And Then Came Spring by Margaret Brownley Page B

like he was aching for a fight, or at the least had a belly full of green plums. Ellie glanced about her, maybe her eyes were deceived and his gaze was locked onto someone standing behind her.
    â€œMiss Smith?”
    Ellie’s stomach curdled, her palms grew damp. “Yes.” Dear Lord, please don’t let this be so .
    â€œMiss Melvina Eldora Smith?”
    The name alone caused Ellie to cringe. Aunt Millicent always said a formal letter required a formal name, and Ellie had written the letter to the Hitching Post in the most formal way, wanting to make the best impression of her life—and with her aunt looking over her shoulder! Clearly a misconception on her part, since this dour, pickled-faced man obviously had no interest in making any kind of good impression on the likes of her.
    Pulling her shoulders back, Ellie pushed her alarmed reaction down. “Mr. McConnell?” Please, oh please let it not be so  . . . The quick nod of his dark head shot any glimmer of hope straight onto the dusty boards upon which she stood. Surely there was something amiss here. Some terrible, dreadful mistake.
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    The dread that had been coiling in the pit of Mathew McConnell’s gut from the moment the wide-eyed beauty stepped from the stagecoach tightened as she slowly nodded her feather-topped head.
    â€œI’m afraid there’s been a mistake,” he nearly growled, eyeing the Bible in her hands before looking straight at her.
    Eyes that were mingled shades of light and dark blues, like the colors of the bluebonnets that grew all over Texas, met his, just as a perfectly sculpted eyebrow snapped up. “Ex cuse me?” she said, none too happily.
    Mathew should have tipped his hat to the lady, even if he was too angry to think of the manners his mother—may she rest in peace—had taught him. This was not the Melvina Eldora he’d pictured arriving to marry him—the woman who’d come to be a mother to Sophie.
    â€œI specifically requested a practical woman.” Snatching his Stetson from his head, he slapped it against his thigh. What kind of mail-order bride catalogue was this Hitching Post anyway? There could have been no mistaking his ad: Widowed rancher looking for practical woman to keep house and be a mother to his baby girl. Bible believers need not apply . And yet, here stood this, this woman . . . decked out in her feathers, ruffles, and lace from the top of her head to the tips of her dainty boots.
    â€œPractical,” she ground out. Her pert nose twitched just the slightest and her bluebonnet eyes flared with indignation. “You’re saying I’m not practical ?” Her voice rose on the last word as she glared at him and batted a feather out of her face.
    â€œThat’s right.” He’d started this so he might as well finish it. “And I specifically said Bible thumpers need not apply.” His eyes fell to the Bible gripped in her white-knuckled hands.
    â€œBible thumber—I mean thumper ?” Her eyes narrowed. “How dare you?”
    â€œWell, don’t get all riled up,” he drawled. “You are holding that Bible like it’s your last best friend in all the world.”
    Her mouth formed a perfect pink O and a tiny gasp escaped. “Yes. Well,” she stammered. “Mister McConnell, I’m not certain what’s going on here, but you are not the only one who’s disturbed at the moment. You might be angry that a so-called Bible thumper has gotten off that stage. However, I can assure you that the sour face greeting me after my long and arduous stagecoach ride is quite a disappointment to me. A very large disappointment indeed.” She huffed, pulled her shoulders back, and stood rigidly in place, staring up at him with the gumption of twenty frontier women.
    Looking into those blazing eyes, Mathew was startled by the depth of emotion he saw dancing there—beautiful,