Homespun Bride by Jillian Hart

sniffled. “What is keeping that doctor? Doesn’t he know my Robert needs him? What kind of a physician takes his own sweet time? I should write a letter of complaint.” She heard the echo of an approaching step at the far end of the hallway.
    “The doctor’s riding up now.” Cook charged into the bedroom, breathing hard with her exertion. Water sloshed in a basin and she plunked it down on the top of the bureau. “Out of the room, missy. The doc will need room to work.”
    Yes, she was in the way. Noelle released her aunt’s hand and pressed a loving touch to her uncle’s forehead. He was such a good man. He had taken her in when she’d had nobody else. He was a good husband and father.
    As she slipped from the room the doctor was hurrying up the stairs, perhaps let in by the maid, Sadie, and once again, Noelle was in the way when she wanted so badly to do something to help. She took several paces back and waited in the hallway’s cool corner until the medical man strode through the doorway in a great hurry and clatter.
    Only then did she make her way downstairs. With a trembling step and a heavy heart, she retreated to her chair in the parlor. The low crying and quiet sniffles told her she wasn’t alone in the room. The fire was low, judging by the dull hum of the flames and the lazy occasional pop, but she could not see to add wood to the grate.
    “Matilda? Would you like me to pray with you?”
    Another quiet sniffle. “N-no. I just left Minnie and Angelina praying in the library. I j-just hurt s-so mu-uch.”
    “What can I do for you?”
    “There’s nothing that you can do. Only the d-oc-tor. And G-god.”
    “Should I make you some hot tea?”
    “That would be l-lovely.” Matilda stifled a sob. “Cook’s lemon mint?”
    “Of course.” Relieved to have something constructive to do, she headed to the kitchen, counting her steps as she went, ticking off the number of paces from her chair to the dining room and from the table to the swinging kitchen door.
    Thad. She knew he was there by the change in the air, by the scent of horse and leather and hay. Against her will, her heart tugged as if he’d cinched a rope around it.
    Split wood tumbled into the fuel box with a roll and thunk. She waited, holding herself very still as Thad’s movements seemed loud in the still and empty room. The fire’s voice grew to a crackling roar.
    “That’ll do.” Cook’s grudging approval was a rare sound. “That was mighty Christian of you, Mr. McKaslin.”
    “Just helping out while I’m here.” His baritone tensed, as if he knew she was in the room. “I guess I’d best see to the other fires in the house.”
    His footsteps knelled closer with the unhurried, strong beat that she knew so well.
    She stepped aside, knowing she was in the way and expected him to walk on by. After all they’d been through, what could there be left to say? She wouldn’t trust him, wouldn’t allow a friendship, would do nothing but to wish him well. She was certain he felt the same way.
    But his gait halted, and she could feel his calming presence towering over her.
    “I’m sorry for your uncle,” he said gruffly. “I don’t suppose there’s any word from the doc yet?”
    Her eyes watered at the tender caring in his voice—a tender caring she well remembered through all the years and disillusionment. It had been the great gentleness in the powerful man that had once won her heart completely.
    If only her heart did not remember that now. She nodded, not trusting her voice, wishing him to go on his way before the burning in her eyes turned to tears.
    “I’m no longer much of a praying man, but I’ve been keeping him in prayer.”
    “That means a lot.” One hot tear rolled down her cheek. “More than you know.”
    “I care more than you know.”
    The rough, callused pad of his thumb brushed featherlight against her cheek to stop her single tear. He’d moved closer, and he leaned in closer still. She could hear the