Snow Angel Read Online Free PDF Page A

yes, this man with his kind, blue eyes. But she wouldn’t cry. She would not cry.
    Feeling drained from the monumental effort of sitting up, flustered by the way he teased her, and a little breathless by that smile, she sat back but watched carefully as he moved about the kitchen. She couldn’t get the image of him lying beside her, pressed against her, out of her mind. She had never slept the night through with a man before. Had he really been so noble? She didn’t like it. And he looked entirely too comfortable standing in front of the stove, wielding his pots and pans, humming a song that sounded vaguely familiar.
    The pan soon made a sizzling steam, and the smell of fried meat drifted to her nose. She closed her eyes in exhaustion, the peace of this place beckoning to some hidden part of her. Unbidden, a feeling of yearning washed over her and a hazy memory of being rocked and sung to gnawed at the corners of her mind. No one had ever sung such a song to her, she chided herself … and yet it was achingly familiar. She thought back to the “mothers” in her life. Margaret had certainly never rocked her. Besides being much too old for such things by the time she was adopted, Margaret hadn’t a maternal bone in her body. Andthe orphanage … it was possible she had heard the song there, but somehow she didn’t think so. Her memories were so gray, shrouded like a death march toward an accidental birth, that she had neither the strength nor the will to resurrect them. But the need to know what the song was grew until, before she knew what she was doing, she blurted out, “What is that song?”
    The man swung his head toward her. “Song?”
    â€œNever mind,” she said quietly, embarrassed.
    â€œThe song I was humming? Just an old hymn, I think. Do you know it?”
    Elizabeth slowly shook her head. “I don’t know. I thought maybe I had heard it before, but I’m not sure where …” She let her voice trail off, mortified that she’d let her thoughts out into the open air where they could be questioned … examined.
    Noah gave her a half-smile and a look of understanding, then he turned back to his cooking, as if it was nothing special, that look, and stirred something around in the black iron pan. “If my singing bothers you, I’ll stop.”
    Elizabeth could only shake her head and sink back down into the cushions. She wanted to hide, bury herself in the covers and block out this man who could give her his heat and then revive such a memory. Was he real?
    He was soon finished and brought her a heaping plate of meat and two huge sourdough biscuits, with thick brown gravy poured over the whole contents of the plate.
    Elizabeth could only blink at the giant pile of food, feeling a little queasy. There was enough food on the plate to feed her for a couple of days. Looking up at his immense size, she couldn’t help but smile and ask, “I’m certainly hungry, Mr. Wesley, but do you think I could lift that plate?”
    He stood there speechless, looking at the plate and then back down at her. As he looked at the plate again, he burst out laughing. He was the kind of man who laughed at himself, she realized, surprised again. “You’re right, of course. What was I thinking? Guess I’m used to cooking for men. We don’t get many young ladies visiting in this part of the country.”
    A fine, upstanding young lady. Of course, that is what he would expect. She scrambled mentally for the role.
    Carrying the plate back to the table, Noah moved half the contents onto another plate. Returning it to her, he held it out and said with a grin, “This better?”
    She nodded. “Thank you.”
    Noah settled into the chair with his own food and said between bites, “If you’re up to it, I’d like to ask you a few questions and maybe I could answer a few for you, too.”
    Elizabeth paused, her fork