LITMIR.BIZ

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but the most logical thing is that she still cares for him, lowlife though he certainly is.”

      “Or,” Libby offered, “maybe she’s afraid there’s no one out there who’s willing to take on a woman with a background like hers and a child like Bethany. It’s something few men would assume willingly. On the other hand, maybe she uses her husband as a way to keep from getting too close to anyone for fear she’ll be let down again, the same way you use your flirting.”

      “I hadn’t thought of that,” Win confessed. “Which is all the more reason that love should be left out of the equation. It simplifies everything if you go into a marriage as a business arrangement.”

      “You’re impossible,” she said with a shake of her head.

      “I’m serious. Everyone says Slade was devastated when his wife walked out, so it would be a perfect arrangement for him and Blythe. Two brokenhearted people bound only by a marriage license.”

      The expression on Libby’s face was almost comical. “Win, this isn’t some struggling business that you think you can fix. We’re talking about two people’s lives here. You can’t treat this like a merger.”

      “I don’t see why not.”

      Seeing that she was getting nowhere with him, Libby asked, “When do you plan to pursue this ridiculous course of action?

      “As soon as Slade is well enough to be reasoned with.”

      Libby stood and reached for his empty plate. She’d done all she could do for the moment. “If he’s as hardheaded as you say he is, this could get interesting.”

      After his mother left him, Win recalled the things Blythe had said during their conversation on the way home. She’d asked if he really wanted her to marry someone like Will Slade, and Win admitted it was a valid question. He didn’t want his sister legally bound to just anyone, especially someone who had a problem with alcohol. He’d see the results of that mistake too often.

      As for Slade being divorced, unlike most people, Win had no problem with that; after all, Martha was the one who had cheated and done the divorcing. Libby was a divorcée and there was not a better person alive. She’d been a great mother to him and Philip, and a wonderful, caring wife to their father, who’d been left paralyzed after her first husband, Lucas Gentry, had given him a severe beating.

      Win hadn’t gone through life without realizing that things often happened that no one could control, but he was a man who liked fixing things. He picked up his coffee cup and stared at a hazy-looking landscape across the room. He really did want Blythe to be happy. He didn’t want to force her into a disastrous marriage. On the other hand, she just kept getting into scrapes that caused her to look foolish. Of course, there was no sin in that. Almost everyone fell into that category at one time or another.

      * * *

      When her mother left her, Blythe undressed, leaving her dirty clothes in a pile next to the bed. It was Sunday and she knew she should have a bath and get ready for church services, but under the circumstances, she thought she would stay at home. She wasn’t ready to face the town gossips or the condemnation she knew she would see in Brother McAdams’s eyes.

      She slipped between the muslin sheets and wished she never had to leave the comfort and anonymity of the bed. She heard the occasional clatter of silver against a plate and the muted sounds of her mother’s and brother’s voices. Rolling to her side, she curled into a ball of misery.

      There was little doubt that they were talking about her and what to do about her latest fiasco. Her brother would push for marriage, believing that it would solve everything, when all it would really do is tie two already-unhappy people together for a lifetime. Her mother would be her advocate, but Blythe wasn’t sure how long Libby could hold out against Win’s incredible ability to sway others to his way of thinking. It was, after all, what made him such a success in the business world.

      Despite the dozens of emotions that raced through her mind one after the other, Blythe finally escaped her newest predicament by drifting off into a sound sleep. Her last coherent thought was that maybe she could be like Rip Van Winkle and sleep for years and years and years and wake up to find this all behind her.

      * * *

      Blythe woke sometime in the afternoon. She pulled on a flannel robe and went down to find something to eat, her footsteps dragging. Her mother had returned from church and was probably in her room taking her Sunday-afternoon nap.

      She took the platter of ham Libby had baked from the pie safe and placed a generous helping on a pretty floral plate, adding some potatoes and green beans. She was starving. Other than the small chunk of cheese and piece of stale bread she’d shared with the dog the evening before, she hadn’t eaten in more than twenty-four hours.

      She tucked into her cold meal and let her thoughts wander over the events of the morning. Recalling the shock on everyone’s face when they’d walked into the house and seen her in her petticoats almost robbed her of her appetite. Other than making a mistake in judging Devon’s true character, she’d had no excuse when it came to the fiasco, but this situation was far different. Even now, she didn’t know how else she could have handled things.

      Her thoughts drifted to Will Slade. Will. Somehow, even though some might condemn her for being so familiar, it seemed fitting that she should think of him by his given name. In for a penny, in for a pound, she thought in defiance. She wondered how he was doing and if he was as sick as she’d thought he was. Would he be all right? In spite of everything, she prayed he would be.

      She was cleaning up the kitchen when she remembered Will’s dog. Like her, he hadn’t had much to eat, and with Will gone, there was no one to feed him. She didn’t fool herself into thinking Win would ride out there and feed the beast. Gabe or Caleb might if she asked them, but it was Sunday and they always had visitors over.

      She sighed. There was nothing to do but to take care of the animal herself, though the very thought of facing the drooling creature sent a shiver down her spine. She looked at the ham and reached again for the butcher knife. Working carefully, she cut all the fat and meat from the bone. When she was finished, she had a nice bone and lots of scraps that she knew the dog would enjoy. She wrapped it in waxed paper and tied it up in a dish towel.

      After dressing in a much-worn skirt and shirtwaist, she donned a coat and headed for the carriage house, telling Joel, her mother’s stable hand, to hitch up the covered buggy. He complied, though he didn’t seem happy about it. She told him where she was going, so he could report to her mother, and said she would be back before suppertime.

      The ride to Will’s place was a chilly, muddy trek. The afternoon sunshine gave no hint of the torrential rains of the evening before. Blythe found peace in the knowledge that there was no one out here to stare or point accusing fingers at her. No one to whisper speculations about what had happened between her and Will Slade.

      As soon as the house came into view, the dog sensed her approach. Leaping up from his place on the porch, he ran to the bottom of the steps, lifted his head skyward and began to bark and growl. When his racket failed to make her stop or go away, he broke into a loping run toward the buggy. Trembling, but determined not to let him intimidate her, Blythe kept going.

      When she reached the hitching post, she pulled the mare to a stop. Immediately the dog put his massive paws on the floorboard of the buggy and barked once, almost as if he were trying to tell her something, the way he had the previous day.

      Though her hand shook, Blythe held it out toward him and crooned in a trembling voice, “It’s okay, boy. It’s okay. Are you hungry? Hmm? I’ve brought you something to eat.”

      He barked again, as if to say yes.

      She leaned over, untied the dish towel with the ham leavings and turned back toward him. “If you want to eat, you’ll have to move,” she said. As if he understood, he backed up a couple of steps. Thank the Good Lord, he wasn’t barking anymore!

      Taking her courage in hand, she climbed down from the buggy. The brute began to jump up

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