Patchwork Bride Page 10

  He should not be noticing such things.

  “Do you want to take the reins?” He handed them out to her, when he should have stayed silent. But the hope splashing across her dear face told him he’d done the right thing.

  “Do you mean it? You would let me drive?” Her gloved hands were already reaching out, eager for the lines. “I might have to alter my opinion of you.”

  “No need to go to such extremes.”

  “I wasn’t intending a radical change. Just a tiny step up in my tolerance of Shane Connelly.” She bit her bottom lip, as if doing her level best not to break into laughter.

  “Tolerance?” He could joke, too. He laid the thick leather straps across her palm. “I thought we agreed to be friends.”

  “I don’t remembering using that word, and I certainly didn’t mean we should become kindred souls.” Mischief teased the corners of her mouth as she leaned forward to take the reins. Her slender fingers took hold just behind his, and for a moment—one brief span of time—it was as if they were connected by more than the leather straps. “I knew a man like you has his uses.”

  She was baiting him on purpose. She could not disguise the merriment dancing in her gorgeous blue eyes or the curve of her mouth that she could not hold straight.

  “Is that a hint of regard I hear in your voice?” He shook his head, scattering rain off his hat brim.

  “No, perhaps the wind is distorting my words.”

  “It is not distorting my eyesight.” He released the lines, leaving them in her dainty hands, hands that he suddenly wanted to cradle within his own. A crazy wish. “You have to know the impact you have on a man.”

  “Me? What impact could I have?”

  “The sight of you can distract a blind man from a mile away.” He moved his hands over hers, to adjust the tension of her grip, ignoring the wish taking form and life. “Women with your beauty put us men at a disadvantage. You have been so angry with me, and it wasn’t fair. You were the one who caused it. You’re pretty enough to befuddle the most stoic of men.”

  “You think I’m pretty?” Astonishment rounded the soft contours of her mouth. Didn’t she know what she was? As beautiful as a princess in a storybook.

  “No.” He said the word with much emphasis, doing his best to hide the feelings he could not possibly have. “Pretty isn’t a word I would use to describe you. Stunning and amazing, maybe. But no, not pretty. Remember that the next time you come upon a poor man trying to hold on to his senses.”

  “Is that what you’re doing now? Holding on to your senses?”

  “No, because we have a truce.”

  “Can I ask you something, Shane?”

  “Sure.” He’d bared enough of his soul. A little more wouldn’t hurt.

  “Are you in need of glasses?”

  “Not to my knowledge.”

  “A doctor’s examination?”

  “Nope, I’m fit as a fiddle and my mind is, too.” He reached over to draw on the left rein. “Perhaps it’s my good taste that is questionable.”

  “There’s no accounting for taste?”

  “Yes.” The smile blooming through him was like nothing he’d known before. Being with her was like Sunday morning and Christmas Eve all rolled up into one. He leaned to tug on the right rein, guiding the horses. “Best to keep the wagon out of the mud this time.”

  “It’s worse today with the thaw.” Up ahead was the mud hole that had claimed her buggy. The entire way was soupy and sloppy from the fence pole marching down the field on one side all the way to the section posts on the other. “There is no way to see the worst of it. It’s danger lurking in the depths. That’s what I discovered the last time I drove.”

  “You want to keep to higher ground.” He leaned closer yet and the brush of his arm to hers became a steely pressure that scattered her wits. His breath fanned the loose tendrils from her braid. He tugged on both reins, taking charge of the horses. “You see the wagon tracks on the other side of the bog? Keep your eye on them.”

  “I’d rather keep my attention on the mud.” It felt as if no space separated them, as if he were pressed up against her from the powerful length of his thigh to the forceful curve of his shoulder. Her wits were definitely gone right along with every lick of sense.

  “Look beyond the problem, Meredith.” He guided the horses to the left, toward what she was sure was danger. “Try to get the wheels out of the ruts. Line them up and give the horses more speed.”

