The Texan's Bride Read Online Free PDF Page A

limestone marker her father had tearfully carved, Katie prayed she’d someday have the chance to atone for her sin. If sometime in the future, the Lord ever placed another child in her care, she would face hell itself before she’d allow any harm to befall him. Perhaps in some small way, it would redeem her.
    Stooping to brush a rock from the top of Steven’s grave, Katie said a silent goodbye to the loved ones buried on that picturesque bluff above the Angelina River: Mama, who’d died so long ago; Steven, her husband; Mary Margaret, her daughter; and Mr. Garrett, the visitor unlucky enough to be at her home the night of the fire.
    Katie turned her back on the row of markers and started down the hill. “I’ll think no more sad thoughts,” she said, stroking the quilt. A gloomy day would better serve such bleak memories.
    Today’s azure sky triumphed over the dreary gray of the storm. Sunshine toasted her back and the air’s fresh scent tickled her nose. She flung the covering across her shoulder. On this dazzling morn she’d devote herself to finding a solution to the problem that called himself Branch Kincaid .
    “The audacity of the man, moving that hulk of a horse into Pretty Girl’s stall,” Katie fussed, bristling at the memory. Never had a person presumed so much. Even worse than that were the comments he’d made just this morning concerning Pretty Girl’s looks.
    “Just you wait, Mr. Know-Everything Kincaid. Before I manage to send you on your way, I’m going to let you in on a little secret. I do believe a horse race is in order. I think I’ll show you just how my horse lives up to her name.”
    A worried frown replaced Katie’s self-satisfied smile when a breeze whipped the quilt from her shoulder. She watched the multicolored coverlet fly over her head and snag on a high, leafless branch of a red oak.
    “Oh, saints a mercy,” she groaned, eyeing the treasured blanket flapping high above the ground. The quilt was one of the few things of Mary’s that she had kept. She had to go after it.
    She walked to the edge of the tree and kicked off her red russets. The ugly leather shoes would be more hindrance than help climbing the gnarled bark of the oak. Luckily the trunk veed about four feet from the ground, so she didn’t have far to climb for a foothold.
    Struggling up to the perch, Katie grimaced at the new stains and snags in her faded yellow homespun. At least she’d worn her oldest dress today, knowing she’d be working at the graves. She hadn’t planned to be imitating squirrels, however.
    Looking above toward the patchwork coverlet, she planned the best route up. A thick, sturdy limb stretched beneath the dangling blue-trimmed corner, and she figured she just might be able to grasp it if she stood on her tiptoes. She climbed to the branch and, straddling it, began to ease her way out.
    Directly beneath the quilt, Katie stopped. This would be tricky. The only thing she had to hold for balance when she stood were thin twigs growing up from the limb that held her. She positioned one bare foot atop the branch, yanking her skirts out of the way. The breeze whistled in her ears as she placed her other foot upon the limb. Cautiously, she stood. Weaving back and forth, Katie fought to maintain her balance. She grasped a twig and finally steadied herself.
    With care, Katie extended her arm above her head. She stretched. The quilt swayed just outside her reach. Taking a deep, steadying breath, she inched up on the tip of her toes. Her fingers brushed a soft cotton edge. Clenching her teeth she tried again. Up… up… “I got it!” she cried.
    Then she tumbled from the tree.
    Katie screamed as she fell backward into the jumbled clump of wild blackberry vines growing at the base of the red oak. Dust rose around her as dozens of spiny thorns pierced her skin. She sneezed and the thorns pushed deeper. She tried to rise, and a frustrated, pain-filled screech exploded from her lips as what felt like