Patchwork Bride by Jillian Hart

where she toed the snow. Her hair fell around her,soft bouncy curls around the most beautiful face he had ever seen. She appeared troubled, and vulnerable.
    “Braden was concerned you would distract me from my work. That’s what you overheard. Do you want to apologize for what you said about me in the school yard?” He had to ask. He had to know if she forgave him.
    Her toe stilled. She pulled herself up like a ballerina, elegance and grace, and her blue eyes began to sparkle like an ocean storm. The corners of her mouth tipped into a full-fledged grin, dazzling in its honesty. Trouble glittered there along with a measure of amusement. “ That I am not sorry for,” she trilled, spinning in the snow to waltz away from him. “Now we’re even.”
    “Even?” The way a woman’s mind worked puzzled him greatly.
    “We’ve both agreed we are not interested in the other whatsoever, so now we may as well call a truce.”
    “A truce?” He knew from the sound of her gait that she was on the steps.
    “As long as it’s not terribly disagreeable to you.” She disappeared into the storm, lost to his sight, her voice as buoyant and as warm as a May breeze.
    “Not too terribly disagreeable,” he admitted. “Marginally bearable.”
    “Good. Then we’re in perfect agreement.”
    He searched for the hint of her shadow, the movement of her skirts. The lamplight at the window glinted off a golden curl, the only sign of her in the storm. He did not know why she drew him. But if the grin on his face and in his soul were any indication, he was in trouble. Big trouble.
    “Have a good afternoon, Just Meredith.”
    The door swung open and heavy footsteps tapped onto the porch. “What is going on out here?” Mrs. Worthington demanded. “Meredith, why are you speaking with this person? You could catch your death standing in the cold. Get inside before you freeze clean through.”
    “Yes, Mama.” There wasn’t a contrite note to her words as they died on the wind. The door creaked shut, and she was gone. The brightness within him, the one she had put there, remained.
    “C’mon, Sweetie.” He knelt to unbuckle the traces. “Let’s get you washed, rubbed dry and tucked in your warm stall. What do you say?”
    The mare nickered in agreement, and they headed off together, side by side as the snow warmed, and crystal drops of ice rained down on them.
     
    “It’s lovely fabric, Meredith.” Tilly’s gentle alto chased away the icy remains of Mama’s mood. Their mother had long since retreated from the parlor although her reprimand had not.
    “Meredith, it would please me if you did not talk with the hired men.” She could still hear the authority and ring of Mama’s footsteps as she’d crossed the wooden floor of the parlor. “I’m in the middle of tea. Now I do not wish to be disturbed again.”
    She had disappeared down the hall to the solarium in the north wing. Now and then women’s voices merry with conversation drifted down the long hall that separated the wings of the house. Mama was hosting another gathering of her friends, all the finest wives ofthe wealthiest families in Angel County. She knew her mother meant well, but how on earth was she going to avoid speaking with Shane? Especially now that her pride was no longer hurting?
    “I liked it better than the silk Mama insisted on.” Meredith turned her thoughts back to the fabric she was showing her sister. She thumbed the purple cotton fabric with the tiny sprigged rosebuds. “Lila pieced a patchwork quilt years ago done in calico fabrics and I’ve always admired it.”
    “Calico quilts can make a room feel cozy and snug.” Tilly’s understanding was worth more than all the money in the world. “It will make a nice addition to your hope chest.”
    “My far-in-the-distant-future-perhaps chest,” she corrected, lifting the folded fabric and giving it a shake. The plentiful yards tumbled over the sofa in a cascade of ivory cotton and miniature green