  “Speed? I would rather go slower when the wagon mires down and tips and we go flying out of the seat and onto the ground.” Had she really said that? She heard shades of Mama. “It’s true. When a girl grows up she turns into her mother. It’s happening already.”

  “Then you had better start listening to me.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea either.” The quip died on her tongue as his hands closed over hers, bands of warm strength that felt intimate in spite of his gloves and her mittens. It was as if they touched skin to skin.

  When he gave the reins a smart snap, the movement traveled up the lines through the bones of her fingers, along her arms and inexplicably working its way into her heart.

  “We’re going to turn over.” She felt dizzy and off balance. Was it the wagon? Or her senses?

  “We’re going to be fine. Trust me.”

  Trust him? The notion sent her into a panic. The wagon bounced, the wheels splashed and mud flecked up from the horses’ hooves. The horses charged forth, trudging through the mud hole with grim determination. One wheel rose up on the high side of the shoulder, tilting the vehicle to the side. She definitely felt as if she were falling, but then the wagon settled with a thud, level and safe. They were on the other side of the mud hole. The horses plodded forward, and Shane released her hands.

  “You did it, Meredith. Good job.” He didn’t move away.

  This close, she could make out the gold and green flecks in his stunning blue irises and see the faint hints of a day’s growth beginning along his rock-solid jaw. If she looked hard enough, she could see deeper into him. There was a sadness like shadows in his eyes and a hint of lonesomeness she did not understand. Why could she sense these things about him, things she did not want to know?

  “Would you come with me to Sunday school tomorrow?” She blurted out the question, surprised by her boldness. Heat stained her face, so she turned her attention to the road ahead and the horses ambling along, the reins heavy in her hands. She felt the tactile brush of his gaze on her face, his curiosity and something deeper she didn’t understand.

  “Why are you asking me?” He sounded as surprised as she was.

  “I know what it’s like to move to a new place and to feel as if you are on the outside looking in.” She liked to think that was really the reason why she had asked him. “Everyone knows one another and have friends, but not you. So I thought you might like to come along. As a friend and not as my family’s hired man.”

  “I would like that very much.” Buttery warm, that baritone, ringing so low she could hardly hear it.

  “I only ask because you’ve been so nice to me,” she told him, hearing the defensiveness in her words, feeling it creep through her. It had to be the truth. It wasn’t as if she was sweet on the man. He had been kind to let her drive. She needed the practice and she appreciated his help.

  “Sure, I understand that.” He didn’t sound troubled by it. “I have need of a friend, Meredith. I’m starting to like you.”

  “You’re not too bad, yourself.” They shared a smile as the house came into sight, their ride together at an end.

  Chapter Nine

  There was something sacred about the light on a Sunday morning, something special that no other day in the week had. Glad to soak in the peace, Shane guided the Worthington family surrey down the muddy town street. The shops were dark and the boardwalks empty. Only those headed to church followed the road through town to the white steepled church on Third Street where families flocked toward the f
ront steps and children raced around in their Sunday finest on the sodden lawn. He drew the vehicle to a stop near the front stone walkway and hopped into the road with a splash.

  “Hurry, young man.” Henrietta Worthington held out her gloved hand. “I will not be late for my ladies gathering.”

  “Sorry, ma’am.” He ignored the censure in her voice. She had been the one running late, forcing the horses to wait and criticizing his driving all the way to town. On top of that, the roads had slowed them. The church bells pealed, tolling the hour, as he aided the woman over to the grass, leaving her to help down the oldest daughter, Tilly, who thanked him primly, and Meredith, who did not thank him at all. Her gaze met his like a punch, and he did his best not to reel from it as he released her elbow.

  “I’ll be waiting for you at the bottom of the basement stairs,” she whispered to him, leaning close enough so that only he could hear. Her breath fanned his cheek pleasantly, and the wind lifted that faint scent of rosewater. The fragrance teased his nose, reminding him of sharing the wagon seat with her, closer than he’d ever been to anyone.

