Read Online The Genuine Lady (Heroines on Horseback) by Sydney Alexander - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Sydney Alexander
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he couldn’t see living in the same town as Hope and her family. Hope and her husband. Hope.
Beyond the Mayfield barn, the prairie stretched out again, jungle green and endless as the sea. Bradshaw was a one-street town yet, and one side looked exactly like the other. Except today, with the color and music and delicious smells of Patty Mayfield’s handiwork dotting the grass and the little stand of cottonwoods that stood knotted together along Bradshaw Creek. He looked for Miss High and Mighty, for the excess of fabric and frippery and the bird feather curling from her silly bonnet, but she had disappeared. There was a little throng gathering near the cottonwoods, and he supposed that was where she had gone, to stand in state and be gaped at by the local yokels. He thought of that tight-lipped accent speaking the homesteaders’ names: Patty, Sven, Johnny, Billy, Suzie, and then he realized, with a ridiculous sense of disappointment, that she had outright refused to speak his Christian name on the ride over. Just that one time, when he’d told her, “Call me Jared,” and she had repeated it so softly…
He wanted to hear her say it again. He needed to hear her say it again. Maybe over and over. Maybe moan it. Maybe scream it.
And then he’d whisper her name against her throat, breathing the sound of it so that her skin trembled beneath him…
And that was when Jared realized that he still didn’t know her name.
CHAPTER SIX
Well, it wasn’t the worst decision she’d ever made, coming to the party. Cherry was feeling quite adored at the moment, and after all the time she had been spending alone, she couldn’t help but enjoy the sensation of being the center of attention. She might never have been the belle of the ball in London, but she had received her share of flattery and gallantry. The rough-hewn citizens of Bradshaw weren’t exactly what she had known before, but still, they were lovely to her.
The well-wishers who had gathered around her were darling folk, really, with their sweet country accents and their funny rustic ways. More than one of the ladies had pressed cloth-wrapped bundles into her hands, full of freshly-baked bread or cookies, and Cherry accepted the parcels, one after another, with promises to return the dish towels or the bandanas or the burlap sacks, and smiling at reassurances that she needn’t bother, she was sure to pass along the favor one day, wasn’t she?
Privately, Cherry wasn’t sure how these women found the time in their day to provide treats to her as well as get through the drudgery of taking care of their own families. She had only Little Edward to concern herself with, and that was exhausting enough. But some of these women had six, seven, eight children! Her eyes followed the little creatures as they rough-and-tumbled out on the prairie. Some clad in patched hand-me-downs, some clad in clean denim and new calico: all in all the children of Bradshaw outnumbered the adults by a goodly number.
Cherry watched a little girl set a tea party on wide flat stones, using bark for plates and curled leaves for cups, and a gaggle of small girls gathered together to partake of the fairy’s feast. They were as close and affectionate as sisters, and she supposed that with those red heads, braids blazing like fire-brands in the mid-day sun, they probably were. Lucky girls. Cherry had always wanted a sister. But her mother had not enjoyed good health, and there had been no children at Beechfields but Cherry.
She felt a sudden stab of jealousy. Looking at their bright faces, so animated in conversation with one another, she felt that all the china tea-sets and porcelain-faced dolls in the world didn’t make up for a childhood spent alone. Without a playmate, she’d been forced to make best friends with first her pony, and later her mare — not the worst fate, to be sure, but these girls would have so much more when they were grown: friends that they had been close to
Beyond the Mayfield barn, the prairie stretched out again, jungle green and endless as the sea. Bradshaw was a one-street town yet, and one side looked exactly like the other. Except today, with the color and music and delicious smells of Patty Mayfield’s handiwork dotting the grass and the little stand of cottonwoods that stood knotted together along Bradshaw Creek. He looked for Miss High and Mighty, for the excess of fabric and frippery and the bird feather curling from her silly bonnet, but she had disappeared. There was a little throng gathering near the cottonwoods, and he supposed that was where she had gone, to stand in state and be gaped at by the local yokels. He thought of that tight-lipped accent speaking the homesteaders’ names: Patty, Sven, Johnny, Billy, Suzie, and then he realized, with a ridiculous sense of disappointment, that she had outright refused to speak his Christian name on the ride over. Just that one time, when he’d told her, “Call me Jared,” and she had repeated it so softly…
He wanted to hear her say it again. He needed to hear her say it again. Maybe over and over. Maybe moan it. Maybe scream it.
And then he’d whisper her name against her throat, breathing the sound of it so that her skin trembled beneath him…
And that was when Jared realized that he still didn’t know her name.
CHAPTER SIX
Well, it wasn’t the worst decision she’d ever made, coming to the party. Cherry was feeling quite adored at the moment, and after all the time she had been spending alone, she couldn’t help but enjoy the sensation of being the center of attention. She might never have been the belle of the ball in London, but she had received her share of flattery and gallantry. The rough-hewn citizens of Bradshaw weren’t exactly what she had known before, but still, they were lovely to her.
The well-wishers who had gathered around her were darling folk, really, with their sweet country accents and their funny rustic ways. More than one of the ladies had pressed cloth-wrapped bundles into her hands, full of freshly-baked bread or cookies, and Cherry accepted the parcels, one after another, with promises to return the dish towels or the bandanas or the burlap sacks, and smiling at reassurances that she needn’t bother, she was sure to pass along the favor one day, wasn’t she?
Privately, Cherry wasn’t sure how these women found the time in their day to provide treats to her as well as get through the drudgery of taking care of their own families. She had only Little Edward to concern herself with, and that was exhausting enough. But some of these women had six, seven, eight children! Her eyes followed the little creatures as they rough-and-tumbled out on the prairie. Some clad in patched hand-me-downs, some clad in clean denim and new calico: all in all the children of Bradshaw outnumbered the adults by a goodly number.
Cherry watched a little girl set a tea party on wide flat stones, using bark for plates and curled leaves for cups, and a gaggle of small girls gathered together to partake of the fairy’s feast. They were as close and affectionate as sisters, and she supposed that with those red heads, braids blazing like fire-brands in the mid-day sun, they probably were. Lucky girls. Cherry had always wanted a sister. But her mother had not enjoyed good health, and there had been no children at Beechfields but Cherry.
She felt a sudden stab of jealousy. Looking at their bright faces, so animated in conversation with one another, she felt that all the china tea-sets and porcelain-faced dolls in the world didn’t make up for a childhood spent alone. Without a playmate, she’d been forced to make best friends with first her pony, and later her mare — not the worst fate, to be sure, but these girls would have so much more when they were grown: friends that they had been close to
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