Pleasance's First Love: A Six Brides for Six Gideons Novella (Book 3) (Grandma's Wedding Quilts 6) by Holt Kristin & Quilts Grandma's Wedding & Americana Sweet

Author:Holt, Kristin & Quilts, Grandma's Wedding & Americana, Sweet [Holt, Kristin]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Tags: Fiction: Romance, Historical, Western
Publisher: Kristin Holt, LC
Published: 2017-01-12T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

Late the following day, Jacob worked inside the new stables, sweeping up sawdust. At last, the outbuilding was finished, and ready for occupants. Gave him quite a sense of accomplishment, even if those new horses wouldn’t be arriving for a good long while. Maybe a couple years. After he did something he’d sworn he’d never do—raise and sell beef on the hoof.

Pleasance had brought up the same idea he’d toyed with the past couple of years, the whole while he’d stupidly sought funds from bankers.

City girl or not, Pleasance had independently considered the same solution.

Next time he saw her, he might have to admit she was right. Or kiss her. Or both.

A few cows on his horse ranch, a season or two or three, and he’d be done with bovines. His debts would be paid.

Last night’s kisses, finally admitting he loved her still, had been beautiful. Something he’d dreamed of, but thought he couldn’t make happen. His boots hadn’t touched ground all day.

As if merely thinking of Pleasance would bring her to him, she appeared in the doorway, as full of vinegar as he’d ever seen her. She carried something beneath her arm, but with strong evening sunlight behind her, he couldn’t tell what.

“Jacob Gideon? Are you in here?” The gal’s tone warned him she was good and riled.

What had Fran told her now? He eased the broom handle against the wall. No sense spooking her.

Behind him, sounds of another broom sweeping kept up. Apparently Tuck didn’t think Pleasance’s visit adequate reason to stop working.

His bedroll quilt—that’s what she’d carried all the way from the house. What was she doing with that?

As if it turned into a rattlesnake and bit her, she flung the quilt at him. But a quilt, even rolled up like that, made a poor projectile. It fell short of the target on his chest, bounced upon the plank floorboards a good six feet from his boots, and rolled closer.

“Pleasance?” He showed her both open palms, nice and easy, approached two quiet steps. The woman was as unpredictable as a green filly. “What’s got you upset, sweetheart?”

“Where did you get that?”

He risked a glance at the bedroll, just in case he’d mistaken it in the dimming light. “My bedroll? I’ve had it forever. Took it on every roundup from the time I hired on.”

He knew where she’d found it. In the bedding chest, upstairs. She must have sought another quilt for her bed. Summer nights at this altitude could be unpleasantly cool.

“Where did you get it?”

“Grandma Mary gave it to me.” He remembered that day like yesterday. That quilt had held him together that first year or two after she’d gone abroad.

“I can see that.”

“What cowboy needs a quilt?”

His city girl didn’t know much about things. “Cowboys call ‘em sugans, sweetheart. Most cowhands patch theirs out of anything they have—worn out coats, usable parts of cast-off clothing, pieces of Army blankets.” He’d taken more than a razzing for showing up with a bed-quilt, but it’d been worth every teasing jibe to have this bit of Pleasance with him.

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