  Henrietta cleared her throat, and he broke away. Tiny tremors of nerves skidded through him. He wasn’t sure if he could hide them completely as he swept the littlest Worthington girl out of the surrey and swung her over the mud.

  “Oh, thank you ever so much, Shane!” Once safely on the grass, Minnie clung to his hand. She was adorable with freckles scattered across her nose and her cherub’s dimples. “You are the best driver we’ve ever had.”

  “Thank you kindly, shortcakes.” He tipped his hat to the girl and bowed, as gentlemanly as he knew how to be. He liked the sound of the child’s giggle, and he liked much more Meredith’s reaction. For one moment her guard slid away, and she smiled at him without reservation. Her happiness in how he’d treated her baby sister was the best reward he could have.

  “Young man!” Henrietta marched toward him, chin up, mouth pursed, her plentiful skirts swirling around her like a whirlpool. “Don’t forget to blanket the horses. When Reverend Hadly begins the final prayer, you are to leave the sanctuary quietly and bring the horses around. I’ll not have my daughters standing overly long in these unacceptably cool temperatures. It is unhealthy.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Hard not to recognize the disapproval in the woman’s manner. She wasn’t going to intimidate him. He met her glare and straightened his shoulders. He had done nothing wrong. He guessed that his friendliness and the familiar look he’d shared with Meredith had not gone unnoticed.

  “That will be all.” With an air of authority, Henrietta dismissed him like a servant, spun on her heels and marched down the walkway, sending any churchgoers in her path scurrying. The woman was formidable, he had to grant her that. Everyone had faults, but there was no mistaking the look of maternal love on her face as she held out her hand to Minnie and an arm to draw Meredith to her side. Matilda followed, their conversation a part of the general din of the growing crowd, the family’s closeness a precious blessing.

  Love was something his family had lacked. He’d grown up understanding duty, hard work and loyalty, but he had not known love. His maternal grandmother had been his only example of that emotion in his childhood and she had taken it with her when she’d passed away. He didn’t know a whole lot about love except to recognize it in others. Maybe that was why he had chosen a nomad’s life. It was easier to move on and never put down roots than to stay and try to be something he was not.

  As he watched Meredith, something strange happened. He started wondering about roots.

  “You! Hurry up there. We’re waiting.” An impatient driver pulled up behind the Worthingtons’ vehicle and although there was plenty of space, he seemed annoyed not to be closer to the walkway.

  “Hold your horses.” Shane barely glanced at the fine surrey behind him, the man scowling at him as if he owned all rights to the road.

  “Hi there!” A child’s voice called above the noises in the churchyard. Edward, the little boy from the muddy hole the other day.

  “Howdy,” he called out and tipped his hat. The horses jerked the surrey forward, and in the crowd of so many people it was Meredith his gaze arrowed to. Meredith his pulse slowed for. She was with her friends now, chatting excitedly with them. The swish of her bright pink skirt, the lark song of her laughter, her wholesome joy stood out to him like color in a world of gray. He eased the horses to a stop alongside the road in full view of the woman.

  Even when he turned his back to her to climb down and tie the team, his ears searched the winds for the melody of her voice and the music of her laughter. He glanced over the backs of the horses as he blanketed them, captivated by her straight, willowy posture, the tumble of her gold hair and the graceful way she moved with her friends toward a door at the side of the church. He stopped breathing when she disappeared from his sight. He stood aching for her like nightfall missing the sun.

  It’s not as if I’m sweet on the girl, he told himself as he crossed the road. He could always hope the tangle of emotions locked away in his chest had more to do with his lonesomeness than true interest. And if a tiny voice at the back of his mind wanted to argue, then he simply did not have to listen.

  “I saw you at the school yard the other day.” A female voice cut through his thoughts.

