Angel and the Texan From County Cork (The Brides of Texas Code Series Book 3) Read Online Free PDF Page A

howled relentlessly, so strong at times that she marveled the glass in the windows didn't shatter into a million pieces.
    She should go out to help him make sure everything was battened down, but she couldn't make herself move. Tomorrow. She'd help him tomorrow. For the rest of the night, she wanted to finish being a widow. Wanted to be by herself, with no ties. Just for a little while, she wanted to be Angel Clemens again. Before life had dealt her its series of ugly blows.
    She laid her head on the icy pillow and pulled the quilts up to her chin in an effort to ward off the chill of the room.
    Tomorrow, she'd be a wife.
    Tomorrow, she'd be Mrs. Jamey O'Donnell.
    Angel awoke from the depths of sleep to chickens clucking outside her window and Bitty's woeful cry. The cow needed to be milked and eggs needed to be gathered.
    She didn't want to be responsible yet. She was toasty warm here under the cocoon of blankets and the thought of climbing out into the cold was enough to keep her burrowed in until spring. That enticing idea lasted maybe a minute before the urge to visit the privy took its place.
    Stretching out the kinks, she scratched her nose then threw off the covers. Braced for the chill, her eyes popped open at the warmth that greeted her along with the smell of bacon frying on the stove. She sat upright noticing the chest had been moved sometime while she slept and the door stood wide open. The crackling sounds of the fireplace greeted her from the other room along with the unmistakable clink of skillet and utensils.
    She slipped behind the privacy screen to use the chamber pot and then, still dressed in her calico from yesterday, she tiptoed to the doorway. The man she'd married stood over the stove scrambling eggs. He turned the strips of bacon then opened the oven and pulled out a pan of biscuits. They were the prettiest things she'd ever seen. She moved closer and jumped when he spoke to her without turning around.
    “Ye didn't eat last night, I thought ye'd be hungry this morning.” He filled a plate, set it on the table for her and then filled one for himself. “Have a seat.”
    Angel might have denied his statement if her stomach hadn't growled loudly in response. Her face and neck heated uncomfortably and she smiled. “Thank you. It looks and smells delicious.”
    “Ye're welcome.”
     
    * * *
     
    Jamey drained his coffee cup and then set his dishes in the dishpan in the last of the hot water. He reached for Angel's plate as she scooped up the last bite of egg.
    “Thank you for cooking this morning.”
    “I figured it was the only way I'd get fed.” He gave her a grin over his shoulder.
    “Oh, well . . . it's just that—”
    “Don't worry about it.” He braced his hips against the counter edge and dried his hands on a towel. “I've learned how to take care of myself through the years.”
    She did that thing she'd done the first day he'd met her of tracing flowers on the tablecloth. He didn't know if that was her way of thinking or if she was trying to block him out but, like it or not, he had questions that needed asking.
    “Is there anythin’ I should know before I meet Moran at the bank?”
    “Not that I'm aware of, why?”
    “I try to know what's goin’ on in any situation so I don't walk into a hornet's nest.” He reached across the table to still her hands. When she looked at him, he appealed to her. “Angel, I need to know anything you can tell me about Moran. What can I expect? What do I look out for?”
    She straightened in her chair, reclaimed her hands, and appeared to give his plea serious thought. “Cleveland Moran is the richest man in three counties. He runs or tries to run the town and his influence in state government is well known.
    “I believe he wants to own all the land around here and that he'll accomplish that in any way possible. He’s acquired almost every ranch around here. The only ones standing in his way are Ollie Henderson and now you.”
    “Where's the