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Smoke River Bride. Lynna Banning
Читать онлайн.Название Smoke River Bride
Год выпуска 0
isbn 9781472004024
Автор произведения Lynna Banning
Серия Mills & Boon Historical
Издательство HarperCollins
“You still awake?”
“Yes,” Leah murmured. “I thought it polite to wait for you. I kept myself from falling asleep by thinking about…Ivanhoe.”
A laugh burst from the tall shadow by the bed. “Ivanhoe!”
Thad began to unbutton his shirt. He fumbled with the buttonholes halfway down his broad chest, stalled, swore a Gaelic curse and abruptly yanked the garment off over his head. His wool undershirt followed.
“Ivanhoe wouldn’t have to cope with buttons,” he muttered.
“Ivanhoe,” she heard herself say, “would have a squire to unbuckle his armor.”
Thad’s hands at that moment rested on the leather belt at his waist. He stopped and sent her a challenging look. “You want to be my squire?” he joked.
“Oh, no,” she cried. “I could never—”
He laughed softly. “Leah, you’re gonna wash my clothes. You’re gonna get so used to my trouser buttons you could undo them in your sleep.”
She pulled the sheet up over her head. The next thing she knew the bed sagged under his weight and a long, very cold body stretched out next to her.
“Oh! You are frozen! Where have you been?”
He chuckled aloud. “I’ve been out talking to my wheat field. Do it every night, mostly to reassure myself it’s still there.”
“Your wheat field? Why would it not be there? Is it growing?”
“Oh, aye. Little by little. But it’s like waitin’ for a kettle of water to boil.”
Leah rose up on one elbow. “Do all American farmers talk to their crops?”
“Nope.”
There was a long silence, and she wished she had not spoken out in such a bold manner.
“Dunno why I talk to the wheat, really. Well, that’s not true—I do know. That crop means a lot to me for two reasons. One, it’s a challenge. A gamble, really, but I like a challenge. Always have. And the other reason is this—when I was real young, about Teddy’s age, back in Scotland, my da had a farm. One year there was an awful storm that killed all our crops except for the red winter wheat Da had sown. We lived on that wheat, and goat’s milk, for a whole year. Nothing else survived. Neither would we have, if not for that crop of wheat. Saved our lives, it did.”
“That happens in China, too. If the rice crop fails, many people starve to death.”
Thad grunted. “Guess that wheat field makes me feel, well, like no matter what happens, my boy and I will survive.”
Leah gazed out the window. “Can you see your field from here?”
“Nope. Good thing, I guess,” he said with a chuckle. “Otherwise I’d be mooning out the window half the time instead of milking the cow and feedin’ the horses.”
Silence.
“Leah, you’re the only person I’ve told all this to. Townfolk think I’m a little crazy. Nobody grows wheat in Oregon. They’re all getting a good laugh over my experiment, I guess. I’m in debt up to my ears for what’s growing on those three acres, but I believe in a few years this whole territory will be growing wheat.”
“Mr. MacAllister…Thad…?”
“Go to sleep, Leah. It’s been a long day.”
Go to sleep? “Are you not going to—?”
“Nope,” he said. “We’re married, but we don’t hardly know each other. Let’s give it some time.”
Leah rolled onto her back and lay staring up at the ceiling. Thad MacAllister was a most unusual man.
Or perhaps he does not like me.
But then he laid his arm across her waist and gently nudged her closer. Her silk-clad shoulder and hip brushed against his skin and his warmth enveloped her like a fine wool robe.
“You sure feel warm,” he murmured. “I’ve been kinda cold for a while.”
Leah smiled into the dark. It was a good beginning.
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