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aprons?" His impression was right,
    Belinda Fulton was a dimwit.
    "Actually, it's the cooking she doesn't approve of."
    "She doesn't approve of cooking?" He'd never heard of
    such a thing.
    Randi shrugged and nodded at the same time, her face
    twisted into the cutest little grimace he'd ever seen. His heart
    jumped, skipped around in his chest like a rock over water.
    He'd never known someone who could make him feel so
    many things all at the same time.
    All together it made him smile, and he let out a laugh. He
    pulled her a little tighter to his side. "I knew there was a
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    reason I didn't like her, besides the fact she's about as
    appealing as a rattler in a cave."
    Randi didn't have time to suppress the giggle before it
    leaped out of her mouth. She had no control over it. Had no
    control over the way his kiss had left her body so giddy she'd
    probably be floating right now if his hand wasn't on her
    shoulder, forcing her feet to stay on the ground. She couldn't
    fathom what it was about him, but the minute she'd heard his
    voice, the sky around her had brightened. Even the dark
    cloud from Belinda's badgering had disappeared. There was
    something about the way he looked at her. It made her feel
    like...like she was a person. An odd thing, she knew, since
    she'd always been a person, but this was different—extremely
    hard to explain—even to herself.
    They were still chuckling when they walked around the
    corner of the tent. The icy stare Belinda sent their way was
    hard to ignore, but Randi did her best and ultimately refused
    so much as a glance her stepmother's way. The sun shining
    upon her and the light carefree feelings dancing inside her
    body like a jar of fireflies were too enjoyable. She didn't want
    any of it to end.
    "Whatever Ma is cooking sure smells good," Howard said
    with a touch of bewilderment.
    Randi glanced up, took in his somewhat apprehensive look.
    "You sound surprised."
    He set the bucket on a small bench near the tent.
    "I am." His lips brushed against her hair as he whispered
    in her ear, "Ma isn't known for her cooking."
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    "Oh?" She turned. His face was very close to hers. Less
    than an inch, and if she stretched just a mite, their lips could
    meet again. Her heart began to beat unevenly.
    "Nope," he said, then as light as a butterfly's wings, his
    lips brushed over hers before he turned to walk toward the
    table.
    Randi took a moment to catch her breath. Knew if she
    tried walking she'd look like a one-legged goose. This was
    certainly a day of firsts. Her first kiss, her second kiss, her
    wedding...
    When her knees no longer threatened to collapse, she let
    out the air in her lungs and moved to the tripod. Maybe there
    was hope. Maybe their marriage could work—if only she had
    something to offer up in the bargain.
    The Dutch oven had cooked the meat to perfection. It fell
    apart in long succulent strips as she stirred, mixing the thick
    chunks of beef into the gravy surrounding it. Ma's supply
    wagon was full of spices, some Randi had never even heard
    of, and every cooking utensil imaginable. The last hour,
    before her father and Belinda returned, had been marvelous.
    She'd missed cooking almost as much as she missed Mama
    these past few months.
    Her brows tugged together. Howard had said his mother
    wasn't known for her cooking. Then why would she have all
    these supplies? Randi shook off the question. She didn't really
    have time to contemplate it right now and turned to the other
    pot to poke the potatoes. They, too, were done. Completely
    involved in the meal, she scurried about to complete the
    feast. When the potatoes were whipped to perfection with a
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    by Lauri Robinson
    touch of sweet cream and butter, she carried the pan to the
    table and went back to retrieve the meat.
    Carrying the other kettle, full of sliced carrots, she found
    herself wishing she had Mama's china serving