Gingham Bride - By Jillian Hart Page 0,69
me?” Instead of working the harness free, he ambled closer. “I heard you and your girlfriends. It sounds like you’ve already let me far too close.”
“They were talking about weddings and forever, not me.” Her voice trembled. “I hope you don’t think I told them—”
“No,” he interrupted, saving her from having to say the words aloud. “We both agreed there would be no wedding. Just a long engagement.”
“Yes.” She didn’t move away. She didn’t look away. She couldn’t. “I hope this will be a benefit for you, too. I hate to think that your staying here for me would hinder your dreams.”
“I am exactly where I want to be. Trust that.” His knuckles grazed her cheek tenderly. “You are wrong about my dreams, Fiona. The only ones I have are for you.”
Chapter Fifteen
What was the man doing to her? He made it impossible to forget him. All night long he had snuck into her dreams like a bandit, out to steal her heart. I could not make myself ride another step east, so I followed my heart back to you. I’m going to make sure you are never frightened like that again.
All morning his velvet-coated promises and declarations drove out all other thoughts. Standing at the front of the classroom, she gripped her hands, trying in vain to find historical facts in her head. But all she could locate were Ian’s startling confessions. You are wrong about my dreams, Fiona. The only ones I have are for you.
What did that mean? Surely she was not part of his dreams. No, that could not be right. He had meant that he wanted her happiness. As a friend might.
A friend. That’s what she was to him. That was exactly what she wanted to be. And if disappointment whispered through her, she was determined to ignore it.
“Miss O’Rourke,” the teacher scolded, her frown as severe as her tone. “I’m afraid you will have to study this lesson again.”
“I’m sorry, Miss Lambert.” Miserable, she hung her head. She could not remember what she had learned about the battle of Gettysburg. There was nothing in her mind but Ian.
Lila grabbed hold of her hand and squeezed in sympathy.
“That is all, class. You may return to your seats.” Miss Lambert laid her history book on her desk, watchful as the twelfth-grade students filed down the aisles, quietly so as not to disturb the others who were studying industriously.
Fiona slipped into her desk. She had never failed a lesson before. She wanted to blame Ian, but the fault was hers. She was the one who could not stop the images of him in the barn doing the evening chores, of how relaxed the horses and the cow were in his presence and how happy they seemed. She hardly recognized Flannigan, who no longer looked prairie-ward with longing in his eyes. Ian, who had walked her to the house and with one stare at her da, ensured that not one cruel word was spoken to her. Ian, who had driven her to school in the morning, helping her from the sled at the schoolyard, tipping his hat in goodbye to her like any courting man.
He was being polite, that was all. No need to read anything more into it. She stacked her books, hearing the school bell ring. Noise burst out around her. Books slammed shut, kids bounced up from their seats, shoes knelled against the floorboards. Conversations drowned out the last echoes of the bell. All she could think about was seeing Ian again. Knowing he would be waiting for her outside Miss Sims’s shop was like a gift, one she couldn’t wait for.
“Poor Lorenzo hasn’t been the same since he met Ian.” Scarlet leaned close, whispering as they made their way through the emptying classroom. “I think you broke his heart, Fee.”
“Whose heart?” She wondered if Ian would be shivering in his too-thin coat.
“I think she did, too.” Lila spoke up, all sympathy. “Maybe I can offer him a few kind words during caroling practice to soothe his wounded feelings.”
“You certainly should.” Earlee’s wistfulness was that of a staunch romantic. “Lorenzo does look downcast today, poor dear.”
“And it’s all Fee’s fault.” Kate winked.
“What did I do?” she asked, hardly realizing she hadn’t buttoned her coat yet. In fact, she couldn’t remember fetching her coat from the hallway or walking through the schoolroom, or even getting up from her desk. The sunshine blinded her as she waltzed out into the winter afternoon, squinting against the brightness as