  He blinked, turned on his heel, not knowing exactly where he was. He’d been so wrapped up in his thoughts that he hadn’t realized he was standing on the church lawn. The grass squished and squeaked beneath his boots. Someone—one of Meredith’s friends?—was hurrying toward him. She had dark hair and finely tailored clothing. Pearls gleamed at her throat. Gold glowed from the rings on her hands and from the expensive brooch pinned to her cloak. With her carefully coiffed appearance and a Godey’s Lady’s Book look, she was the kind of girl his mother would rave over.

  Not one of Meredith’s friends, if he remembered right.

  “Aren’t you the Worthingtons’ new driver?” She flashed him a coquettish smile and tilted her head to one side, as if doing her very best to appear charming. “I’m Narcissa Bell. I know your name is Shane Connelly because I overheard Meredith say so.”

  Narcissa Bell. That name sounded familiar. It could have been mentioned in one of the conversations he’d tried not to listen to while conveying the girls around. He scanned the churchyard, looking for help. Of the people streaming past either toward the church’s front steps or the basement, not one of them looked his way. Looked as if he was on his own with this problem.

  “I couldn’t help noticing how you handle horses.” Her compliment was a purr.

  Great. He knew exactly what she was up to. Not that a girl of society would be interested in a working man, so there had to be some other motive.

  “You have a strong way with them and a gentle touch. I admire that so much.” She batted her long dark lashes, gazing up at him sweetly.

  “Gotta go.” Escape was his only response. He hoofed it away as fast as he could. He didn’t want to look back, but he was fairly sure the girl followed him.

  “Shane! There you are.” Meredith marched through a small crowd of schoolboys, scattering them as she advanced like Sherman on Atlanta. Fire blazed in her eyes and her dresses snapped with the fury of her pace. “What are you doing? I have been waiting to introduce you and here you are making cozy with Narcissa.”

  “Shane and I were having the most wonderful conversation.” Narcissa caught up to him and grasped his arm, holding on with a surprising amount of strength for such a fragile thing. “I’m so sorry he forgot all about you, Meredith, but as you can see—”

  “Excuse me, miss.” Heat burned across his face as he twisted away from the girl’s iron clutches. Never had he been more uncomfortable in his life. One girl using her wiles on him, the other enraged and passersby were starting to notice.

  “I’ll be happy to walk in with you.” Narcissa tripped after him and he moved his arm before she could latch on to it again.

  “Go ahead. I do
n’t care.” Meredith turned on her heel, her face red, her lovely hands fisted. She stormed away, back stiff, shoulders bunched, her skirts rustling furiously.

  “Excuse me.” With a curt nod, he broke away from the manipulative debutante. He had to run. Meredith might be willowy and petite, but she was a powerful force. He caught up to her at the open door.

  “It wasn’t my fault,” he quickly explained.

  “When it comes to boys, it never is.” She emphasized the word with a hint of distaste, as if to make clear he’d gone down a step in her estimation.

  “I’m no boy.” He settled his hand on her shoulder, knowing she would turn toward him, knowing there were more emotions buried beneath her anger. He wanted her to understand. “I see what that girl is trying to do to you. I’m not interested in her.”

  “This is not about interest.” Pride. Meredith’s chin went up and she spun way in a swirl of golden curls and pink satin. “I only wanted to warn you, but I can see you’ve made up your own mind about Narcissa Bell.”

  “She approached me. I’m perfectly innocent.”

  “If you want to resume your acquaintance with her, you might want to sit well away from me,” Meredith tossed airily over her shoulder as she led the way down the narrow stairs. “Narcissa and I have never gotten along since she insulted my sisters and spread horrible rumors about me when I was new to school, but if you want to befriend her, be my guest. That’s your choice. Maybe you were made for each other.”

  “I didn’t mean to betray our friendship.” He gentled his voice. He’d forgotten how childhood rivalries could be, how cruelties could build upon cruelties. He’d felt the sting of those once as a boy. He hadn’t forgotten. He hated that Meredith was so upset. Surely she wasn’t jealous. He puzzled on that as he held up his hands. “We’re in a church. Surely you can forgive me?”