Gingham Bride - By Jillian Hart Page 0,18

clothing, a lithe shadow that was like a spring breeze moving through him.

Just ignore it. The feelings are bound to go away. He set his teeth on edge, tucked his cane against the post and lifted the match tin off the ledge. He needed a moment, that was all, and the feelings would pass. At least, he prayed they would pass.

“You are such a good man.” Her quiet praise made the horse nicker and the other animals peer around their gates to call out for her attention. A meow rang from the rafters above. Sure enough, a black-faced cat crept into the shadows, eyes shining, to preen for the girl below.

“Mally, where have you been? I haven’t seen you all day.” Her greeting made the feline purr and the cow moo plaintively, as if anxious for Fiona’s attention, too.

The emotions stirred within him like embers coming to life in a hopeless place. He struck the match and lit the wick, unable to keep his gaze from following her as she reached up to touch the cat’s paw. The feline’s purr grew rusty as he batted at her playfully.

His fingers itched to capture this image, the Cinderella girl with her patched clothes and her Midas heart. Everything she touched seemed to love her. The cow leaned into her touch with a sigh, and the other gelding—the one he had ridden earlier—leaned so far over his stall that he cut off his air supply and began to choke.

“Riley, you poor guy. I won’t forget you.” She unwrapped her arms from the gelding’s neck and the lantern light found her, highlighting the curve of her face, gleaming on her ebony locks and revealing her gentle nature.

He grabbed his cane and followed his shadow down the aisle. The melody of her voice trailed after him. He was not surprised when the cat bounded along the wooden beam overhead, hopped onto the grain barrel and plopped to the ground. Hurrying for more of Fiona’s affection, no doubt.

Ice spiked into his skin and crept in fragments beneath his collar, but he ignored the cold and discomfort. He gathered a patched wool blanket from the end stall, where it sat on top of an equally old quilt, and stepped around the pillow and the small sewing basket tucked in the soft hay. He had spotted this private corner when he had been rubbing down the horses before supper.

“Let’s get this around you before you freeze.” He shook the folds from the blanket.

“Oh, I can take care of myself.” Her chin came up and her eyes squinted, as if she were trying to judge his motives.

“I don’t doubt that, lass, but let me.” He swept close to her, near enough to breathe in the softness of her hair. She smelled like roses and dawn and fresh snow. He swallowed hard, ignoring a few more unexamined feelings that gathered within him. Emotions that felt far too tender to trust. He stepped around the cat rubbing against her ankles to drape the blanket around her shoulders. Tender it was, to tuck the wool against her collar so that she would be warmer. “I have an unexplainable need to take care of others.”

“A terrible flaw.” Amusement crept into the corners of her mouth, adding layers of beauty.

He felt sucker punched. Air caught in his chest, and his hand was already reaching before he realized what he was doing. His fingers brushed the curve of her cheek, soft as a spring blossom. Her black hair felt like fine silk against his knuckles. Shyness welled up, stealing all his words. It was too late to pretend he didn’t care and that he could simply walk away without a backward glance come morning.

“How is your hand?” Her fingers caught his wrist, and it was like being held captive by a butterfly. Now he knew how runaway Flannigan had felt, forced to choose between Fiona and his freedom.

“It’s been better.” His voice caught in his throat, sounding thick and raw. He ought to step away now, put a proper distance between them and keep it that way. Best to remember he had not come here to get sweet on Fiona O’Rourke.

“Are you trying to go back on your promise?” Humor tucked into the corners of her pretty mouth.

Captivated, he could only nod. Then, realizing he had meant to shake his head, gave a half shrug.

“Too bad, McPherson. You will do as I say or pay the consequences.” She tugged him across the aisle with the