Homespun Bride

ma’am, I’ll see you two ladies home.”
    “Th-that would be very good of you, sir. I’m rather shaken up. I’m of half a mind to walk the entire mile home, except for my dear niece.”
    Noelle. He wouldn’t let his heart react to her. All that mattered was doing right by her—and that was one thing that hadn’t changed. He came around to help the aunt into the sleigh and after she was safely seated, turned toward Noelle. Her scarf had slid down to reveal the curve of her face, the slope of her nose and the rosebud smile of her mouth.
    What had happened to her? How had she lost her sight? Sadness filled him for her blindness and for what could have been between them, once. He thought about saying something to her, so she would know who he was, but what good would that do? The past was done and over. Only the emptiness of it remained.
    “Thank you so much, sir.” She turned toward the sound of his step and smiled in his direction. If she, too, wondered who he was, she gave no real hint of it.
    He didn’t expect her to. Chances were she hardly remembered him, and if she did, she wouldn’t think too well of him. She would never know what good wishes he wanted for her as he took her gloved hand. The layers of wool and leather and sheepskin lining between his hand and hers didn’t stop that tiny flame of tenderness for her from growing a notch.
    He looked into her eyes, into Noelle’s eyes, the woman he’d loved truly so long ago, knowing she did not recognize him. Could not see him or sense him, even at heart. She smiled at him as if he were the Good Samaritan she thought he was as he helped her settle onto the seat.
    Love was an odd thing, he realized as he backed away. Once, their love had been an emotion felt so strong and pure and true that he would have vowed on his very soul that nothing could tarnish nor diminish their bond. But time had done that simply, easily, and they stood now as strangers.
    He reached for Sunny’s reins, mounted up and led the way into the worsening storm.

Chapter Two
    H uddled against the minus temperatures and lashing snow, Noelle clenched her jaw tight to keep her teeth from chattering.
    The whir of the frigid wind and the endless whisper of the torrential snowfall drowned out all sound. It deceived her into imagining they were being pulled along in a void, cut off from the outside world, from everyone and everything, including the stranger who had helped them. She knew he was leading the gelding; Aunt Henrietta had assured her of this fact as soon as they’d set out.
    It was only concern, she told herself, because she’d been behind two runaway horses in her lifetime. She did not wish a third trip. Of course she wanted to make sure they arrived safely home and that the stranger would keep his stalwart promise to lead them there.
    The stranger. She couldn’t seem to rid him from her mind. Her thoughts kept turning over and over the moment she’d first heard his buttery-warm baritone and the strange, vague sense of recognition she’d felt when he’d lifted her from the sleigh.
    You know who he reminds you of. She shivered against the cruel cold and swiped the snow from her lashes. No, it couldn’t be her old beau. Thad McKaslin was probably in Texas by now, judging by how fast he’d left her years ago. Her heart cracked in small pieces just thinking his name.
    No, there was no possibility—none—that he was the stranger. Their rescuer was a Good Samaritan and a dependable, mature man, not a boy who only saw to his own concerns.
    “Henrietta?” Uncle Robert’s bass boomed through the sounds of the storm. “Noelle! Thank God you’re here safe. I was just about to ride out looking for you. Didn’t you see the blizzard cloud, Henrietta? You are both half frozen.”
    “Oh, Rob.” Henrietta stumbled off the seat with a thud and clatter.
    The storm blocked any other sounds, but Noelle knew her aunt had flung herself into her husband’s arms. Though stiff with cold, she waited in the sleigh to give them a private moment.
    “Do you need help?”
    She turned toward the sound of his voice, thinking of all the ways his baritone didn’t sound like the Thad she remembered. It was deeper, more mature, made of character and depth of experience. Besides, if it was Thad, he would have said something. See, it couldn’t be.
    “Miss?”
    She ignored the knot of foreboding in her stomach and answered him. “I would appreciate the help. Storms with winds like this tend