Free Libbie: Bride of Arizona (American Mail-Order Bride 48) by Linda Carroll-Bradd

craw. He pushed away his chair from the table and stood. “Skip, can you come with me?”
    A second slice of buttered bread was halfway to Skip’s mouth. “Why?”
    “Just come.” Dell stared at the mutinous look on his brother’s face and forced out a single word through his gritted teeth. “Please.” Moving into the kitchen, Dell grabbed the wash basin and the supplies he needed from under the sink. A couple strokes of the pump handle dumped several cups of water into the metal basin and he topped it off with some of the hot water in the kettle.
    Still chewing, Skip trailed him. “What did you want to talk about?”
    “Nothing. I need to borrow your best shirt and that string tie you sometimes wear to church.”
    His eyebrows winged high. “That’s my favorite tie.”
    Dell huffed out a breath then pinned his brother with a stony glare. “In case you forgot, I’m getting married today, in twenty-five minutes to be exact. If that appointment is still on schedule. Because of the business with tracking down my wayward cattle, I didn’t arrive in town wearing my Sunday duds.” He swept a hand down the front of his body.
    “Yeah, well, okay. But I still say I should be living on the ranch, and not here in town.”
    “Today I’m thankful you live here so I can wrangle a clean shirt.” Without waiting for an answer, Dell walked through the door and turned to the right. After setting down the basin, he unbuttoned and stripped off his shirt then tossed it to the floor. Stale sweat filled the air, and he wondered how Libbie had endured being in his arms—even for that short period of time. Not the best first impression he’d ever made. He pulled his cotton undershirt over his head and dropped it onto the other shirt. Heat from the high-plateau sunshine warmed the air so he wasn’t cold. A few dabs of a small cloth over the soap square to build a lather and then he swiped it over his chest and under his arms. In lieu of a real bath, the piney scent might cover up any remaining unpleasantness.
    “Dell?” Quick, light footsteps approached from the kitchen. “Skip said to bring this—” Libbie stopped in the doorway.
    He straightened and turned toward where she stood with her mouth agape. Might as well let her look.
    Her gaze widened, a white cotton shirt dangling from her limp hand.
    He wasn’t ashamed of his body, knowing it was well-muscled from honest work. She’d be seeing plenty more when they got to the ranch and shared a bed. “Thank you for the shirt.” He extended a hand and waited.
    “Oh.” She blinked then her gaze traversed his body. “Yes, the shirt.” With a jerk of her head, she looked away, her gaze skipping over the walls and the furnishings.
    A blush rose in her cheeks, making her appear even more innocent than she already did. Dell clamped his jaw tight against the awareness building between them. He’d never imagined feelings for a woman could grow this quickly. But he couldn’t deny the heat of his thrumming pulse, warming him from the inside. “Libbie.” The single word came out like a growl.
    “What?” Hands rolled into fists, she clutched the garment to her chest and, after a long blink, finally met his gaze.
    Dipping his gaze to the garment, he lifted an eyebrow and then met her gaze again. “You’re wrinkling my shirt for the wedding.”
    Her eyes widened even more. “Oh.” She looked downward, released her grip, and then draped the shirt over his hand and spun, scurrying from the room.
    A chuckle escaped. Getting to know her better looked to be an easier proposition than he’d first thought. The petite woman allowed every emotion passing through her to display on her pretty face. In this brief exchange, he’d seen surprise change to shock, then shock switched to curiosity, and finally curiosity deepened to awareness. A look he was grateful to see.
    Finishing with his quick clean-up, he rubbed a hand over his chin and heard the rasp of the day’s whiskers. No time