His Perfect Bride (The Brides of Paradise Ranch - Spicy Version Book 1) by Merry Farmer Page B

these gatherings, otherwise I would have gotten something for you.”
    “I don’t mind,” Corva said, sitting beside him. But a frown came to her face before she could stop it. Actually, she did mind. “These people all seem very nice. Several of them said complimentary things about you.”
    Franklin hummed doubtfully and shook his head. “They were probably just being nice for your sake.”
    His comment was so simple, but it froze her, fork halfway to her mouth. She lowered her bite and stared at him. “No one said anything simply to be nice. These are your neighbors , and clearly they like you.”
    As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them.
    “I’m sorry, that came out wrong. I have no business meddling.” If her uncle was around, her outburst would have earned her a sharp smack.
    But no, he wasn’t part of her life anymore. It was high time she learned to say the things that needed to be said.
    “I find everyone to be welcoming and warm and eager to include both of us,” she managed, then took a bite of chicken to hide the embarrassment that rode hard on the heels of her bravery.
    Franklin ate in silence for a few more bites before saying, “Pity is not the same thing as liking someone.”
    For whatever reason, such a gloomy comment caused something to snap in Corva. She set her plate down on the bench and twisted to face Franklin. “The only person I see pitying you, Franklin Haskell, is you. There have been plenty of times that I felt sorry for my plight in my uncle’s house, but as horrifying as it was, I knew the only way I could get out was to stop feeling sorry for myself and to fight. That’s why I fled when I had the chance instead of ending up in a river, like my aunt.”
    Franklin’s eyes grew wide during her outburst. By the end, Corva had shocked even herself. Where had that come from?
    No, she knew the answer to that. It came from the pain of seeing a good man—a man who had treated her kindly and changed her life—beating himself up. That kind of beating was worse than anything her uncle dished out.
    “I’m sorry,” she said in spite of the growing conviction in her heart that what her husband truly needed was a firm hand to guide him. “I just don’t like to see you punishing yourself.”
    “I’m not p—” He stopped and blinked, tilted his head to the side. His eyes lost their focus, as if he was looking deep inside of himself and seeing something new.
    He was still deep in thought when Vivian and her sisters came flouncing up to them.
    “My, my. Are the two of you having a little newlywed spat?” she said.
    “We heard you yell at him from our picnic, right over there,” Melinda added, gesturing to a quilt that looked to be made of silk draped over a table laden with crystal and china.
    “Melinda,” the quietest of the four sisters scolded in a whisper.
    “Oh, shut up, Honoria. You heard them as much as we did,” Melinda snapped.
    “You know it’s rude to interrupt people’s picnics with domestic squabbles,” the youngest sister—who couldn’t have been more than sixteen—added, crossing her arms and turning up her nose.
    “Bebe is right,” Vivian said with a toss of her curls. “It’s positively upset my digestion to hear a man like Franklin being treated with such disrespect.”
    Corva’s back stiffened and she clenched her jaw. As much as she wanted to defend herself against the groundless accusations, she was loathe to stoop to the Bonneville sisters’ level.
    “I’m sorry, Vivian, but anything that is said between my wife and I is none of your business,” Franklin spoke up. More than that, he set his plate aside, reached for his cane, and pushed himself to stand, pain pinching his face.
    All four of the Bonneville sisters took a step back.
    “We’re sorry,” Honoria muttered, head lowered.
    “Hush,” Vivian whispered, then squared her shoulders and faced Franklin with her nose turned up. “I’m only sorry that you let