Plum Pudding Bride Read Online Free PDF

other thought but for it. Jealous?
    “Trust me. I’ve lived with her for seventeen years.”

4
    The brisk breeze caught Peter’s scarf and tugged. The morning sun made the December day feel almost warm. His arms swung as he walked up the path. He even whistled a tune. He’d never had such good excuses to haunt the Callahan house. He should have started wooing Patience’s sister seven years ago. Wait, Kitty had only been ten then. That would have been untenable.
    Crossing to the back of the house, Peter picked out the shuttered window that belonged to Patience and Kitty. He picked up a pebble and tossed it at the cedar panels.
    The window creaked open.
    Kitty’s blonde head popped out. “Bart?”
    Peter crossed his arms, pulling his wool coat tight across his shoulders. “Does your father know you’re meeting Mr. Hensley behind—”
    “Oh, it’s you.” Kitty’s face fell, but she swiftly brought back a smile. “Good. I’ve come up with a brilliant new plot. Come in around the back and help yourself to some flapjacks while I finish up here.”
    With a spring to his step, Peter twisted the handle to the back door. The wood gave in to his touch. Maybe Patience would be home.
    And then she appeared.
    His heart skipped too many beats to count.
    “Peter?” Her voice sounded like a melody. And she had said his name. His Christian name.
    “Good morning, Patience.” Peter swallowed hard.
    “You’re here to see Kitty?” Her slender hands hung at her sides without a trace of a ring.
    His chin came down in a nod, but his gaze stayed locked on her, burning her image into his memory. Kitty was correct, right? Patience wouldn’t take that train to Arnie. Would she? What if he never saw her again?
    “Have some breakfast while you wait then. Kitty’s a notoriously late riser. I hope you like that in a wife.” Stepping around Peter, she jerked her coat off the peg.
    “Let me help you with that.” Taking the coat from her hands, he held it up. His fingers brushed hers with the movement. Her skin felt as soft as buttercream.
    Their gazes met for the merest of moments. The red of the coat brought out the color of her eyes. Her lips were more vividly colored than any wool, and they pursed slightly. He so wanted to kiss those lips.
    She turned and slid her arms into the fabric he held.
    A stray strand of her hair brushed his fingers as he released the coat. If only he could steal that lock and keep it forever.
    With a click of her leather boots, she left the door swinging and disappeared into the outdoors.
    He made his way through the entrance into the sitting room. An abandoned composition notebook and slate lay precariously on one of the settee’s pillows. Sun poured in through an unshuttered window into the kitchen beyond.
    As he stepped into the space, the delicious smell of fresh-cooked bacon and lard-fried flapjacks assaulted his nostrils. Heat radiated from the woodstove. A few unwashed pans lay in the sink. But there on the counter to the left was a pewter plate heaped to overflowing with flapjacks and bacon.
    Reaching forward, Peter’s fingers touched the edge of a strip of juicy bacon—
    A man slammed himself between him and the bacon. His hand grabbed Peter’s wrist and shoved it away.
    “Why, good morning, Mr. Callahan.” Peter sidestepped for the plate. His shoulders pushed against Mr. Callahan’s as he muscled his way into position.
    Mr. Callahan’s fist came down next to the pewter, sending several flapjacks and bacon strips flying.
    “That’s my bacon.” Peter leapt to catch the flying deliciousness. He grabbed one piece out of the air.
    “Not anymore, it isn’t.” Mr. Callahan shoved the plate behind his broad back.
    This was, after all, Mr. Callahan’s domicile.
    With a sigh, Peter stepped away from the scintillating smell. The fallen flapjacks had landed on the dirty dishes in the sink. They lay limp, soggy now from dishwater. The bacon sank to the bottom, submerged beneath potato