Homespun Bride

longed for him the way gray skies longed for blue.
    “He tipped his hat to me!” Matilda’s whisper was tremulous. “Oh, he smiled at me from the street, where he sat on his wagon seat, and as his horses drew him past, he reached up with his hand and tipped his hat brim. He was smiling just a little, nothing flashy or bold, just polite. Oh!”
    Her pulse turned hollow. Emmett Sims, not Thad. Disappointment weighed her down like a blacksmith’s anvil. And it made no sense whatsoever because it wasn’t as if she were holding out a single hope that— No, not one single hope that there was any way Thad would love her enough—
    No, it’s not what you want for him, Noelle. She kept her spine straight, gathered up her resolve and smiled at her cousin’s joy. “Perhaps Mr. Sims fancies you more than you’ve thought.”
    “Perhaps. We shall have to wait and see is all.”
    “I’m not fooled, you know, by your reserve. Inside you are floating like a cloud.”
    “How did you know?”
    “I’ve felt that way myself.” She tucked away that memory, too, not of being young and in love, but of all the ways she loved Thad more now. And always would. “I’ve lost count. Where are we on the boardwalk? Is that the bakery?”
    “Yes. I can smell the cinnamon buns.”
    “I think we need to celebrate, don’t you? Henrietta needs to go to the post office before she catches up with us. We have plenty of time. We’ll have iced cinnamon rolls and tea, which ought to put us in a much better mood for shoe shopping.”
    “I think you’re right.” Matilda took a better grip on her arm. “Come with me.”
    As Noelle turned on her heel to let her cousin guide her to the door, she thought she felt a feather brush against her soul like a touch from heaven. But there were no other footsteps squishing anywhere close by on the rain-soaked boardwalk. Just the sucking of mud at horse hooves and wagon wheels and the concerto of the rain falling.
    Strange. Shrugging, she followed her cousin into the shelter of the bakery.
    * * *
    “Thad?”
    He ignored his older brother’s voice as he watched Noelle step inside the bakery across the street. Affection tied him up in knots, for he could still see her through the gray sheets of rain and the street traffic and the bakery’s window. She was feeling her way for a curving chair back and, after three tries, found it and, with care, settled onto the seat.
    “You and Finn are both useless,” Aiden quipped from the row filled with buckets of nails. “Both of you aren’t doing a thing to help me. I should have left you two at home.”
    “Don’t go tossing me into the same stall as Finn.” Thad couldn’t seem to rip his gaze away from the bakery shop window. “I’m not the lazy one.”
    “Hey!” Finn’s voice rose up from the back corner of the store. “Watch who you’re calling lazy!”
    Aiden came close to peer through the window, too. “You’ve been watching her since you spotted her enter the dress shop. Tell me again how you think her saying no was for the best.”
    A dagger through his gut wouldn’t hurt as much as Noelle’s rejection. No, nothing in this life could hurt him like that. But it was a private pain. “Between Finn, helping you with the ranch and working on mine, I haven’t had a whole lot of time to ponder it.”
    “Perhaps you’d best start right now, since you’ve got time to stand idle at the window.” Aiden strode off, hiding a small smile.
    Think about it? He’d been doing nothing else but going over the last two months in his mind. He was sure he had won her back. He was sure she’d felt the same way. She loved him. He knew that. She hadn’t bothered to deny it. Yet something worried at him that he could not shake and could not look at because it hurt too much.
    He hadn’t given up on her. He would never give up. Seeing her again hurt enough to bring him to his knees, and yet, could he look away? No. He could not turn his back and walk away from even the sight of her.
    She looked subdued, without the joy he’d seen in her when they’d been together. Across the street, the bakery owner was serving a pot of tea. Two plates of enormous cinnamon rolls were on the table. Noelle was exchanging pleasantries, smiling sweetly to the older woman who ran the place. Her fingers nimbly searching for the flatware and the sugar bowl, unaware that as she spooned sugar into her cup half of it landed on the tablecloth.
    He remembered, too, how Matilda