Wolf Creek Father. Penny Richards
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That lack of confidence had been obvious from the droop of her shoulders and the sorrow in her eyes when she’d talked about understanding what Cilla was going through.
Clearly, she was sensitive to the fact that she was not as attractive as her sister. Ellie was tall and curvaceous; Allison was short and plump, thus her skimpy breakfast. Her hair wasn’t the pretty auburn of her sister’s. Allison was a carrottop, and she kept her unruly hair scraped back into a severe knot, as if she were afraid that one loose tendril would mar her image of respectability. Like Ellie’s, her face was oval and her skin was just as creamy and smooth and flawless, except for the overabundance of freckles, which were nothing but a light dusting across her nose.
Her eyes, perhaps her best feature, were a warm brown, framed with long, curling eyelashes that were shades darker than her hair. Her nose was nice, too—one of the few features she and her sister had in common. And the little indentation in her left cheek when she smiled was very eye-catching.
He stopped in the middle of the street. Why was he even thinking about Allison Grainger’s physical appearance? Was he so desperate to find a wife that he was even looking at the town’s spinster teacher as a prospect? No way! It was just a natural thing for a man to look a woman over and catalog her good and bad qualities. He did it all the time. Not that Allison’s flame-red hair and freckles were bad qualities, or even unattractive when taken one by one. There was actually a cuteness about her that some men might find appealing. Just not him.
Then what was that little twinge you felt when she made the offhand comment about you not being interested in making her a stepmother?
Colt gave a grunt of consternation. She’d actually sounded appalled by the idea of being his prospective wife. He didn’t think he was conceited, but neither was he accustomed to ladies looking dismayed at the notion of being linked to him. It was downright demoralizing. He wondered what kind of man she’d loved and what she’d been like before he’d broken her heart.
Forget it! he thought, stomping up onto the wooden sidewalk. He wasn’t in the market for a woman like her. No doubt in time she would find another man who would care for her, someone who wouldn’t be intimidated by her intelligence, as many would be—himself included. Someone who didn’t mind that his woman was...well, dowdy.
While it was admirable that she made her own clothes, her sense of style left much to be desired. He was no expert, but even someone as unschooled in fashion as he was knew that the styles she favored were not at all flattering. Flounces and ruffles and gathers! He supposed she was trying to hide her plumpness, but all she was doing was enhancing it. She’d looked much slimmer in her cleaning clothes the day before.
Oh, well, he thought, pulling open the door to his office and stepping inside. Her style or lack of it was no concern of his.
He found Big Dan Mercer, his deputy, sitting at the desk, reading the latest St. Louis paper.
“Did you and Miss Grainger get things figured out?”
“We came up with a plan of sorts,” Colt told him. “It remains to be seen if it works or not.”
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