Free The Brides of Chance Collection by Cathy Marie Hake, Kelly Eileen Hake, Tracey V. Bateman Page A

could see the curve of her cheek. A rosy hue that hadn’t been there moments before tinted it now.
    Thoroughly entertained, Bryce let out a wolf whistle and waggled his brows. “Aren’t you just the prettiest little fashion plate?”
    “I not a plate,” Polly huffed in obvious dismay. She patiently pointed at the table. “Plates is on the table. Panty-lettes is on me.”
    The way she hiked up her hem to display her fancy little girl drawers to illustrate the second part of her assertion was downright funny. Gideon chuckled under his breath.
    Miriam cleared her throat and said in a slightly croaky tone, “Polly, you may come be my best helper now. Put the bread on the table.”
    “Goody!” Polly stopped making a show of her unmentionables and galloped over to her aunt. White ruffles stuck out from beneath her hem, making what had been a too-short-to-be-decent dress look acceptable. Gideon wouldn’t admit he thought it looked utterly charming—even if it was kind of girly. He also didn’t want to admit that once Polly was out of diapers, they hadn’t bothered to put her into any undergarments. White’s Mercantile sold men’s long johns, but they didn’t have a thing for kids. Asking Reba White to special order something for Polly was one of those awkward things that somehow managed to slip the Chance brothers’ minds when they went to town.
    Polly wound her arms around Miriam’s skirts for a quick hug, then looked up expectantly. Miriam stooped and gave Polly a basket full of sliced bread. She murmured something softly to the girl, then asked, “Understand?”
    “No,” Polly retorted in her clear, high voice that carried well. She frowned at Miriam and tilted her head to the side. “How come a lady is ’posed to wear her panty-lettes, but she can’t talk ’bout them? My panty-lettes is so pretty!”
    That did it. Gideon succumbed to the temptation. He threw back his head and roared. Miriam looked so disconcerted, he couldn’t help it.
    Daniel sat off in the corner, glowering. Gideon wasn’t sure whether his levity or Miriam’s prissy ways caused his brother to look like he’d been sucking on lemons. Paying attention to his surly ways wouldn’t change them. It’s a temporary situation , Gideon told himself as he stopped laughing. Miriam will be gone in no time at all .
    As if she knew what he was thinking, Miriam used all the strategy of a general and the wiles of a woman. She put supper on the table. Everything was done at the same time, and she managed to coordinate her moves so efficiently, she didn’t get in a dither while juggling platters, bowls, and the like. In a matter of moments, rich, thick, my mouth-died-and-went-to-heaven chicken stew and her light-as-clouds bread graced the supper table. A colorful dish with whacked-up tomatoes, cucumbers, onions, and bits of herbs looked like something a fancy chef would serve at an expensive San Francisco restaurant. How she managed to knock around in their kitchen and garden and concoct such mouthwatering meals was a total mystery. No matter who cooked, none of the Chance men ever managed to create anything half as appealing.
    “Supper is ready, gentlemen,” she announced.
    Gideon wanted to wallop his brothers. She hadn’t even finished the sentence, and they were falling all over each other to reach the table. He intentionally waited a minute before taking his customary place at the head of the table.
    Titus sprang up, pulled out a chair, and said, “Here you go, Miss Miriam.”
    “Thank you,” she said…or simpered. Gideon wasn’t sure whether she was genuine in her gratitude or trying to wrap Titus around her little finger.
    Miriam claimed Polly again. They folded their hands, and the brothers fell into a chagrined silence. They’d already started to dig in. Spoons froze halfway to mouths, then were lowered down to rest in the bowls as Polly’s uncles heard the little tyke singsong a prayer all by herself. Good sports that they were,