Homespun Bride

Jillian Hart69thought. Shame filled her. There was this hardness inher heart she hadn’t realized was there. She shiveredbeneath the layers of wool and flannel she wore. Determined,she tucked the sheepskin-lined robe coveringher lap neatly around her and anchored it so the windwouldn’t creep beneath it. It didn’t help. She still feltas cold as a mountain glacier.Thad’s words, calmly spoken, continued to ring inher ear. “Yes, I did like it very much. It’s a tough life.Not as romantic as the dime novels make it seem.”“I should think not!” Henrietta humphed as shemarched up to the sleigh, her steps quick and confident.“Not at all a preferable livelihood.”Judging by her uncle’s chuckle, he was completelyamused. “I keep telling my wife that it’s the mark of aman how he handles hardship, not what he does for aliving.”“Robert! You know that I don’t completely disagreewith you.” By the sound of her voice, half shocked andhalf smiling, Henrietta was probably shaking her headfondly at her husband.She could also imagine Thad standing quietly, handson his hips, in that patient way of his.“Riding cattle.” Robert sounded impressed. “Now,that’s excitement. Is it like they say? Singing the cattleto sleep and using your saddle for a pillow?”“I mostly use my saddlebag, as it’s a might softer.”Thad’s baritone rang with an equal amusement.That was the sound she recognized—the ring ofThad’s easy, warm, good humor. If she’d met himanywhere else, and not in a blizzard with fear thrummingin her ears, she would have recognized him nomatter what.