Homespun Bride

Jillian Hart57he’d ever thought. He steeled his chest and took a stepback, staring hard at the ground, at his scuffed boots,anywhere but where she stood, framed in silver light.“I’ll let you know if I hear of anyone.”He left the husband and wife to their chatter, keepinghis eyes low, feeling the ache of regret tug at him. Thereshe was. He could sense her somehow like warmth ona spring breeze. What did he do? Walk up to her andmake pleasant conversation? He didn’t reckon shewanted that. He didn’t, either.The trick was to keep control of that spark of caringin his heart. Keep it small and eventually it would snuffright out. That was his hope anyway.She must have heard him coming because she turnedtoward him. There was no smile on her face and shestood in shadow. He’d always remembered Noelle asshe’d been when he’d left her—she’d never aged orchanged for him in memory, but time changed everyone.He saw that now. The way hard loss and sorrow hadchanged the shape of her mouth and eyes, no longerwide with an easy, assumed happiness. Her face wasas soft as a rose blossom still, but leaner. Time andmaturity had sharpened her high cheekbones. Heremerald-green eyes, still so lovely, did not twinkle andsmile at him with good humor, the way they once had.The way they never would again.She was lovelier than ever, but changed. It was thechange now he saw, not the similarities to the youngwoman he remembered.“You have a very polite buddy,” she said gently,politely. “Unlike my poor uncle’s horse.”“Sunny’s the best. I’m lucky to have him.” He didn’t