Read Online Under the Desert Sky by Sara Luck - Free Book Online

destroying the eggs wasn’t his doing—that he wasn’t that cruel—but he was the most logical culprit, probably at his father’s urging.
    She lay back on her pillow, not yet turning down the light, and then she saw it. A bullet hole in the ceiling.
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    Christian was awakened by a crowing rooster, and when he opened his eyes, he saw the red-orange orb of the sun, barely two disks above the eastern horizon. It took him a moment to realize that he wasn’t in his room at Prinsen House, but rather in the house of a woman he’d met only last night.
    Last night! Last night had been busy. The gunshot had more than startled him, it had frightened him. Fortunately it was just an accident, and as frightening as it was last night, this morning he could smile about it. With a yawn and a stretch, Christian got out of bed and reached for his pants . . . the pants he now realized he’d failed to put on when he’d hurried down to Phoebe’s room. He put on his shirt, pulled on his pants, then reached for his boots.
    When he tried to pull the first boot on, his foot hit something inside; curious, he turned the shoe upside down.
    It was the bullet!
    Surprised, Christian examined the boot and found a hole in the sole. The bullet Phoebe had shot had passed through the ceiling of her bedroom and the floor of the room where Christian was staying. It had gone through the sole of his boot before it was finally spent. He poked his finger through the hole, then pulled on the boot. He needed a cup of coffee.
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    Phoebe awakened to the smell of freshly brewed coffee. She smiled in her half sleep, thankful that Edwin had started breakfast.
    She bolted upright in her bed as she clutched the quilt to her chest. Someone was in her house. Who? Then the recollection of the night before came to her. Christian, the gunshot, and the destruction of the eggs.
    Quickly she rose and began to dress. She grabbed one of her two old blue chambray dresses that she wore on most days when she was working with the birds, but then thought better of it. Instead she chose a yellow gingham that she often wore when she went to town. Brushing her russet hair, she secured it with side combs, allowing her ringlets to hang down her back.
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    â€œGood morning,” Christian said, looking around from the cookstove when Phoebe stepped into the kitchen. “I wanted to make you some breakfast, but I was afraid I’d make too much noise and wake you up.”
    Phoebe was at a loss for words. Gwen had asked if she didn’t think Christian was a handsome man, but she wasn’t prepared for her reaction to seeing him standing here, in her house. He was dressed in the same cream-colored shirt he’d worn the night before, but his shirt was open at the collar, far enough down for her to see a strong neck, and just the suggestion of what she already knew was a broad chest.
    Christian hadn’t combed his hair this morning; it was somewhat disheveled, a few ringlets falling across his forehead.
    â€œYou don’t have to fix breakfast. I can do that.” Phoebe went to the cupboard to take down some flour. “Do you like flapjacks?”
    â€œFlapjacks?”
    â€œPancakes.”
    â€œYes, I love pancakes.”
    â€œAll right. You can carve the bacon if you’d like. It’s in the icebox.”
    As Phoebe began preparing the batter, Christian started carving slices of bacon. She glanced over at him a moment later. “Heavens, how many slices are you cutting?”
    â€œI don’t know. There’s you, Will, and me. I figured three collops apiece.”
    Phoebe laughed. “I’m not familiar with a collop, but I’ll eat one piece of bacon, and Will won’t eat any.”
    â€œOh, then that means I’ll eat”—Christian began counting—“five collops, and you shall have