Gingham Bride - By Jillian Hart Page 0,70

she searched the roadway for him. Ridiculous, because she knew he wouldn’t be there, but did that stop her from looking for him? Not one bit.

“There’s no sense trying to talk to her,” Scarlet said, chuckling warmly. “I talked Ma into making a cake for our party on Friday.”

“Perfect. My stepmother is going to help me fix chicken and dumplings.” Lila sounded excited. “Fiona, will you bring the biscuits?”

“Sure.” She didn’t realize how much she could miss Ian. It made no sense. It wasn’t as if she cared for the man, right?

“My brother has agreed to come fetch me if the weather is bad, so I can come for sure,” Kate commented happily.

“That’s wonderful!” Earlee clasped her hands together prayerfully. “This might be our last celebration together. Our sewing circle might break apart after graduation. You never know where life will take each one of us.”

“I hadn’t thought of it that way.” Fiona sank into the snow, but it was more than her shoe sliding into the icy drift. “Our last sewing-circle Christmas party. That sounds so sad.”

“Depressing,” Scarlet agreed. “Which is why we do not have to think about it. Instead, it will be the best party we have ever had.”

They parted ways—Scarlet and Lila headed off to the church for caroling practice, Kate climbed into her father’s sleigh and Earlee walked away with six of her younger siblings. She did not have time to walk uptown today, for she was needed at home.

It was a beautiful day. The sun tossed diamonds onto the pristine snow, and she followed its sparkling trail. She was as cheerful as the lemony rays of sunshine, thinking of the tatted snowflakes she had finished and blued last night. They would be dry and perfect when she got home. Her gifts for her friends were done. Her parents did not celebrate Christmas with gifts, so she had all the presents she would need for the holiday—all but one.

Ian. Her thoughts looped back to him. All roads led inexorably to him. The church steeple rose above the cluster of trees and the tall storefronts, reminded her of how perfect yesterday after the church service had been. The looks they had shared across the sanctuary, how Ian had appeared different with worries and responsibilities lifted from his strapping shoulders. Of what he had told her about his family and his grandmother. She thought of the older woman, who had been best friends with her grandmother.

In her mind’s eye she could see her own grandmother’s kind face as she told of the McPhersons. Love, she realized, was the reason Ian was here—for his grandmother, and respect for what two girlfriends had shared long ago.

She turned onto the main street, snow tumbling off her shoes and onto the boardwalk. Perhaps, then, it was not so strange she and Ian felt such strong friendship for one another. Maybe she did not need to fight it so much.

“Good afternoon, Fiona,” Cora Sims greeted from behind the front desk. “It has been a busy day. Let me finish up this sale, and I will be right with you. There is tea steeping on the stovetop. It will warm you right up.”

“Thank you, Miss Sims.” Fiona liked the older woman. Cora Sims had been her inspiration for her future life. The lady had come to town long ago and started her own dress shop. She had made a fine life for herself, sewing for others. Maybe, thanks to Ian’s help, she could do the same one day.

What used to give her joy to think about now weighed her down. That future did not seem as bright. It was not only the prospect of leaving her friends, but something else. Something that hurt worse, and that made no sense.

Ian. She felt his presence as surely as the warmth from the stove. She unbuttoned her coat, searching for him through the wide display window. There he was across the street, confident and manly, tethering Flannigan to the hitching post. The big horse nudged the man’s hand affectionately, as if wanting one last nose rub. Ian obviously agreed, his affection clear. He was a true horseman in a worn-thin coat. He had to be freezing, his teeth looked to be chattering, but he made no hurry to end his time with Flannigan to rush out of the cold.

“I’m pleased to see you, Fiona. I hope this means you have the basting done so soon?”

“Yes, Miss Sims. I worked most of the weekend on it.” She