Gingham Bride - By Jillian Hart Page 0,84
trust in was a man’s love for her.
And if a tiny voice deep within her wanted to argue, she silenced it entirely.
“But you are in love with him.” Earlee, ever the romantic, put down her crocheting.
“I don’t intend to let any man own or dominate me, not even Ian.” She ran her fingertips over the coat, remembering how Miss Sims had helped her with the pattern and had even cut it for her. How she had spent her evenings pinning the pieces, basting them and stitching each seam with care. She had fitted the collar and sleeves, imagining him astride one of his beautiful mares or training a young colt in the corral.
In truth, the reason she loved Ian was simple: he was not the kind of man to dominate a woman. But this was a celebration, and not a place for her disappointments, so she kept silent about them. “When are we going to exchange gifts? I am so excited for you all to see what I made for you.”
“Oh, me, too!” Scarlet twisted around to tug a bag off the floor. “As is our tradition, I made something for each of our hope chests. Even Fiona’s, although she refuses to have a real hope chest.”
“That’s okay, Fee. We will keep hoping for you when you are out of faith.” Earlee put five equal-size gifts wrapped in newsprint in the center of the table.
“We will keep praying for you when you stop praying for yourself.” Lila rescued five identical gifts wrapped in lovely wrapping paper and put them beside Earlee’s.
“We want you to be happy,” Kate added, gathering her gifts from her sewing basket.
“Even if you can’t keep coming to our sewing circle, we will keep a place open for you. Just like we did for Meredith.” Scarlet added five more gaily wrapped presents to the growing pile.
“We will be here for you, Fee.” Meredith crossed the room to fetch her bag full of gifts. “Always and forever.”
Fiona looked from one dear face to the other—her family, in all the ways that mattered. There were those pesky feelings again, making her far too vulnerable and trying to blur her vision. Touched by the amazing wealth of friendship, she saw for the first time the incredible richness of her life.
Ian knew the moment the sun set. The storm changed, the air turned reverent and the snowflakes floated through the air solemnly. Flannigan, warm in his stall, snorted, as if he could scent night’s approach. Duchess cast an anxious gaze down the aisle, for this place was not home to her.
“We won’t be here for much longer, so rest easy,” he told his mare and gave the pitchfork a final turn. He had rented a two-room house north of town, closer to his job. A place Nana might like, and the owner did not mind if he improved on the fencing. A better place for his future than this broken-down farm of neglect and sadness. The cow patiently chewed at the fresh hay in her feeder. He patted her flank with his gloved hand, to slide behind her and out of the stall. “I’ll be back to milk you, sweet girl.”
The cow blinked her liquid-brown eyes in agreement, content with her dinner.
The cat, however, was not so pleased. He yowled underfoot.
“I’ve not forgotten you, you mop.” Affectionate, he knelt to give the feline a fine scrub around the ears. The rusty, ardent purr was reward enough. “I’ll get to the milking next.”
He felt Fiona’s presence before he heard her—the tug as if a door opened within him, the sweetness of first love, the brightness of hope stirring. The day was no longer ordinary. At the pad of her footsteps, he looked up to see her approaching the open barn door. Snowflakes danced around her as if glad to be with her. The twilight was perfect because she walked through it.
Flannigan nickered, perhaps in love with her, too. Not ashamed to show it, the gelding leaned hard until the wood gate dug into his flesh and stretched his long neck as far as he could go, craning to get a view of her. Riley, with a mouthful of hay, followed suit, and the cow gave a hopeful moo. Even Duchess in her corner stall offered a welcoming nicker and the cat raced the length of the barn as if eager for the privilege of curling around her ankles.
“Good evening to you, handsome boy. I’m glad to see you, too.” She knelt, her