Patchwork Bride

“Are you coming, Braden?” Shane knelt to squint at the buggy’s rigging, his horse nibbling at his hat brim.

The other man didn’t answer, only nudged his big black horse forward. This one appeared much older, his face weathered and not a hint of softness on his features. When he rode by Meredith, it was like an arctic wind blowing by, cold and impersonal. Definitely not a friendly man.

The first drops of rain pelted from the sky. They struck the ground like wet bullets, tapped on her bonnet and plinked in the enormous puddle at her feet. The prairie stretched around them to the horizon without more than a single barn in sight, one big curtain of rain. With no one else on the road, she suddenly felt vulnerable. A small hand crept into hers—Minnie’s.

“Do you reckon they are outlaws?” Her littlest sister’s whisper was incredulous, and her big blue eyes widened with excitement.

It was hard to tell the manner of man Shane Connelly was, and even harder to guess at the older man who was hitching the two horses alongside their gray mare. But Shane must have heard Minnie’s whisper, for he glanced over the wheel well and let his eyes twinkle at her. Humor danced in those dark blue depths and told her all she needed to know about the man.

“No, I reckon he’s a never-do-well with an appalling reputation,” Meredith answered wryly.

“True.” Shane’s gravelly tone deepened as he chuckled. “I am one sorry renegade.”

“Are you like Robin Hood?” Minnie boldly asked. “Do you help those down on their luck?”

“I have been known to aid a lovely country miss or two, if the peril is great.” When Shane rubbed a hand over his gelding’s muzzle, a softness came over him.

A kind man, then. Hard not to like that.

“You’ve got a pretty horse,” Minnie spoke up. “What’s his name?”

“This is Hobo. He’s an—”

“Appaloosa.” The single word tumbled across Meredith’s tongue. “He’s beautiful.”

“You know of the breed?”

“My father has a fondness for Western lore,” she answered, her face heating. Was she really blushing? “Perhaps I do, too.”

“Perhaps?” He questioned, his dimples deepening.

“Fine. I love everything Western, but it’s not ladylike to admit it and my mother would have an apoplexy if she heard me say it.”

“Then it’s best not to tell her.” He winked, and opened his mouth about to say something else when the other man hollered out to him.

“That’s enough, Romeo. I’ve got the horses hitched. Time to push.”

“Gotta go.” Shane waded to the buggy box and positioned his hands on one side of the soiled fender. “You two ladies might want to hop onto the grass.”

“I told you. I intend to help.” She mimicked his stance on the other side of the buggy by bracing her feet and placing her hands. “If this happens again, I want to know what to do.”

“I really don’t think—” His argument was cut off as a “Git up!” from Braden rang from the front of the buggy.

Horse hooves clamored on sodden, wet earth. The vehicle rocked forward and then back. Another “Git up!” and the buggy rolled forward again. The mud gripped the wheels, refusing to let go.

A little help please, Lord. She prayed and pushed with all her might, fearing there was no way the vehicle would move. She fought visions of their little driving buggy stuck here in the middle of the main road to town for the rest of the rainy season. Folks would have to somehow maneuver around it, muttering about that Worthington girl who had the poor sense to have dropped out of finishing school.

“Harder!” Braden shouted as he tromped through the mud and grabbed the bumper nearest to her. Even Minnie took a position and pushed. The buggy rocked again, almost out, before it sloshed back into the muck.

She hardly noticed because what was she watching? Shane. Out of the corner of her eye, his grimace fascinated her. All her friends, except for Fiona who was engaged, agreed no man ever had been as handsome as Lorenzo, the most gorgeous boy in their class at school. But now she begged to differ. Shane Connelly was stunning, but something beyond his physical good looks made him captivating—some strength of spirit, she suspected, and a steadfast character, she hoped.

The buggy lunged forward, suddenly rolling up out of the muck. Mud flew off the fast-turning wheels and sprayed like slop across her face, cold and wet. Too late, she realized she was the only one standing directly behind one of the wheel wells. Ooze clung to her eyelids and dripped like thick cream frosting down her face. The earthy taste seeped between her lips. The cold weight pressed on her, penetrating her bodice and weighing down her skirt.

“Oh, Meredith,” Minnie soothed, shocked. “Your dress is ruined.”

