Homespun Bride by Jillian Hart Page B

mint?”
    â€œOf course.” Relieved to have something constructive to do, she headed to the kitchen, counting her steps as she went, ticking off the number of paces from her chair to the dining room and from the table to the swinging kitchen door.
    Thad. She knew he was there by the change in the air, by the scent of horse and leather and hay. Against her will, her heart tugged as if he’d cinched a rope around it.
    Split wood tumbled into the fuel box with a roll and thunk. She waited, holding herself very still as Thad’s movements seemed loud in the still and empty room. The fire’s voice grew to a crackling roar.
    â€œThat’ll do.” Cook’s grudging approval was a rare sound. “That was mighty Christian of you, Mr. McKaslin.”
    â€œJust helping out while I’m here.” His baritone tensed, as if he knew she was in the room. “I guess I’d best see to the other fires in the house.”
    His footsteps knelled closer with the unhurried, strong beat that she knew so well.
    She stepped aside, knowing she was in the way and expected him to walk on by. After all they’d been through, what could there be left to say? She wouldn’t trust him, wouldn’t allow a friendship, would do nothing but to wish him well. She was certain he felt the same way.
    But his gait halted, and she could feel his calming presence towering over her.
    â€œI’m sorry for your uncle,” he said gruffly. “I don’t suppose there’s any word from the doc yet?”
    Her eyes watered at the tender caring in his voice—a tender caring she well remembered through all the years and disillusionment. It had been the great gentleness in the powerful man that had once won her heart completely.
    If only her heart did not remember that now. She nodded, not trusting her voice, wishing him to go on his way before the burning in her eyes turned to tears.
    â€œI’m no longer much of a praying man, but I’ve been keeping him in prayer.”
    â€œThat means a lot.” One hot tear rolled down her cheek. “More than you know.”
    â€œI care more than you know.”
    The rough, callused pad of his thumb brushed featherlight against her cheek to stop her single tear. He’d moved closer, and he leaned in closer still. She could hear the rhythm of his breathing and smell the faint scent of soap on his shirt.
    â€œI know Robert is like a second father to you. I don’t want you to lose him, too.”
    Noelle shook her head, too overcome to speak. She recognized the soft note in Thad’s tone, and she knew how his face would look, his eyes caring, his jaw squared, a combination of strength and heart that had always dazzled her.
    Another tear rolled down her face, and he caught that one, as well, brushing it away with a kindness that made her ache with all that she had lost. All that had never been.
    â€œAre you going to be all right?” Thad was all the stronger, in her view, for his kindness. “I can sit with you.”
    â€œNo.” How did she tell him the truth? She ought to be crying for her uncle, but the tears were for herself. For him. For the fragments of the past she’d never truly let go. She held on to those bright pieces of joy like a miser did his last pieces of gold. They were slivers of happiness she could not stand to remember. They were bits of sorrow she could not forget.
    â€œN-no.” The word scraped against her raw throat. “You go on home. I shall be fine.”
    â€œAll right, then, but I’m not about to leave. You sure you’re okay?”
    â€œS-sure.”
    â€œYou don’t look all right.”
    Those pieces of sorrow felt brighter, bigger. It was not him she needed.
    The door swished open and shut, Thad was gone, and she was achingly alone. She could hear the striking of Cook’s shoes on the stairs echoing rapid-fire. Dully, she heard Thad pass through the house before the