and the draft out, keeping his eye on the fire as he pulled the match tin down from the high corner shelf. Ice shone on the nail heads in the walls and on the wooden surface of the table. The lantern was slick with ice when he went to light it.

      This was not the Worthington manor. Then again, he wouldn’t want it to be. He hooked his boot beneath the rung of his chair and gave it a tug. Noelle was as unwelcome in his thoughts as the bright red hatbox on his corner shelf.

      Just showed that what he’d come to believe in the last five years was true. The good Lord had better things to do than to watch over an average working man like him.

      The shanty was warmer, so he closed the stove door and drew his Shakespeare volume down from the bookshelf. While he read of lives and love torn apart for the better part of two hours, Noelle was never far from his thoughts. He knew she never would be again.

      When the shelf clock struck ten, he closed the book and got ready for bed. He shivered beneath the covers trying to get warm, and he prayed for her as he did every night. As he had for the last five years.

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