Humiliation seeped into her, as cold as the mud. She swiped the yuck from her eyes with her sleeve and only managed to smear it.

“Whoa!” Shane and Braden shouted together from a fair distance away, stopping the horses on the uphill slope of the road. When young Mr. Connelly turned around and spotted her, a wide grin stretched his mouth and he shook his head slowly from side to side. “Something tells me you are a whole peck of trouble, Miss Meredith.”

“She is,” Minnie spoke up, sounding pleased as punch. “It’s her first time driving the buggy alone.”

“Minnie, don’t tell him that.” Really, she looked bad enough without adding “idiotic, inexperienced driver” to the list. That was what she felt like. Out of her element, when she wanted to fit in so badly. Too badly—maybe that was what the Lord was trying to tell her.

“You are a right mess.” Shane pulled out the handkerchief again and wiped the white surface across her eyes. This close, she could see there were green threads, too, in his deep blue irises, to match the gold ones, and something noble within.

There she went, being fanciful again.

“The good news is that your horse and buggy are fine, aside from the mud.” He folded the cloth to scrub at her nose and cheeks. His nearness was a funnel cloud, pulling her helplessly toward him. “You, miss, I’m not so sure about. Maybe Braden and I had best see you home.”

“No!” That came out a mite defensive, but she could imagine Mama’s reaction. “Please, if our mother knew there was a mishap, she wouldn’t let me drive again. It’s imperative for me to become a better driver.”

“You don’t sound like a country miss to me.” His gaze narrowed, his presence and his sculpted features steeled. “Who are you?”

“Just Meredith.” That was who she wanted to be. She needed to be herself, not her father’s daughter, not her mother’s achievement, but someone real. This man, who rode where he wanted and who did as he liked, would never understand.

“All right, then, Just Meredith.” His grin returned, crooked and dimpled. “Let’s get you in the buggy and on your way home.”

Chapter Two

Just Meredith was beautiful, no doubt about it. Shane glanced over his shoulder to make sure the gray mare pulling the buggy was managing all right. The spring storms had turned the roads to every kind of muck, although judging by the downpour it was hard to call this brand of cold spring.

“Stopping to help those girls made us late for our next job,” Braden commented drily as he tucked the much-folded telegram for the riding directions back into his slicker’s pocket.

“Helping them was the right thing to do.” It wasn’t something they hadn’t done before in their travels. “We couldn’t leave them there.”

“I’m not arguin’ that. Truth is, this new stint has me worried. Heard the wife is a whole peck of trouble.”

“Wife? I thought that we were working for a mister, not a missus.”

“Shows what you know about marriage.” Braden cracked a rare smile. “I say we give it a trial before we commit. I don’t want to get knee-deep into a job, figure out it’s more trouble than it’s worth and then tear myself up trying to figure if I should run for my sanity or stay and finish the job the right way.”

“I see your point.” Shane was new at this. Not green, but not experienced either. He’d only had a year of apprenticeship under his belt since he’d hooked up with the best horseman this side of the Mississippi. He’d left everything behind in Virginia—family, reputation, duty—to learn horsemanship the real way. It had been the roughest year of his life and the best one. Finishing his apprenticeship was all that mattered. So why was he thinking about the woman and not the upcoming job?

Another glance over his shoulder told him why. There was something special about her, something extra—like a dash of both sweetness and spirit not often seen. “Just Meredith,” she’d called herself in a dulcet voice that made him think of Sunday-school hymns and Christmas carols. And pretty? She put the word to shame with those blond ringlets tumbling down from beneath her plain brown hood and eyes the color of the sea in the rain. She was a rare beauty with creamy skin, delicately cut features and a mouth made for smiling.

He liked country girls the best, he’d learned long ago, not missing the perfectly mannered and prepared debutantes who were part of his world back home. It heartened him to see honesty and goodness in a female. It was far preferable in his opinion to the veils of pretense that filled his growing-up years.

Out west, things were more likely to be what they seemed and the people, too. He liked the image of Just Meredith in her simple but elegant brown coat, pretty yellow dress and sincerity. She made quite a picture holding the reins as the chilly weather battered and blew. With the smears of green in the nearby fields and the world of colors blurred and muted by the rain, she could have been the focus of an impressionist watercolor. A prized painting meant to be cherished.