Six months later
Grandma, I’m just not cut out for sewing these little stitches.” Or any kind of stitches for that matter. Lou tried once again to reason with her grandmother, but the lines on the dear woman’s face scrunched together in a scowl that told Lou to stop whining and get to work.
Heaving a sigh, Lou jabbed the needle into the fabric.
“You’d do fine if you would stop staring out that window. I gave you the easiest stitch in the world. Double cross. Two lines one way, two lines the other. You just need to concentrate on what you’re doing. Now turn your chair around so that you’re not tempted by that window.”
Lou obeyed, knowing her grandmother was more than likely right. The outdoors drew her to the point of distraction. She hated the confines of being indoors. Especially on a day like this, when the gentle autumn breeze whispered through the crisp leaves. The honking of the migrating geese called to her, beckoning her to run after them through the pasture, to loosen her long braid and let her hair flow free in the prairie wind.
She longed for the feel of a horse beneath her, the exhilaration of roping a steer. She hated to disappoint Grandma, but she wasn’t cut out to sit demurely indoors attending to domestic things while the outside teemed with the excitement of life and adventure. Cooking and cleaning held no appeal for her, nor did keeping her stitches dainty. And if that meant she never landed a man, then maybe God hadn’t intended for her to get married in the first place.
A stab of pain caused her to wince as a crimson stain dotted the fabric. She popped her finger into her mouth to ease the throbbing.
Grandma scowled, and Lou felt the weight of her disappointment.
Lou jerked her finger from her lips. “I’m sorry, Grandma, but this is all so worthless. I mean, really. I feel as though I’m not accomplishing anything.”
Grandma harrumphed. “That’s because you’re not accomplishing anything. Take out those stitches and get another piece of cloth. You’ll have to start over. We can wash that one with the others. But try to be more careful. That’s the third square you’ve bloodied.”
With jerky movements, Lou huffed her displeasure and yanked out every bit of thread she’d labored to stitch into the fabric over the past hour.
“I just don’t see the point in trying to stitch flowers into a pillowcase just to put it away in a trunk on the remote chance some man might marry me.” Lou’s foul mood darkened further as she tried to thread the needle.
“When the right man comes along who doesn’t mind your peculiar ways, you’ll be glad to have a pillowcase for him to lay his head on after a hard day’s work. Then you’ll thank me.”
“If a man wants to marry me, he’ll have to take me as I am, or he can forget it.”
Setting her lips into a firm line, Grandma gave her a dubious look but remained silent.
Once more Lou tried her hand at reason. “I’m just not the sort who enjoys this frilly work, Grandma. Some women enjoy it, and some don’t. Take Deborah, for instance. Micah found himself a wife who takes to this nonsense like a duck to water.”
Pushing her bony finger toward Lou, Grandma scowled. “Don’t you go slandering your brother’s new bride, or I’ll have to take you over my knee.”
“Slandering?” Lou blinked her surprise. “I think Deborah’s the best thing that’s ever happened to Micah.”
Apparently mollified, Grandma’s expression softened. “Well, I have to agree that she came along at just the right time.” Grandma looked past Lou to the window. “Looks like we have company.”
Lou followed her gaze to the horizon, where three riders approached. “I suppose I should put away the sewing basket.” She kept her gaze innocently staring out the window and forced a regretful tone.
Grandma let out a cackle. “You’re not fooling anyone, Louisa Abigail. But go ahead and put it away. We’ll take it back up tomorrow.”
Relief washed over Lou like a warm summer breeze. Freedom at last. Her heart sang a lilting tune as she snatched up the shears, thread, and needles. With relish, she put away the sewing supplies, anxious to escape the confines of four walls and a roof.
But Grandma’s next words dashed her hopes to the ground. “As soon as you put away the sewing basket, set the table for the midday meal. Set three extra places. Looks like the preacher and those sweet boys of his are back.”
Lou gathered in a sharp breath and flew to the window. “It is him!” she said, then wished she could rein the words back in. She spun away from the window with as much nonchalance as she could muster. “Should I put out the china or everyday dishes, Grandma?”
“Don’t you think the good dishes are a bit too much for lunch?” Grandma searched Lou’s scorching face.
Lou shrugged. “I don’t know. I thought since we’re having special guests, we might not want to put out the everyday. Two of the plates are chipped.”
“I suppose the parson is special. But I believe we’ll save the china for Sunday dinner.” She peered closer. Lou stared at her boots to avoid eye contact. But that did nothing to defer Grandma. “You taking an interest in the parson, Louisa? You could do a lot worse.”
