Free Calico Bride by Jillian Hart
Authors: Jillian Hart
swallowed fast, but apparently not speedy enough to wash away the taste. "Bitter," he gasped, when he handed over the empty cup.
"This should help." She gave him a buttered slice of bread. His sun-browned fingers brushed hers and a jolt of sunshine spread through her as peaceful as a summer's morning. She tried to keep her gaze from noticing his ruggedly handsome and chiseled features overly much.
"Thanks." He chewed slowly, watching as she filled a spoon with the good broth. He swallowed. "Do you play nursemaid often?"
"I have some practice with it." She hoped he couldn't see the truth. She tried to tuck her emotions away and keep them out of sight. "I have a little sister, you know. Younger siblings are pesky, always needing tender love and care."
"I was the younger sibling, and something tells me you don't mind taking care of your sister so much."
"I wouldn't trade her for anything." She couldn't explain why her hand wasn't steady as she arrowed the spoon at his mouth. She grabbed the cloth napkin to hold it beneath the spoon, where a droplet of broth fell onto it. "How many older brothers and sisters do you have?"
"None."
"None?" Her frown wrinkled with confusion. But hadn't he just said he was the youngest? How could that be unless'¦ Then realization dawned. She recognized the unspoken sorrow in his heart. She knew exactly what that loss was like. "I'm sorry."
"I had an older sister." He winced as if the pain were an old one but had never fully healed. He sipped the broth from the spoon and took his time swallowing.
"You don't have to tell me." She knew how difficult it was to talk about her ma's passing. "I understand."
"I was four years old when our house caught fire in the middle of the night." His gaze caressed her like a touch, lingering on her face. He seemed able to read her secrets written there. "A stray ember from the cookstove may have started the fire. I never really knew. All I remember is startling awake, choking on black smoke. The kitchen was roaring and glowing as if a fiery monster had been let loose in it."
"You had to have been terrified." She filled the spoon carefully, her hand steadier.
"I was. Ginna's bunk was across from mine and the fire was burning her nightgown. I couldn't see her because of the flames and the smoke. Pa took her out first, walking through the fire without thought for himself. Ma was there, too, but she couldn't make it to me. I remember her screaming in pain and telling my father to get me out first before her. So I was handed through the window to my sister and my life was spared in exchange for my parents'."
She didn't know what to say. She bowed her head, thankful at least one life had been saved in such a tragedy, although she wished there had been more. "I lost one parent to small pox. I cannot fathom losing two."
"Ginna took me into the wheat field and held me to keep me from running back into the house. She was seriously burned, it turned out fatally, but she never let go. She never complained about her own injuries. She had to have been in agony, but she walked me to the neighbor's house miles away and only when I was safe did she collapse."
"She loved you. That's a big sister's job." She remembered how curious she'd been about Burke and unsatisfied with the newspaper reporter's lack of information about him. She felt shamed, prying where only sadness dwelled. "Here, you must eat. You need to rebuild your strength."
He said nothing more as he sipped the broth from the spoon she held. Four years old. She remembered when Lark was that age, cute as a button and impossibly innocent. What an incomprehensible loss for a child so young. "Did you have other family to turn to?"
"No, I did
"This should help." She gave him a buttered slice of bread. His sun-browned fingers brushed hers and a jolt of sunshine spread through her as peaceful as a summer's morning. She tried to keep her gaze from noticing his ruggedly handsome and chiseled features overly much.
"Thanks." He chewed slowly, watching as she filled a spoon with the good broth. He swallowed. "Do you play nursemaid often?"
"I have some practice with it." She hoped he couldn't see the truth. She tried to tuck her emotions away and keep them out of sight. "I have a little sister, you know. Younger siblings are pesky, always needing tender love and care."
"I was the younger sibling, and something tells me you don't mind taking care of your sister so much."
"I wouldn't trade her for anything." She couldn't explain why her hand wasn't steady as she arrowed the spoon at his mouth. She grabbed the cloth napkin to hold it beneath the spoon, where a droplet of broth fell onto it. "How many older brothers and sisters do you have?"
"None."
"None?" Her frown wrinkled with confusion. But hadn't he just said he was the youngest? How could that be unless'¦ Then realization dawned. She recognized the unspoken sorrow in his heart. She knew exactly what that loss was like. "I'm sorry."
"I had an older sister." He winced as if the pain were an old one but had never fully healed. He sipped the broth from the spoon and took his time swallowing.
"You don't have to tell me." She knew how difficult it was to talk about her ma's passing. "I understand."
"I was four years old when our house caught fire in the middle of the night." His gaze caressed her like a touch, lingering on her face. He seemed able to read her secrets written there. "A stray ember from the cookstove may have started the fire. I never really knew. All I remember is startling awake, choking on black smoke. The kitchen was roaring and glowing as if a fiery monster had been let loose in it."
"You had to have been terrified." She filled the spoon carefully, her hand steadier.
"I was. Ginna's bunk was across from mine and the fire was burning her nightgown. I couldn't see her because of the flames and the smoke. Pa took her out first, walking through the fire without thought for himself. Ma was there, too, but she couldn't make it to me. I remember her screaming in pain and telling my father to get me out first before her. So I was handed through the window to my sister and my life was spared in exchange for my parents'."
She didn't know what to say. She bowed her head, thankful at least one life had been saved in such a tragedy, although she wished there had been more. "I lost one parent to small pox. I cannot fathom losing two."
"Ginna took me into the wheat field and held me to keep me from running back into the house. She was seriously burned, it turned out fatally, but she never let go. She never complained about her own injuries. She had to have been in agony, but she walked me to the neighbor's house miles away and only when I was safe did she collapse."
"She loved you. That's a big sister's job." She remembered how curious she'd been about Burke and unsatisfied with the newspaper reporter's lack of information about him. She felt shamed, prying where only sadness dwelled. "Here, you must eat. You need to rebuild your strength."
He said nothing more as he sipped the broth from the spoon she held. Four years old. She remembered when Lark was that age, cute as a button and impossibly innocent. What an incomprehensible loss for a child so young. "Did you have other family to turn to?"
"No, I did
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