“Truly, it’s just a little cut.”

      “Best to be safe.” Eli carefully extended Sadie’s hand over the sink, filled a dipper with water, then looked up. “Ready?”

      Seeing reassurance instead of disapproval in those cool gray eyes of his was a new experience for Sadie, one she found she rather enjoyed. “Ready,” she answered.

      He slowly poured the water over the cut. It was strange to feel him holding her hand like this. His own hand was smoother than those of the ranch hands she was used to. She sensed strength there and an unexpected protectiveness.

      “Looks like there’s a sliver embedded in your palm. This might hurt a bit.”

      She nodded. His expression shifted and she saw the flicker of concern as he caught hold of the offending sliver, then the small spurt of triumph mixed with relief as he pulled it free.

      “Sorry.”

      “I hardly felt a thing.” Which was the absolute truth as far as the cut was concerned.

      WINNIE GRIGGS

      is a city girl born and raised in southeast Louisiana’s Cajun Country who grew up to marry a country boy from the hills of northwest Louisiana. Though her Prince Charming (who often wears the guise of a cattle rancher) is more comfortable riding a tractor than a white steed, the two of them have been living their own happily-ever-after for more than thirty years. During that time they raised four proud-to-call-them-mine children and a too-numerous-to-count assortment of dogs, cats, fish, hamsters, turtles and 4-H sheep.

      Winnie has held a job at a utility company since she graduated from college, and saw her first novel hit bookstores in 2001. In addition to her day job and writing career, Winnie serves on committees within her church, on the executive boards and committees of several writing organizations and is active in local civic organizations—she truly believes the adage that you reap in proportion to what you sow.

      In addition to writing and reading, Winnie enjoys spending time with her family, cooking and exploring flea markets. Readers can contact Winnie at P.O. Box 14, Plain Dealing, LA 71064, or email her at [email protected].

      Winnie Griggs

      The Proper Wife

      And let us consider how we may spur one another on toward love and good deeds.

      —Hebrews 10:24

      To my dear friends Connie Cox and Amy Talley who helped me brainstorm, provided critiques and generally listened to me moan when I got stuck or needed to talk through the sticky parts.

      Contents

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Chapter Eleven

      Chapter Twelve

      Chapter Thirteen

      Chapter Fourteen

      Chapter Fifteen

      Chapter Sixteen

      Chapter Seventeen

      Chapter Eighteen

      Chapter Nineteen

      Chapter Twenty

      Letter to Reader

      Questions for Discussion

      Chapter One

      May 1893

       Knotty Pine, Texas

      He needed a wife and he needed one soon.

      Eli Reynolds strode through town, ignoring the intermittent drizzle as he pondered his current situation. According to the workmen he’d hired, the renovations to his newly acquired home would be ready by the end of next week. Once that was done he and Penny would no longer have a legitimate reason to remain at the boardinghouse.

      Which meant his time was running out.

      Because no matter what the cost, he was determined to be married, or at least have wedding plans, before he moved himself and his nine-year-old half sister into that house. Mrs. Collins, the widow who ran the boardinghouse where he and Penny were staying, was doing a good job of watching over his sister for the time being. But leaving an impressionable young girl like Penny in the care of a housekeeper or governess every day while he went to his office at the bank was an unacceptable option for the long-term.

      Trusting a servant with such a precious duty had already resulted in one tragedy. He wouldn’t make such a costly mistake twice.

      This business of finding a proper wife should have already been settled, would have already been settled, if he hadn’t so badly misjudged his field of candidates. He thought he’d found the right woman in Myra Willows. She appeared intelligent, mature, of good character, competent in the domestic arts—all the characteristics he was looking for. He’d actually been on the point of declaring his intentions yesterday when he’d been pulled up short by a bit of gossip.

      He’d overheard a couple of bank clerks speculating that Miss Willows might possibly be the person behind that ridiculous pseudonym of Temperance Trulove, the very woman who penned the ridiculous and highly melodramatic bit of drivel titled The Amazing Adventures of Annabel Adams for The Weekly Gazette.

      Eli didn’t quite credit that the rumor could be true— Miss Willows seemed much too reserved and sensible a female to indulge in such nonsense. But at this point he wasn’t willing to risk being wrong, not with his sister’s upbringing hanging in the balance.

      So he’d been forced to regroup, to review the remaining names on his list and chose another bride.

      Eli turned his collar up against the weather as a spurt of water fell on him from the eaves of the nearby store-front. What a day! He wasn’t just damp, he was beat. Bone-deep, soul-achingly beat.

      Truth to tell, the turn his life had taken two months ago, and the nonstop effort he’d put into building a new life for himself and Penny since then, was beginning to wear on him. But soon it would be done and he could relax a bit. Until then, he would continue pressing on toward his goal.

      “Looks like you could use yourself a rain slicker.” Sheriff Hammond lounged against the doorpost of his office, whittling on a stick.

      Eli moved closer to the building to take advantage of the meager shelter from the shower. “A bit of rain never hurt anyone.” He winced as he felt a trickle of water make its way down his back. “Then again, I may have to look into getting myself one of those slickers if this weather continues.”

      The sheriff grinned in sympathy. “Spring showers tend to be unpredictable in these parts.” Then he went back to whittling. “How’s Mrs. Collins’s arm doing?”

      The boardinghouse proprietress had fallen and hurt her arm about a week ago. She seemed to be bearing her injury well, but having her out of commission had put the entire boardinghouse in disarray. And the arrival of her friend, purportedly to ‘help out’, had only served to add to the problem rather than alleviate it. Sadie Lassiter had breezed in from whatever distant cattle ranch she called home with all the grace and finesse of a brown-eyed, auburn-haired dust devil.

      He pulled his thoughts