Homespun Bride

Jillian Hart63of humor, but without the brightness and the gentletrill of laughter he remembered so well. They trulywere strangers, he reminded himself, surprised howmuch losing the last little piece of Noelle—the wayhe’d kept her in memory—hurt. So much for the notionof love. Not only was it ashes, but even long after theashes had scattered, blown into nothing by the wind,the scar from the burn remained.Yes. He rubbed at the center of his chest with theheel of his hand. The burn remained.Mrs. Worthington hadn’t see him; her back was tohim as she marched along the boardwalk and disappearedinto a doorway. He stared at the numbers writtenon the paper. Sure enough, he’d have to head inNoelle’s direction. The last thing he wanted to do wasto hurt her more. Chances were he could walk right byher without her knowing, since she could not see him.The boardwalks were fairly busy, and the noise fromthe street would disguise him well enough.He headed on in her direction. It was best not to sayhowdy to her, or the burn on his heart would starthurting fresh. He kept his gaze focused on the icyboardwalk ahead of him and did not look her way, butthere she was in his side vision, alone and lovely andsitting in the cold, blind and alone. He had to fight thepowerful urge to stop and stay with her, to watch overher until her aunt’s return.She’s not your lookout, remember? Not when herfather forced him out of town the way he did. Not whenher father had threatened his family’s land. The troublewas, his heart didn’t seem to care about all thosesensible arguments. His spark of caring remained.There was a brightness within him that remembered,