Smoke River Bride

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Authors: Lynna Banning
Tags: Western
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color of Hattie’s roses.
    “I made butter this morning,” she announced. “And bread. Could you eat that?”
    Hell, no, he couldn’t eat that. A man working a ranch needed fuel, a substantial meal in the middle of the day. But, goodness, the hopeful look on her face made his insides jump.
    “Sure,” he said. He reached out to pat her shoulder, and she gave a choked cry and walked right into his arms.
    Well, now! Her body trembled like a newborn calf, and he wrapped both arms around her. “Is it Teddy?”
    She shook her head, her nose rubbing against his shirtfront.
    “School?” Again she shook her head. Thad took a breath. “Is it…me?”
    She started to nod, then shook her head so violently he had to grin.
    “I know I’m gruff and preoccupied, Leah. I guess I’ve got too much on my mind.”
    She tipped her head back and gazed into his eyes. Lord, her eyes were beautiful. “What ‘too much’?”
    “Well, there’s Teddy, for one thing. The boy needs to learn some manners.”
    Again Leah shook her head. “He knows how to behave, Thad. He does not want to be polite. He does not know what to do about…me.”
    Thad could sure understand that; he didn’t know what to do about her, either. He liked holding her, feeling her soft, warm body pressed against his. He thought about kissing her, as he’d done at the church when they were married. He hadn’t expected to soar up to the ceiling at the taste of her lips, and that had scared him.
    He jerked his mind away from that kiss. “Then there’s my field of winter wheat, theone I told you about last night. I worry about what the snow and the rain will do to my crop. Can hardly think about anything else.”
    Except her, he admitted to himself. He knew he wasn’t paying much attention to her, but he sure as hell thought about her. How good her hair smelled, like some spicy rosewater with a hint of lemon. How small she was; how physically strong she was in spite of her delicate build. How surprisingly frank she could be. She’d made him laugh more in one day than he had in the last month.
    He’d like to take time to talk to her, tell her more about the wheat field he had so much riding on, but so far he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He guessed he was afraid she wasn’t going to like what he was trying to do. Or him.
    But he’d married her, hadn’t he? The pain of losing Hattie still sliced at him when he least expected it, but he was not sorry Leah had stumbled into his life. And he wasn’t the least bit sorry he’d brought her to his home and into his son’s life.
    And his own. At the moment he felt both disloyal to Hattie and intrigued at the new prospect before him.
    “I am a stupid man,” he said against hertemple. He let his hand rest on her hair for a brief moment. “Can’t see what’s right in front of me.”
    He’d seen her underwear hanging on the clothesline yesterday evening when he went to do the milking. The little scraps of fabric looked small and dainty—not like a farm wife’s duds. For a moment he’d felt a stab of guilt at admiring them because they weren’t Hattie’s, but they were downright pretty, anyway. So pretty he couldn’t take his eyes off them and he’d tripped over a gopher mound. Dammit, what was right in front of him was…Leah.
    They ate in silence, punctuated by the snap of the cracker bread as Leah broke it into chunks. Thad stared at it, then at her. Leah thought the butter and the blackberry jam would help, but it did not seem to. Thad broke the chunks into tiny bits.
    Heaven help her, she did not belong here. She did not belong anywhere. In China she was an outcast because of her white skin; here she was not accepted because she had straight black hair and tilted eyes. She hated not belonging, always being on the outside.
    Being outside was a cold place. And it was so lonely she wondered if she would survive.

Chapter Eight
    T hat afternoon Leah swept the floor, dusted the sewing cabinet, laid a fire

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