Lou felt her heart pick up a beat at the thought. She’d never been smitten with a fellow before. And there would be no living it down if she admitted to the new condition of her heart. Especially when it was so obvious that Cynthia Connelly had set her cap for the parson. The girl had practically draped herself across him like a shawl the last two times the parson came through. Cynthia might be a sour apple, but she looked sweet enough on the outside, and the parson had seemed to enjoy the attention.
Lou refused to make a fool of herself by trying to compete with the likes of Cynthia. She squared her shoulders and gave her very best attempt at appearing as though she didn’t know what Grandma was referring to. “An interest? Really, Grandma. I’ve never heard anything so ridiculous.”
“You telling me you haven’t taken a shine to him?” Grandma’s hawklike gaze followed her across the room.
“A shine?” Lou reached for the stack of everyday plates. “I mean, he’s a man of God, so naturally I think highly of him. But …”
“I see.” Lou watched Grandma walk toward the door, her all-knowing tone of voice sending a wave of apprehension through Lou. When Grandma made up her mind about something, there was no talking her out of it. Not that she was wrong in this case—Lou had taken a shine to the Reverend Chamberlain. And even if she couldn’t compete with Cynthia, this time she was determined, at the very least, to make a better impression. No skunk smell, no stringy wet hair. No bellowing at any of the brothers, despite how riled they made her. She would be the perfect lady even if it killed her.
Trent smiled at the sight of Grandma Stafford waving from the porch of the white, two-story frame home. Her face shone with a welcome that warmed him from the top of his head all the way down to his booted toes.
Six weeks ago, he’d had the honor of presiding over the wedding of Grandma Stafford’s oldest grandson, Micah, and his lovely bride, Deborah. He’d promised Grandma Stafford that he’d plan to stay over a Sunday next time he rode through so that they might have a real service on the Lord’s Day. Her pleasant smile was all the welcome he needed to know she looked forward to his visit as much as he did.
“Afternoon, Grandma Stafford!” he called. He and the boys dismounted.
“This is the best surprise I’ve had all day, Parson. Louisa’s setting the table. You three are just in time for lunch.”
A jolt hit Trent full in the gut at the sound of Lou’s name and the sudden memory of her lovely black tresses swept up into a loose chignon, the sides of her slender neck visible and inviting. He could scarcely believe the lovely creature he’d met at the wedding, that vision of decorum, was the same girl who had run into the creek. But one look at those startlingly blue eyes framed with long, bristly lashes had convinced him. No one else in the world could possibly be graced with eyes as blue as the sky and wide as an innocent child’s.
Leaving the boys to care for the horses, Trent climbed the steps to the porch. An indignant bellow blasted through the open door.
“Shane, you ornery varmint! Drop that!”
Trent jumped out of the way just in time to avoid being barreled over by a hairy dog clutching something that looked suspiciously like a hunk of meat in his jaws. The animal flew across the porch and sailed off the top step. A flash of blue wielding a broom blurred past in pursuit.
Grandma Stafford’s face went red, and she planted her hands on slim hips. “Louisa Abigail Stafford. Come back here this instant.”
As though she hadn’t heard, Lou continued to run after the animal. Timmy and Davy appeared at the barn door and immediately joined the chase.
“Corner him, boys!” Lou called. “Grab that roast.”
“Mercy, Louisa. Let the dog have it.” Apparently, realizing the girl was too focused on her mission to hear a word she said, Grandma shook her head and looked at Trent. “It’s not like I’m going to serve a slobbery roast anyway. I hope you’ve no objection to having bacon sandwiches for lunch. They’re quite tasty, and no one makes them finer than our Deborah.”
Feeling a little bewildered by this return of the rowdy Miss Stafford, Trent merely nodded his agreement. He watched as the dog, now backed against the barn door, kept the meat locked firmly in his jaws and eyed the three intruders closing in on him.
Alarm seized Trent—the new worry that had appeared at the same time he became an adopted father. “Be careful, boys.”
“Oh, you don’t have to worry about Shane. He wouldn’t hurt a flea, let alone a couple of sweet boys like those two.” Grandma gave an exasperated huff. “Even if he is the biggest thief that ever lived.”
Trent chuckled, trying to come to grips with the disappointing loss of a roast beef meal after two weeks of nothing but rabbit roasted over a spit, whatever fish they’d managed to catch along the way, and if all else failed, jerky.
“Lou, leave the dog alone,” Grandma called. “There’s no sense upsetting him.”
The young woman turned, her jaw slack. “Me, upsetting him? That varmint stole the parson’s lunch. We going to just let him have it?”
Warmth slid through Trent like fresh honey. Her outrage at the dog was due to his lack of a proper meal? That might just be the sweetest thing he’d ever heard.
