The Bridal Swap. Karen Kirst
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yes, I didn’t think—”
“She can sleep in my cabin,” Josh announced bitterly. “I won’t be needing it after all.”
“Are you sure?” Mary peered up at him, her eyes full of concern.
“Positive. It won’t take all that long to move my things back into my old bedroom.”
“Wait.” Kate hastily replaced her drink and came around the sofa to face him. “The last thing I want to do is push you out of your home.”
“A home I built for my future wife.” The pain of betrayal flashed hot in his eyes. “But she’s not here, is she?” Turning his back, he strode for the door. “You’re welcome to it.”
His boot had connected with the bottom step when he heard the door open and close and Kate call his name. What now? Couldn’t she see he wasn’t in the mood for company?
With great reluctance he pivoted back, squinting in the afternoon sunshine. She edged forward, her face shadowed by the hat’s brim. Loosening the ribbons of her reticule, she withdrew a long parchment envelope and held it out to him.
“I have a letter for you. From Francesca.”
He stared at the letter, not sure he wanted to read it. “What does it say?”
Her lips parted, and dark lashes swept down to hide her eyes. Pink washed her cheeks. “I don’t know. She didn’t share the contents with me and, to be honest, I’m glad she didn’t.”
Tucking the letter in the inside pocket of his suit jacket, Josh nodded in silent farewell and left her standing on the porch. If he didn’t get alone soon, he was going to come undone. What he wanted to do was hunt down the man who’d stolen his future and plant a facer on him. Then he’d confront Francesca and force her to confess her perfidy to his face.
But that wasn’t an option. Not today, anyway.
With effort, he ruthlessly tamped down the emotions clawing at his insides.
Ignoring the letter burning the lining of his suit, he gathered his clothes and books from his home, not stopping to linger and mourn his loss. To his relief, his mom was showing Kate the kitchen when he went inside the main house, so he was able to put his things away, change clothes and duck back outside without being seen.
During the entire trip to town and back to retrieve her luggage, the letter and what it might say dominated his thoughts. Why hadn’t Francesca had the decency to face him herself? Why put it off on her little sister?
Finally, when the wondering became too great, he pulled the envelope from his pocket and sank onto the top step of his porch.
Heart thumping against his rib cage so hard it hurt, he unfolded the paper and, holding it to his nose, inhaled her flowery scent. He felt achy all over.
Dearest Josh,
I am not sure what to write, for I know nothing I say will change your low opinion of me. Katerina was adamant that I give you some explanation, and I admit she was right. You must know that I care for you, but you and I together for a lifetime never would have worked. Percy can provide the type of life I need to be happy.
Sincerely,
Francesca Morgan
Stunned, Josh flipped the paper over and found the other side blank.
There was no apology. She’d basically admitted to wedding this man for material gain.
Francesca’s nonchalant attitude, her utter lack of remorse, stung. Anger boiled up once again, threatening to overwhelm him.
Once again, he was facing a lonely future.
In the shade of the back porch, Kate leaned against the wooden railing and stared out at the idyllic scene. Gently rolling fields of green, knee-high stalks waving in the breeze, gave way to rounded mountain peaks rising in all directions in a patchwork display of burnished reds, golds and greens. God’s magnificent handiwork for all to see and savor.
She was eager to explore, to seek out potential images for her book.
But first she had to find Josh, as Mary requested. Supper awaited.
Above the lowing of cattle, she heard the insistent pounding of an ax.
Following the sound, she strolled across the yard toward the barn, casting a glance inside the shady interior as she passed by the open doors. Dust motes hung suspended in the dim light, the smell of hay and animals reminding her of the stables back home.
Rounding the corner, she came to an abrupt stop.
A flash of sunlight on glistening skin, sculpted muscles straining, stretching, Josh handled the ax with ease, slicing through the wood like butter. He’d exchanged his neat suit for a pair of dark denim trousers and sturdy brown work boots. His sleeveless undershirt gave her a clear view of molded shoulders, thick biceps and corded forearms.
She gulped. Oh, dear.
Glancing away, she saw the high stacks of kindling by the barn wall. Surely they didn’t need more. Then it struck her. He wasn’t doing this out of necessity. He was venting.
Compassion for his plight brought moisture to her eyes. She blinked hard. She couldn’t let him see her tears. He’d assume she was feeling pity for him, and she had a feeling he wouldn’t like that.
When she moved into his line of vision, he wedged the ax into the stump, turned his back and, retrieving his white shirt, shrugged into it. Still working the buttons, he faced her, brows raised in question.
“Sorry to interrupt,” she ventured. “Your mother sent me to tell you the meal is ready.”
“Just a minute.”
She stood by quietly, fingers toying with the lace peeking out of her sleeves as he quickly stacked the wood before joining her. He was a rumpled mess, his short hair mussed and shirt untucked, the sweat-dampened material sticking to his frame. It only added to his appeal.
“Have my parents kept you entertained this afternoon?”
“Your parents have been welcoming and friendly.”
Strangers who were more attentive than her own parents.
Walking beside him, she sensed the coiled tension in him. Had he read the letter? She wondered what it had said, feared Fran’s words had inflicted further pain. Her sister wasn’t known for her tact.
He stopped at the pump to clean his hands and douse his face. When he’d wiped off the excess moisture and tucked the cloth into his back pocket, he startled her by taking hold of her hand.
“What are you—”
Carefully, he slid her sleeve back, revealing the purple marks marring her pale skin. His eyes darkened. “Matthews did this?”
The scent of pine clung to him. Kate couldn’t think with him standing so near, his strong, warm hands cradling hers with such tenderness. Back home in Francesca’s room, gazing at his portrait and committing his face to memory, she couldn’t have guessed the impact of his physical presence.
She dragged in a breath. “I’m fine, really.”
“Steer clear of him, Kate. He’s unpredictable.”
It was his first use of her name. She had to admit it sounded good on his lips.
“Kate?” he prompted impatiently.
“You don’t have to worry. I won’t go near the man.”
“Hey, Josh!”
Two men were headed in their direction. Josh’s brothers?
Releasing her, he crossed his arms and waited. Their attention didn’t waver from her as they approached. Feeling like a specimen underneath a microscope, she fought the urge to squirm.
“Kate Morgan, these are my brothers,