The Husband Hunt. Karen Kirst
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creek, it seemed like every other week there was another tear for her to mend.
Light footfalls and feminine giggles drifted closer. She frowned. Recognizing the voices, she peered over her shoulder and spotted April Littleton and her two closest friends, sisters Lila and Norma Jean Oglesby. The same age as Sophie, the trio was extremely popular with Gatlinburg’s single male population. And why shouldn’t they be? Besides being beautiful and stylish in their pastel dresses and beribboned curls, they were accomplished flirts, able to monopolize a man’s attention with very little effort.
Next to them, Sophie felt ordinary. Gauche.
April caught her staring. Brown eyes narrowing, she made no attempts to hide her disdain.
“Hello, Sophie.” Her nose pinched as if the air around her suddenly reeked.
An only child born to her parents late in life, April had been coddled and adored from the moment of her birth, and the results were a spoiled, self-absorbed young woman. Her parents weren’t well-off, just simple farm folk like many of the families in this mountain town, but they scrimped and saved to be able to outfit her as if she was a city debutante.
“Hi, Sophie.” Lila offered her a tentative smile. The older sister, Norma Jean, remained silent. Both were slender, blonde and blue-eyed with fair skin.
“Hello.” She quickly replaced one of the spools without making a conscious color choice. No reason to linger for what would prove to be an unpleasant encounter.
April’s jealousy fueled her dislike of Sophie. Not of her appearance, of course. April didn’t consider her competition. It was Sophie’s friendship with Nathan that she envied. Even if Lila hadn’t let that little nugget slip, it was obvious the dark beauty wanted him for herself, and it killed her that Sophie shared any sort of connection with him.
“We were discussing our outfits for the church social tomorrow night,” April said with mock innocence. “What are you going to wear, Sophie?”
Clutching the thread, she pivoted to face them. Shrugged as if she didn’t care. “I haven’t given it much thought.”
April raked her from head to toe and shot a knowing glance at Norma Jean. “Of course you haven’t.”
“Tell her about your new dress,” Lila encouraged her friend, her round face devoid of malice. Sophie sometimes wondered why Lila would waste her time with a girl like April. The seventeen-year-old appeared to have a good heart.
April’s eyes shone with confidence as she ran her hands over her glossy brown ringlets. “It’s buttercup-yellow...”
She went on to describe the dress in excruciating detail. Sophie tuned her out, biding her time until she could escape. She had no interest in scalloped hems and pearl buttons.
The mention of Nathan’s name snapped her out of her reverie.
“What was that about Nathan?”
“I’m making Nathan’s favorite for the social. Apple pie.”
Sophie bit her lip. That wasn’t his favorite—it was rhubarb.
“What are you bringing?” Norma Jean smirked. “Sausages?”
The girls’ laughter stirred her temper. For once, Sophie wanted to prove she was as capable as any other girl. “Actually, I’m baking a pie, too,” she blurted.
The laughter died off as all three stared at her in amazement.
A delicate wrinkle formed between Lila’s brows. “I didn’t know you baked.”
“Everyone knows she doesn’t,” Norma Jean muttered in a too-loud aside.
April, however, grinned in expectant pleasure. “Well, I, for one, am looking forward to tasting your pie. What kind is it?”
“Rhubarb.”
“Oh, how...interesting. I’ll look for it tomorrow night. Let’s go, girls. I want to find just the right color hair ribbon to match my dress.”
Sophie hesitated, watching as they gravitated toward the fabrics whispering feverishly together, before hurrying to the counter to pay for her purchase.
Outside, walking along Main Street, she was oblivious to the sun’s ruthless heat, the stench of horse manure and the nods of greeting aimed her way.
What had she gotten herself into?
She didn’t know how to bake! After her ma passed, Granddad had taught her the basics: how to fry bacon and eggs, how to make flapjacks and corn bread. Stews and soups. Roast chicken. And, of course, beans. That was the extent of her kitchen skills. Not once had she attempted to bake a cake, let alone a pie.
What had she been thinking? Despite her trepidation, she couldn’t back out. She refused to give April the satisfaction.
Determination lengthening her steps, she reached the cabin in less than the usual time. Sophie had found a collection of recipes in her ma’s cedar chest a while back. Surely there was something in there she could use.
As she cut across the yard, her gaze went to the new henhouse. She stopped short. There, strutting around in the dirt, were approximately five new chickens. Dark Brahmas, a hearty breed revered for their gentle disposition. She pushed the door open and entered the dark interior of the cabin.
“Will?” She set her small package on the table. “Granddad?”
“In here.”
“Hey, there.” Sinking gently down on the edge of Tobias’s bed, she held his hand. Propped against a mountain of pillows, his skin had a sallow cast. “Can I get you anything? Would you like for me to open the curtains? It’s a bit stuffy in here.” And dreary, she thought, compared to the bright summer day outside.
His dry, cracked lips shifted into a grimace as he shook his head.
“I noticed some unfamiliar chickens outside. Do you know anything about that?”
“Nathan,” he wheezed. “He brought us two dozen eggs, too.”
To replace the ones they’d lost. She squeezed her eyes tight, deeply touched by the gesture.
“You all right?”
She inhaled a fortifying breath and eased off the bed. “How does a cup of chamomile tea sound?”
“No need to trouble yourself—”
“It’s no trouble at all. I’ll make some for both of us. We’ll sit together and drink our tea and visit.” The endless farm demands could wait a little while longer.
In the kitchen, she filled the scuffed tin teakettle with water from the bucket and set it on the stovetop, then added kindling to the firebox. As she readied two mugs, her mind refused to budge from Nathan.
Why did he have to go out of his way to be thoughtful? It would make things easier if he were hateful. Or selfish. Maybe then she wouldn’t yearn for his high regard. Maybe then she wouldn’t entertain foolish, impossible dreams. Maybe, just maybe, she would see him as no one special, an ordinary guy who didn’t matter to her at all.
Chapter Five
At one end of the dairy barn lit by kerosene lamps hanging from post hooks, Nathan stood in front of the waist-high wooden shelves replacing lids on the crocks of milk he’d just filled. In the stalls stretching out behind him on either side of the center aisle, his cows were happily munching hay.
In the corner where they kept a bin of clean water, he washed and dried his hands, the familiar scents of cowhide, hay and fresh milk filling his lungs. Satisfaction pulsed through him. He relished his work, the straightforward nature of it and the solitude. He liked that he could plant a seed of corn and watch it grow tall, witness a calf enter this world and help it thrive. Farming was in his blood, passed down from his father and grandfather and great-grandfather. If he could do this for the