He only had a moment to revel in the charming revelation, however, because, as though knowing this was his only chance to make a break for it, Shane took advantage of Lou’s lack of attention and darted between her and Timmy.
“Oh, no you don’t, you mangy critter!” In a flash, she dove after the dog, landing on her stomach while simultaneously grabbing him around the middle. The animal yelped and struggled to wiggle away, half dragging Lou after him.
Trent swallowed hard watching the tussle. His heart raced as though he were the one tangling with the beast. “He won’t bite her, will he?”
Grandma waved aside his concern. “The dog would sooner bite off his own tail than hurt Lou.”
The boys whooped excitedly over the wrestling duo in the dirt. “Hang onto him, Lou!”
Keeping her grip and showing surprising strength, Lou somehow maneuvered until she was sitting up, holding Shane firmly with her legs and arms. She reached around with one hand and grabbed the mangled roast. “Turn loose,” she ordered.
Obviously knowing he’d been bested, Shane obeyed, allowing the meat to fall into Lou’s grip.
Relaxing her hold, she ruffled his longhaired head. “Now get out of here!”
He bounded away, then stopped to be petted by the laughing boys. Lou climbed slowly to her feet, staring at the mess in her hands. “I guess you probably don’t want it now, do you, Grandma?”
“Probably not,” the elderly southern belle replied with a droll smile. “The dog fought hard for that roast. Why not just give it back to him?”
“After he snatched it right off the table? You might as well cook him a big meal every day for all the manners that’ll teach him.”
Grandma let out an unbellelike snort. “That dog isn’t the only one around here that needs to learn some manners. Give it to him, and go get yourself cleaned up.”
As if understanding that the meal was his for the taking, Shane sprang into action and sped toward Lou. Before she knew what hit her, the dog snatched the meat from her hand. The action spun her and knocked her to the earth once more. Trent heard the thud as she landed with an oomph.
He shot from the porch without touching a step and reached Lou in a split-second. She groaned and sat up, rubbing her forearm. Stooping to his haunches, he allowed his gaze to sweep over her. A trickle of blood making a slow trail down her arm through a ripped sleeve nearly stopped his heart. “Are you okay, Miss Louisa?”
She nodded, lifting her wide blue eyes to meet his gaze. Even with dirt smudging her face, her raven curls springing from the braid down her back, and the men’s boots peeking from the bottom of her dusty calico skirt, she was quite appealing.
“That was the funniest thing I ever saw!” Timmy said, beating Lou on the back as though she were a buddy.
“Yeah, you sure ain’t like no girl I ever knew.” Davy’s echo sent a bolt of reality through Trent. Louisa wasn’t like other women.
“I’m sorry, Parson,” she said. “I guess that wasn’t such a good example to your boys, was it?” Her eyes clouded with remorse, and Trent felt his heart turn to mush.
“Come on. Let’s get you inside. You need to see to that cut.”
“Cut?”
“Right there.” Trent pointed to her arm.
She looked down, then gave him a sheepish smile. “I guess that explains the stinging. I’m such a mess.”
Feeling himself responding to her good-natured self-deprecation, he smiled back. “Here, let me help you up.”
Her brow shot up. “Thank you.” Her voice was like velvet, soft and smooth, as she leaned on him and allowed him to lift her to her feet.
Enjoying her closeness, Trent held her a little longer than necessary before releasing her arms.
“Th–thank you,” she said again, her face now a beguiling pink.
“Lou, come on up to the house, honey.” Grandma Stafford’s voice filtered through the air, firm but mildly amused in tone. “We need to start lunch over.”
“Yes, Grandma.” Clearing her throat, she smoothed her hands over her unkempt hair. She swept her gaze to the porch, then back to Trent. “I … um … it was kind of you to help me up off the ground, Parson.” Giving him a shy smile, she darted toward the house, then slowed her pace and walked calmly away. Trent’s gaze trailed after her.
“Yessir.”
Trent startled at Timmy’s voice. He glanced down to find his son staring pensively after Lou.
“‘Yessir’ what?”
“She sure ain’t like other ladies, is she?”
“What do you mean?”
Timmy shrugged his slender shoulders. “All afraid of a little dirt and sweat. A ma like that wouldn’t always be yelling at us for being rowdy or dirty or loud.”
“Did you see that blood on her arm?” Davy joined in. “She didn’t cry or nothing. I like her. I think you ought to marry her, Parson.”
Trent’s jaw dropped as he stared after the boys. Words, along with the ability to speak, fled his mind. How could they have casually flung the shocking and absurd statements in his face, then walked off toward the house as though they hadn’t just upended Trent’s world?