Free Three Weddings And A Kiss by Loretta Chase Catherine Anderson Kathleen E. Woodiwiss

encouraged Rachel or Molly to assist her with any of the chores. Consequently, Rachel’s knowledge of homemaking was limited. By closely following a recipe, she could cook simple dishes, and she figured common sense would see her through most of the housecleaning chores. But laundry? She’d rinsed out her ribbed cotton hose a few times, but other than that she’d never washed, starched, or ironed a single garment. As tempting as she found Clint’s proposition, she wasn’t at all sure she was equal to the challenge.
    On the other hand, this was her chance—probably her one and only chance—to have the thing other girls took for granted, namely a handsome young husband who made her pulse race and her skin tingle. For so long now, Rachel had been resigned to settling for second or third best. Marrying Lawson. Playing, the role of a minister’s wife. Pretending she didn’t want or need any excitement in her life. Now, through a quirk of fate, she had a chance for more. So much more. Every time she remembered the kiss she and Clint had shared, she fairly shivered with anticipation.
    Madness! She should know better than to get her hopes up like this. Hadn’t she learned anything the last time she’d gotten her heart broken? Was she really so foolish that she was willing to risk that kind of pain again? It wasn’t as if she could keep her poor eyesight a secret from Clint and all his brothers permanently or even for any length of time at all. Sooner or later, one of them would catch her wearing her spectacles, and Clint would discover the truth—that she was half blind and, to rectify the problem, had to wear horribly ugly glasses. Once that happened, there’d be no more spine-tingling kisses. He would probably make up any excuse he could think of to get rid of her.
    Unless…maybe…oh, God, it was crazy to even consider it. But she’d heard tell of other marriages that had started shaky and ended up just fine. Why, even her own father had admitted once that her mother hadn’t been all that crazy about marrying him at first.
    Of course, Mama hadn’t been blind as a bat, either. Still—what if she could keep her eyeglasses a secret? The only time she absolutely had to wear them was to read, and she could try to avoid doing that in front of anyone. If she was careful, really careful, it might be months before Clint learned the truth, and maybe by then he would like her so much for herself he’d on longer care if she wore spectacles.
    As crazy a plan as it was, one glance at Clint cemented it in Rachel’s heart. He was, without question, one of the handsomest men she’d ever met. To a girl like her, who’d long since given up on dreaming, his offer was irresistible. She had to take a chance. If she got her heart broken again, so be it. At least she wouldn’t go to her grave wanting to kick herself for never trying at all.
    Her decision made, Rachel quickly assessed the mess that surrounded her. Everywhere she looked, there seemed to be stacks of dirty dishes. She had an awful feeling that her ability to balance a book on her head while climbing a flight of stairs might not come in very handy around the Rafferty place.
    “I, um, don’t know quite where to start…” She turned to look at Clint. “Did you say you had chores to do?”
    “Only a few,” he assured her eagerly. “This bein’ Sunday, we set aside most of the day for indoor chores. As soon as I finish, I’ll come back inside and help.”
    “Have you any bread baked?” Rachel prayed so, for she’d never turned out a loaf of bread in her life.
    “No. We usually make up enough on Sundays to last us the whole week. Like I said, Sunday’s our indoor day.”
    Rachel’s stomach tightened. “I hope you have a cookbook. I don’t know the ingredients for bread by heart.”
    “No cookbook, exactly. But we do have a collection of recipes my grandma and ma wrote down over the years. Nothin’ fancy, just loose sheets of paper in a wood recipe box my