Free Montana Legend (Harlequin Historical, No. 624) by Jillian Hart Page B

end of the shop where there were more women who looked up at him.
    â€œAren’t you the fellow who bought the Buchanan place?” A matronly woman looked down the bridge of her nose at him as she turned a glossy page in a pattern book. “I hear you’re a widower.”
    â€œExcuse me.” He’d been in town for only a few hours, but it was already too long.
    He missed the open plains, his work and his horses. He knew what to do with a lasso in his hand, but not in this woman’s domain with its leafy wallpaper and crystal lamps. It even smelled female—like starch, soap and dried flowers.
    â€œPa, where ya goin’?”
    â€œYou’re old enough to do this yourself.” He didn’t know if that was true, but he knew one thing for sure. That pretty seamstress was going to come back and wear her “I’m available” smile and what was he going to do with that? Give him a bronco to break or a colt to gentle and he was happy. But give him a husband-hunting woman, and he ready to head for the hills.
    â€œNo more than three dresses. You pick ’em out and I’ll say yes or no when I come back.” He wrapped his hand around the dainty glass doorknob that felt like a pebble against his wide calloused palm.
    The door opened of its own volition and whacked him in the shoulder. On the other side of the thresholdstood Sarah Redding, looking fine. Just fine. Blond curls peeked out from beneath her plain sunbonnet, and her so-blue eyes twinkled up at him in a friendly, neighborly, non-terrifying way.
    â€œSarah.” He held wide the door. “I’m glad to see you.”
    â€œYou look pale enough to faint.” Sparkling like the very sun itself, she laid her hand over his, an act of comfort. “I suppose the toughest horseman this side of the Rockies is miserable in a lady’s dress shop.”
    â€œYou’re darn right about that. I need to escape to the stockyard and lasso a few steers to feel better. Maybe just some fresh air on the boardwalk. What are you doing here?”
    â€œElla spotted Lucy through the window—” She tried to explain, but the girls were busy weaving through the store together, their happy chatter explanation enough. “I was surprised to notice the progress you’ve made on the house. I could see it from the road.”
    â€œGot two outside walls framed. Figured I can do the rest by nightfall if I can drag Lucy back to the ranch.” He noticed the two little girls, heads together considering the buckskin skirt, and knew there was a good chance he’d be buying that skirt. “Suppose work can wait for tomorrow. What are you in town for?”
    â€œI have correspondence to mail.” She patted her bulging reticule slung neatly around her slim wrist and leaned close, lowering her voice, bringing with her the scent of sunshine and roses. “Don’t tell my relatives, but I’m beginning to look for work.”
    â€œWon’t they approve?”
    â€œYou would think they’d be glad to be rid of me, but I seem to have made myself indispensable.”
    â€œYou mean they like all the work you do for free.”
    â€œLike to look on the sunny side of things, do you?”
    â€œDon’t see the need to fancy up the plain truth.”
    â€œYou’re a straightforward sort of man, are you, Mr. Gatlin? Then why don’t you ask for help when you need it?” She was teasing him now, her mouth drawn up so her bow-shaped top lip was soft and plump, just right for kissing.
    Kissing? Why in blazes would he think of kissing her? It was proof enough he was loco.
    â€œCome on, admit the truth.” She yanked the doorknob out of his hand with a brush of her small fingers. “Lucy needs new dresses and you don’t have the faintest idea where to begin. Maybe you’d like a woman’s help. A woman with experience in this, seeing as I have a daughter the same age as