Gingham Bride - By Jillian Hart Page 0,79

lose all he had and his grandmother’s dreams—she did not fool herself by thinking her father would fairly return an old woman’s money.

But how could she agree to marry a man who did not love her? A man who would marry her only because she came with a farm he wanted? Ian would always be kind to her, because that was the brand of man he was, but she could not be happy living her mother’s life. At what cost did she refuse? Would the cost be greater if she accepted?

Worse, she did not want to spend twenty years of her life secretly in love with a man whose kindness to her was not affection, whose thoughtfulness was not devotion, whose heart would not be hers. It would be no happy ending, just a compromise, a business to gain land. Worse, she could not blame Ian, for he had the best excuse.

He had done it out of love.

Chapter Seventeen

At the toll of the schoolhouse bell, Fiona lifted her skirts higher and broke into a run. Snow blinded her, the icy flakes needled her face and the chilly air burned like fire in her chest. A hitch bit into her side, but she kept going. While she had been hurrying as fast as she could, it hadn’t been quick enough. School had let out, and that meant in a few minutes’ time, if she didn’t reach the streets of town first, she would meet schoolchildren on their way home. She shut out images of kids asking her where she had been this morning and why she’d missed class. The notion of meeting Earlee on the road and having to explain, of seeing pity on her friend’s face, made her miss a step.

She pushed harder until the houses on the edge of town appeared through the shroud of white. She didn’t slow to a walk until her shoes hit the boardwalk and she was just another person hurrying about her errands. Safe in the crowds of Christmas shoppers, she wove her way to the bank, where wreaths hung festively from the impressive wood awning, and garlands added holiday cheer to the front windows. Cheer that was at odds with her.

“Fiona? Is that you?” A familiar voice broke above the rush and bustle of the busy street.

Earlee. Fiona stopped in her tracks, dread filling her. What was she going to say to her friend? Some things were too painful to speak of.

“I was so worried about you.” Earlee tapped closer, all friendly concern. “Are you all right?”

“I am fine.” Fine was a relative term, but it was all she could manage.

“What are you doing here in town, and not at school?” Earlee looked her over carefully and appeared relieved, perhaps that there were no fresh bruises. “Is everything okay at home?”

“Fine.” There was that word again. It was not fine, but it was all she seemed able to say. “What are you doing in town?”

“Bea is ailing.” Good-natured, Earlee rolled her eyes. “I have to stop and pick up some medicine. You haven’t answered my question.”

“I’m running errands for Ma.”

“Is she feeling poorly?”

“No.” Somehow she had to put a smile on her face and keep pretending she wasn’t hurting. Maybe then she could convince herself. After all, falling in love with Ian wasn’t the first foolish mistake she’d made, and life went on. Right?

“You are having trouble at home again.” Earlee wrapped her in a brief hug, all sympathy, all caring. That was Earlee. A good friend through and through. “Is there something I can do?”

“No, I—” Her smile was faltering, no matter how she fought. “There’s nothing. Really.”

“I have today’s homework assignments. Tomorrow we might have a quiz.”

“I don’t need them,” she interrupted, too abruptly, too harshly, hating that she made her friend stare at her in surprise. “I’m sorry, I just—”

“It’s okay. Tell me what is hurting you so.”

I thought Ian was in love with me. I thought he was different from the men I know. I believed what he told me. I fell in love with him, and he only wanted the farm. Just like what happened to my Ma. I’m afraid I will have the same life and as much unhappiness. She wanted to say all of that, but too many people were hurrying by with their Christmas shopping packages and seasonal cheer. Singing erupted down the street—the church caroling group. How could she speak of her private heartbreak where anyone could overhear?

“My parents think I don’t need to