Read Online Three Times a Bride by Loretta Chase - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Loretta Chase
Ads: Link
forward to drape the horse’s reins over the saddle and get a grip on the saddle horn, she felt the powerful play of muscles in his chest and arms. A shiver of awareness went down her spine as he swung from the saddle and reached up to lift her down.
“I can manage by myself,” she said.
The protest came too late. Before she could so much as blink, he seized hold of her waist. Placing her hands on his shoulders, she kept her gaze locked with his as he lifted her easily from the saddle.
“I don’t want you managing by yourself,” he said huskily. “Not with eight of us here to help you. Just you remember that.”
She was glad to note that his solemn, almost stern expression was belied by a slight smile flirting at the corners of his mouth. She wondered if he was smiling because he’d somehow sensed she’d been wondering how it might feel if he kissed her again. At the thought, a flush began creeping up her neck.
He was standing with his back to the sun, and his Stetson cast a shadow over his burnished features. Even with the lack of light, however, his smoky eyes had a lustrous glow. As he drew his gaze over her, she felt powerless to move and wasn’t certain she wanted to. As she’d noted last night, there was something about Clint that captivated her. What or why was a true puzzle, but the moment he looked at her with those warm, gray-blue eyes of his, she felt sort of, well, boneless. But that was just plain silly.
Grasping her elbow in a large, capable hand, he helped her step up onto the porch. “We would’ve cleaned up if we’d’ve known company was comin’.” As though to emphasize the point, he gave the flour sack a kick. “With the ranch demand in’ so much of our time, things here at the house get sort of neglected.” He led her to the door, then leaned around her to boot it open. “Not that I’m sayin’ you should think of yourself as company, Rachel. Consider this to be your home.”
With that, he swung the door open on a kitchen so cluttered and disorganized it defied description. An unusually longplank table, the surface of which was buried under piles of mercifully blurred clutter, dominated the center of the room. If it hadn’t been for the occasional dirty dish mixed in, Rachel wouldn’t have believed anyone actually used the table for eating. “Oh, my…”
Clint’s hand tightened on her arm. “The boys and I will help you get things cleaned up,” he assured her. “And on down the road, maybe I can put up some planed wooden walls. I know ladies are fond of hangin’ wallpaper and pictures and such.”
Rachel squinted to see. The interior of the house seemed unusually dim, probably because the log walls had darkened with age. The kitchen, one half of which was partitioned off from the back of the house by a wall, opened into a parlor area at the unpartitioned end, creating an L-shaped living area over which a large loft loomed.
If Clint’s brothers were going to help her clean up, Rachel hoped they came bearing broad-blade shovels. On second thought, even shovels might not do it. In every corner, as far back into the house as she could see, there were piles of junk. Old newspapers, empty food tins, dirty laundry, school books, slates…It looked as if someone had tossed all the contents of the house onto the floor, given them a stir, and then kicked the mixture out of the way to create traffic paths. Never, not in all her born days, had she seen such a horrendous mess.
From out of the rubble, an ebony-haired little boy suddenly appeared. Rubbing one eye with his fist, he surveyed Rachel from his other.
“Who’re you?”
As he drew close enough for her to see him clearly, Rachel thought she’d never clapped eyes on a cuter little fellow. She guessed him to be about six, and he looked exactly how she imagined Clint must have at that age, compact and wiry, with burnished skin and an unruly shock of pitch-black hair.
“Well, hello,” she said, crouching to greet him
“I can manage by myself,” she said.
The protest came too late. Before she could so much as blink, he seized hold of her waist. Placing her hands on his shoulders, she kept her gaze locked with his as he lifted her easily from the saddle.
“I don’t want you managing by yourself,” he said huskily. “Not with eight of us here to help you. Just you remember that.”
She was glad to note that his solemn, almost stern expression was belied by a slight smile flirting at the corners of his mouth. She wondered if he was smiling because he’d somehow sensed she’d been wondering how it might feel if he kissed her again. At the thought, a flush began creeping up her neck.
He was standing with his back to the sun, and his Stetson cast a shadow over his burnished features. Even with the lack of light, however, his smoky eyes had a lustrous glow. As he drew his gaze over her, she felt powerless to move and wasn’t certain she wanted to. As she’d noted last night, there was something about Clint that captivated her. What or why was a true puzzle, but the moment he looked at her with those warm, gray-blue eyes of his, she felt sort of, well, boneless. But that was just plain silly.
Grasping her elbow in a large, capable hand, he helped her step up onto the porch. “We would’ve cleaned up if we’d’ve known company was comin’.” As though to emphasize the point, he gave the flour sack a kick. “With the ranch demand in’ so much of our time, things here at the house get sort of neglected.” He led her to the door, then leaned around her to boot it open. “Not that I’m sayin’ you should think of yourself as company, Rachel. Consider this to be your home.”
With that, he swung the door open on a kitchen so cluttered and disorganized it defied description. An unusually longplank table, the surface of which was buried under piles of mercifully blurred clutter, dominated the center of the room. If it hadn’t been for the occasional dirty dish mixed in, Rachel wouldn’t have believed anyone actually used the table for eating. “Oh, my…”
Clint’s hand tightened on her arm. “The boys and I will help you get things cleaned up,” he assured her. “And on down the road, maybe I can put up some planed wooden walls. I know ladies are fond of hangin’ wallpaper and pictures and such.”
Rachel squinted to see. The interior of the house seemed unusually dim, probably because the log walls had darkened with age. The kitchen, one half of which was partitioned off from the back of the house by a wall, opened into a parlor area at the unpartitioned end, creating an L-shaped living area over which a large loft loomed.
If Clint’s brothers were going to help her clean up, Rachel hoped they came bearing broad-blade shovels. On second thought, even shovels might not do it. In every corner, as far back into the house as she could see, there were piles of junk. Old newspapers, empty food tins, dirty laundry, school books, slates…It looked as if someone had tossed all the contents of the house onto the floor, given them a stir, and then kicked the mixture out of the way to create traffic paths. Never, not in all her born days, had she seen such a horrendous mess.
From out of the rubble, an ebony-haired little boy suddenly appeared. Rubbing one eye with his fist, he surveyed Rachel from his other.
“Who’re you?”
As he drew close enough for her to see him clearly, Rachel thought she’d never clapped eyes on a cuter little fellow. She guessed him to be about six, and he looked exactly how she imagined Clint must have at that age, compact and wiry, with burnished skin and an unruly shock of pitch-black hair.
“Well, hello,” she said, crouching to greet him
Similar Books
