Gingham Bride Read Online Free PDF Page B

ignore the hissing strap as it flew downward toward her.
    The lean-to door burst open with a thundering crack, and the strap never touched her back. Footsteps hammered on the board floor and Da cursed. Her eyes had adjusted enough to make out the shadowed line of two upraised arms, as if locked in battle. But the taller man, the stronger man, took the strap in hand and stepped away.
    “It’s over, O’Rourke,” Ian McPherson’s baritone boomed like an avalanche. “You won’t beat this girl again. You hear me?”
    “This is my house. You have no call giving me orders.”
    “If you want me to consider marrying the girl, I do.” Warm steel, those words, and coldly spoken. He unwound the strap from where it had wrapped around his hand. Had he caught it in midstrike? Was he hurt?
    It was hard to think past the relief rolling through her and harder to hear her thoughts over her father’s mumbled anger. He was saying something, words she couldn’t grasp, while Ian stood his ground, feet braced, stance unyielding. His words echoed in her hollow-feeling skull. If you want me to consider marrying the girl…
    She squeezed her eyes shut. Marry. She wasn’t yet eighteen; her birthday was nearly five months away. The last thing she wished to do with her life was to trust a man with it.
    “What is going on out here?” Ma’s sharp tone broke through whatever the men were discussing. Fiona opened her eyes, blinking against the stinging brightness as lamplight tumbled into the lean-to, glazing the man with blood staining his glove.
    “Just setting a few things straight with the boy.” Da pounded past her. “Don’t stand there gawkin’, woman. Get me a drink.”
    The door closed partway, letting in enough light to see the tension in his jaw. Ian McPherson hung the strap on the nail where it belonged, his shoulders rigid, his back taut. She inched toward the door, torn between being alone with an angry man and feeling responsible for his bleeding hand. He’d caught the strap, taking the blow meant for her.
    Warmth crept around her heart, but it couldn’t be something like admiration. No, she would not allow any soft or tender feelings toward the man who wanted to bridle her in matrimony. She would be less free than she was now; this she knew from her mother’s life. Still, no one aside from Johnny had ever stood up for her. It wasn’t as if she could leave Ian McPherson bleeding alone in the dark.
    “Is it deep?” She was moving toward him without a conscious decision to do so; she reached out to cradle his hand in her own. Blood seeped liberally from the deep gash in his leather glove. It had been a hard strike, then, if the strap had sliced through the material easily. She swallowed hard, hating to think that he was badly cut.
    “I believe I shall live.” Although the tension remained in his jaw and tight in his powerful muscles, his voice was soft, almost smiling. “I’ve been hurt much worse than this.”
    “If you have, then it wasn’t on my behalf.” She gingerly peeled off his glove, careful of the wound, which looked much worse once she could clearly see it. Her stomach winced in sympathy. She knew exactly how much that hurt. “Come into the kitchen so I can clean this properly.”
    “I left the horses standing, and that’s not good for them in this cold.” He withdrew his hand from hers, although slowly and as if with regret. “I’ll bandage it myself when the horses are comfortable.”
    “This should not wait.” Men. Even Johnny had been the same, oblivious to common sense when it came to cuts and illnesses. “You need stitches, and you cannot do that on your own.”
    “I might surprise you. I have some skill with a needle.”
    “Now you are teasing me.” She caught the upturned corners of his mouth. He wasn’t grinning, but the hint of it drew her and she smiled in spite of her objections to the man. “I’m not going to like you. I think it’s only fair that I give you honest