Free Short Straw Bride by Dallas Schulze Page A

was right and Luke had come to ask for permission to call on her. Painful as it might be, she was simply going to have to deal with that reality.
    Anabel returned to the parlor so quickly that Eleanor wondered if she’d simply cut her way out of her other dress. She was wearing a pale pink dress with a soft flounce at the hem and a touch of lace at the neckline and wrists. She looked like an angel, her mother told her, and, much as she would have liked to do so, Eleanor couldn’t disagree.
    It was no wonder if Luke McLain was smitten with Anabel, she thought with a sigh. How could a man be expected to see past all that beauty to the nasty core of her?
    The three women waited with varying degrees of patience. Dorinda pretended to read her novel. Eleanor pretended to concentrate on her embroidery. And Anabel posed prettily on the edge of the piano bench and admired the graceful folds of her skirt, not bothering to pretend an interest in anything other than herself.
    Though it seemed like forever, it was something less than half an hour before they heard the door tothe study open. Dorinda dropped her novel. Eleanor promptly jabbed her finger with a needle. Anabel merely lifted her head, tilting it attractively, a smile wreathing her pretty face as her father entered the parlor.
    “What did Mr. McLain want, Papa?” she asked with just the right combination of shy hope and feminine confidence.
    Zeb Williams didn’t respond immediately. He cleared his throat and looked away from his daughter. His eyes met his wife’s, skated over Anabel again and finally settled on his niece with a mixture of dislike and disbelief. “Mr. McLain would like to speak with you, Eleanor,” he said slowly.
    “With me?” Eleanor’s voice rose in a surprised squeak.
    “Yes.” The single word seemed to take a considerable effort. He cleared his throat again and focused his gaze somewhere past her shoulder. “You may speak with him in my study but you’re not to close the door more than halfway, do you hear?”
    “Yes, Uncle Zeb.” She hesitated, but her uncle didn’t seem to have anything more to add. She set aside her embroidery and stood.
    A quick glance at Anabel showed her pretty mouth half-open with surprise. Eleanor was pleased to see that she looked a little like a trout. Knowing that it was only a matter of seconds before Anabel regained her breath and demanded an explanation, Eleanor didn’t delay her departure.
    She paused outside her uncle’s study and smoothed her palms over her skirt. She knew from experience that there was no sense in even trying to pat her hair back into place—the curls would just spring right back out again. Drawing a deep breath, she pinned what she hoped was a serene smile on her face and walked into the den. Mindful of her uncle’s concern about propriety, she pushed the door half-shut behind her.
    Luke had been standing in front of the bookcase, his head tilted to read the titles on the rows of leather-bound books. He turned as she entered the room, and Eleanor was helpless to control the color that rose in her cheeks. Nor could she prevent her heartbeat from accelerating beyond all reason.
    “Miss Williams.”
    “Mr. McLain. Uncle Zeb said you wished to speak to me?” She was pleased to hear the steadiness of her voice.
    “Yes.” He cleared his throat and gestured to the small sofa that sat against one wall. “Perhaps we could sit down?”
    They were barely seated when a piercing shriek issued from the direction of the parlor. “I won’t have it! I won’t, I won’t, I won’t!” Anabel’s voice rose in a crescendo of rage, peaking in another shriek that ended abruptly in the sound of a slap. Eleanor’s eyes widened in shock. In the six years she’d lived here, she’d never once seen anyone raise a hand to Anabel, no matter how uncontrolled her behavior.
    “My cousin is, uh, terrified of mice,” she murmured in response to Luke’s inquiring look. Other than lifting one dark brow,