The Bride Wore Spurs (The Inconvenient Bride Series, Book 1) Read Online Free Page A
Author: Sharon Ihle
he could deny the man his request—not if he wanted to enjoy his peace of mind and the solitude he'd grown to love, that is. He would have to at least look as if he were "giving the girl a chance," whatever that meant. Then, if he lived through it, he would simply declare this unwanted bride as unfit. There was really no other choice.
Speaking quietly and without enthusiasm, Hawke said, "I guess I could give her a try. Just what is it you want me to do?"
Caleb beamed. "Not much. Just test her a little, see if you don't find that having a wife around is a blessing, not a curse."
"Test her?" asked Kate, alarmed. "In what way? I'll not stand for any improper behavior."
"Don't worry your head, Miss Kate." Caleb winked at her, then gave Hawke a meaningful look. "I guarantee you that my friend here won't be compromising your friend in any way. He can be trusted. Ain't that right?"
Hawke nodded, glanced at the young woman who still stood quietly against the far wall, and sighed heavily. "How do you want me to go about this 'test,' Caleb?"
"Why don't you come by tomorrow morning, pick Miss O'Carroll up—and in a wagon by the way—then take her back to your place for the day to see how she'll fit in?"
Again Hawke glanced at the woman, and again he wondered: What's wrong with her? Keeping a puzzled gaze on her, he asked, "Is that all right with you, ma'am?"
Lacey, who hadn't taken her eyes off the Indian since Kate had left her alone, had to glance away so intense was his scrutiny. "'Tis a good idea, I suppose, though I do not know what you'll be expecting of me."
"Not too much." Hawke strode over to the chair where he'd left his jacket, donned it, then proceeded on to the elk rack where he'd hung his hat. "Just the usual things," he said, speaking directly to her as he fit his hat to his head. "Cooking, cleaning, mending, a little help in the barn. Think you can manage those few chores?"
Rising to the challenge she heard in his tone and saw in his unnerving gaze, Lacey set her chin. "In my sleep, Mr. Winterhawke. In the dead of night."
Flashing a smirk—the expression really couldn't have been called a smile—Hawke touched the brim of his hat. "In that case, I'll be seeing you first thing in the morning."
It wasn't until after he'd gone, that what he'd demanded of her finally sank into Lacey's mind; cooking, cleaning, mending? Never mind the part about the barn—she'd never so much as seen the inside of a barn.
In fact, the only chores Lacey had ever been responsible for, or even expected to perform from the time she was seven years old, was to scrub floors and make certain that she returned the books she borrowed from the small library at St. Josephine's. She did this without question, for failure to return books resulted in the loss of library privileges, a thing Lacey would never have allowed to happen to her. Reading had been her, only source of pleasure or avenue of escape from the hospital until the night Nurse Quinlin stole her away under cover of darkness.
But cooking, cleaning, and mending?
How did one go about the preparation of food or the fashioning of clothing? And how in the devil would she learn to do any of it—by morning, no less?
Never take a wife who has no faults.
—Old Irish proverb
Chapter 3
Lacey had hardly slept since the night she escaped from St. Josephine's. She had been too excited about the upcoming adventure. Now as the darkness settled over her she should have been resting, but her mind carried her back through her long journey, immersing her once again in the sights, smells, and sounds of all that was so new.
First there had been the huge ship and the rough, but thoroughly exciting crossing of the Atlantic Ocean. Then, after stepping foot on American soil for the first time, she'd felt a delicious, almost overpowering sense of freedom she'd never known, even as a child before "the accident." Topping all that, Lacey recalled the unparalleled excitement of
Speaking quietly and without enthusiasm, Hawke said, "I guess I could give her a try. Just what is it you want me to do?"
Caleb beamed. "Not much. Just test her a little, see if you don't find that having a wife around is a blessing, not a curse."
"Test her?" asked Kate, alarmed. "In what way? I'll not stand for any improper behavior."
"Don't worry your head, Miss Kate." Caleb winked at her, then gave Hawke a meaningful look. "I guarantee you that my friend here won't be compromising your friend in any way. He can be trusted. Ain't that right?"
Hawke nodded, glanced at the young woman who still stood quietly against the far wall, and sighed heavily. "How do you want me to go about this 'test,' Caleb?"
"Why don't you come by tomorrow morning, pick Miss O'Carroll up—and in a wagon by the way—then take her back to your place for the day to see how she'll fit in?"
Again Hawke glanced at the woman, and again he wondered: What's wrong with her? Keeping a puzzled gaze on her, he asked, "Is that all right with you, ma'am?"
Lacey, who hadn't taken her eyes off the Indian since Kate had left her alone, had to glance away so intense was his scrutiny. "'Tis a good idea, I suppose, though I do not know what you'll be expecting of me."
"Not too much." Hawke strode over to the chair where he'd left his jacket, donned it, then proceeded on to the elk rack where he'd hung his hat. "Just the usual things," he said, speaking directly to her as he fit his hat to his head. "Cooking, cleaning, mending, a little help in the barn. Think you can manage those few chores?"
Rising to the challenge she heard in his tone and saw in his unnerving gaze, Lacey set her chin. "In my sleep, Mr. Winterhawke. In the dead of night."
Flashing a smirk—the expression really couldn't have been called a smile—Hawke touched the brim of his hat. "In that case, I'll be seeing you first thing in the morning."
It wasn't until after he'd gone, that what he'd demanded of her finally sank into Lacey's mind; cooking, cleaning, mending? Never mind the part about the barn—she'd never so much as seen the inside of a barn.
In fact, the only chores Lacey had ever been responsible for, or even expected to perform from the time she was seven years old, was to scrub floors and make certain that she returned the books she borrowed from the small library at St. Josephine's. She did this without question, for failure to return books resulted in the loss of library privileges, a thing Lacey would never have allowed to happen to her. Reading had been her, only source of pleasure or avenue of escape from the hospital until the night Nurse Quinlin stole her away under cover of darkness.
But cooking, cleaning, and mending?
How did one go about the preparation of food or the fashioning of clothing? And how in the devil would she learn to do any of it—by morning, no less?
Never take a wife who has no faults.
—Old Irish proverb
Chapter 3
Lacey had hardly slept since the night she escaped from St. Josephine's. She had been too excited about the upcoming adventure. Now as the darkness settled over her she should have been resting, but her mind carried her back through her long journey, immersing her once again in the sights, smells, and sounds of all that was so new.
First there had been the huge ship and the rough, but thoroughly exciting crossing of the Atlantic Ocean. Then, after stepping foot on American soil for the first time, she'd felt a delicious, almost overpowering sense of freedom she'd never known, even as a child before "the accident." Topping all that, Lacey recalled the unparalleled excitement of
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