Gingham Bride - By Jillian Hart Page 0,71
opened her book bag and carefully withdrew the folded dress. “The collar was tricky, but I got it set just right. See what you think.”
While the seamstress shook out the garment to study it, Fiona let her attention wander back to the street. Ian had left Flannigan’s side and was lumbering up the steps onto the boardwalk, cane in hand. The sun brightened because he was near. Tenderness stirred within her, reverent and sweet. Tenderness she wanted to deny, but couldn’t.
“This is excellent work, Fiona. Let me get your wages.”
She blinked; for a second she had forgotten where she was. She nervously brushed a curl behind her ear. “Do you have any good heavy wool in stock? Something suitable for a winter coat?”
“Some new bolts came in on Friday’s train.” Cora tapped toward the front desk. “I put them out this morning. Just to your left, next to the buttons display.”
It did not make any sense to spend so much money, but did that stop her from wandering over to the table? Not one bit. There was no looking or debating. A bolt of black wool stood out from all the others, and she snatched it without thought. The finest quality, judging from its weight. She didn’t even ask Cora the price per yard.
“Will you hold this for me?” she asked. “I can come by after school tomorrow to pay for it.”
“That would be fine.” Cora smiled knowingly as she took the quality fabric and unrolled it with a thump onto the cutting counter. “Why don’t I cut it for you now, and you can take it with you? That way you can get started on it tonight. Christmas is fast approaching. How many yards do you need?”
“Enough for a man’s coat,” she whispered, for the bell above the door jingled. Ian’s uneven step tapped into the store, the sound meaningful to her. This was more than friendship she felt. Much more. Ignoring it or denying it would not change that fact.
“I’ve had a talk with your horse.” He took off his hat, revealing a relaxed, happy smile. He must have gotten the job. “Flannigan would like you to drive him home.”
“How thoughtful of him.” She stepped away from the counter, hoping Ian would not notice the fabric. “What else did Flannigan say?”
“That he misses you. You used to spend your evenings in the barn.”
“And he would like me to do that again, would he?”
“I believe so. I’m sure Riley would not mind at all, either.” He held out his hands to warm them at the stove. “Or the cat. He has set his cap for you, I fear.”
“Oh, you do not fool me one bit, McPherson.”
“McPherson, is it? Again? You must be mad at me.”
“Blaming all that on the animals. Yes, indeed. If you want me to know you wouldn’t mind sharing the barn with me in the evening, then you could simply say so.” She thanked the shop owner with a conspiratorial smile and tucked a brown-wrapped package into her book bag. “Thank you, Miss Sims. Have a good afternoon!”
“Goodbye, dear. Same to you.” The sewing lady looked mighty pleased and gave him an approving smile. He had been getting a lot of those lately. Word had traveled about town he was here to marry the O’Rourke girl. Her hardships were no secret, nor could they be with the fading yellow bruise on her cheekbone.
Gentleness filled him. He resisted the need to pull her close and lay an arm around her shoulder. He wanted her step to remain light as she waltzed to the door. He opened it for her and followed her into the sunshine gracing the boardwalk.
“Did you get work?” She whirled around in a swirl of red gingham. “You look happy, so that must mean yes.”
“Aye. I start in the morning. I’m afraid you will have to walk to school.”
“I don’t mind. I usually stop by Earlee’s house so I can walk most of the way with her.” She skipped down the steps, her twin braids flying behind her.
He would forever remember this picture of her with dark wisps curling around her heart-shaped face, her happiness contagious, her wholesome beauty.
“C’mon, Ian. I can’t wait to drive.” She glided across the street, one step ahead and all that was dear to him. Her dark hair gleamed blue-black, her porcelain skin blushed by the winter air.
How precious this time with her was, he realized as he followed her across the road. The bustle of town, the approaching