Total pages in book: 33
Estimated words: 32461 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 162(@200wpm)___ 130(@250wpm)___ 108(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 32461 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 162(@200wpm)___ 130(@250wpm)___ 108(@300wpm)
“Grow more beautiful each day.”
Jennie’s smile widened.
“Creagan?”
The woman's voice came from the farmhouse.
He looked up.
The woman stood in the doorway staring at him as if uncertain she believed what she was seeing. She was a pretty woman with warm brown eyes and thick chestnut hair caught in a loose braid that fell over one shoulder. A few strands had escaped to frame a face browned by days spent outdoors. Her sleeves were rolled above her elbows, and an apron covered her simple green wool dress, evidence she'd been busy with one chore or another before his arrival.
Then she planted her hands on her hips.
Creagan grinned. There were some welcomes a man never forgot.
She marched toward him. “You remember where we live, then.”
He feigned shock, slapping his chest dramatically. “You wound me, Fay? I could never forget such an amazing woman as you.”
Fay shook her head. “You could have fooled me.”
She reached him and Creagan opened his arms, expecting the embrace that always followed her scolding.
He got it.
Fay hugged him tightly, then stepped back and gave his chest a firm slap. “That is for staying away so long.”
Creagan rubbed the spot. “Again, you wound me, sweetheart.”
“Not nearly enough.”
He laughed and pulled her into another hug.
He had met Fay years ago, not long after she and her husband Tate had wed. She had gone to market one morning and would never have made it home if Creagan hadn't happened along the road at the right time. He'd seen her safely back to the farm, intending to leave as soon as he knew she was safe. Tate had insisted he stay for supper. Supper had somehow turned into three days.
Creagan had been returning ever since. He'd held Peter when the lad was barely hours old and Jennie when she was even younger, Tate placing the tiny bundle in his arms while Creagan protested that he knew nothing about bairns.
Apparently, that had not mattered.
“Where's Tate?” Creagan asked.
Fay's expression changed. “Where do you think?”
Creagan glanced toward the fields.
Fay sighed. “Trying to do the work of three men.”
Creagan smiled and shoved his sleeves higher on his arms. “Then it's fortunate I arrived.”
Later that evening, Creagan sat stretched out before the hearth, pleasantly full from a supper Fay insisted he hadn't eaten enough of despite the three helpings he'd managed.
Peter and Jennie had fought sleep as long as they could, both determined not to waste a moment of Creagan's visit. Eventually Fay had sent them off to bed with promises that Creagan would still be there come morning.
Tate sat across from him, his legs stretched toward the fire, a tankard resting against his stomach. The years had been good to his friend. Hard work had broadened his shoulders and added lines around his eyes, but he remained the same steady man Creagan had first met all those years ago.
Fay settled into the chair beside her husband and looked at Creagan.
He knew that look.
“Nay, I don’t want to hear it,” Creagan said, shaking his head.
“I haven't said anything yet,” Fay said innocently.
“You don't have to.”
Tate chuckled into his tankard.
Fay ignored them both. “It's time you stopped living on the road.”
Creagan sighed dramatically. “Here we go.”
Fay continued to have her say. “Sleeping beneath whatever roof will have you for a few nights or a few months before wandering off again.”
Creagan grinned. “I am a most welcome guest wherever I go.”
“I'm sure you are,” Fay said, then rolled her eyes. “Especially if the household has unmarried women.”
Tate laughed.
Creagan raised his tankard to Fay. “Jealousy does not become you, sweetheart.”
She rolled her eyes again. “You need a home.”
“I have one. I'm sitting in it.”
Fay's expression softened. “You know you're welcome here for as long as you wish. But this is our home, Creagan. You need one of your own.”
He took a drink rather than answer.
“And a wife,” Fay continued.
Creagan nearly choked on his ale.
Tate laughed again. “You walked into that one.”
“One woman?” Creagan stared at Fay as if she'd suggested he take holy vows. “For the rest of my life?”
Fay nodded firmly. “Aye, one woman.”
Creagan groaned. “That sounds exhausting.”
“You would probably exhaust her,” Fay said and not playfully.
“Then I would need a particularly strong woman.”
“You need a woman who won't put up with your shenanigans,” Fay corrected.
Creagan grinned. “Where would be the pleasure in that?”
“And bairns,” Fay added. “You need bairns of your own to love.”
His grin remained but something inside him stilled.
He recalled Peter as a newborn in his arms, so small Creagan had been afraid his large hands might somehow hurt him. And Jennie, only hours old, sleeping against his chest while Fay laughed at how terrified he looked holding her.
He'd never told any of them what those moments had done to him.
Creagan glanced around the room. At Tate and Fay sitting together. At the small wooden horse Peter had left near the hearth. At Jennie's ribbon abandoned on the table.