Her Dearly Unintended Read Free

afternoon and promise herself that she wouldn’t gloom over the fact that she’d nearly let the calf drown.
    Neither would she spend her day mooning over Josiah Huckabee. No, sir. He’d dallied with her once before, but this time she knew better. At the porch she removed her gloves and laid them carefully atop the stack of firewood. She’d need to rub some lard into them to keep the leather from cracking. Hanging her raincoat on the peg next to the door, she swiftly unbuttonedher boots and arranged them against the wall. She pulled up her toes to keep her socks from contact with the porch, but it didn’t matter. She swept the porch clean daily and it was only three steps before she would be inside and could put on her house slippers.
    Once her slippers had been donned, she paused to take in her surroundings. The new sofa looked out of place in the log home, but Katie Ellen had convinced her parents that they needed a parlor suite, or at least the first piece of the six-piece set. Her grandmother’s quilt hung over the back of the birch frame and the crush plush upholstery. Even though the plank floor didn’t need the protection, the casters were in place beneath each leg. The cuckoo clock was wound for the day. The log from that morning burned slowly and evenly. The sliced lemon she’d left in a saucer continued to adorn the home with a zesty scent. Perfect. Just like she’d left it.
    While she did miss Ma and Pa, there was a huge comfort in knowing that nothing could change without her express permission.
    Bang! Bang! Bang!
    Katie Ellen spun to the door. Her mouth tightened. Surprises only happened when you lost control of a situation, and Katie Ellen didn’t favor being out of control. Who could possibly be at the door? No one would try to cross the river now. Swinging the door open, she braced herself, but it was hopeless. She was never prepared to come face-to-face with Josiah.
    A trickle of water ran down the side of his face and pooled next to the dimple that was really too close to his mouth to be normal. Quick as a flash his tongue darted out and caught the stray drop.
    â€œWhat do you want?” she asked.
    â€œThe bridge is out.”
    â€œThen I won’t cross it. Thank you.” She stepped back and swung the door closed, but Josiah caught it and pushed it back open.
    â€œCan I come in?”
    Out of habit, Katie Ellen scanned the room, knowing the few spots she always found troublesome when company dropped in uninvited. Her pa’s pipe balanced perfectly atop his tobacco box and Ma’s sewing box had been hidden behind the spinning wheel.
    â€œUmmm . . .” Why couldn’t she just once stop worrying about the condition of the house? Not like Josiah’s chaotic home could compare, but a compulsion had her checking the hearth for ashes and the corners for cobwebs.
    The door creaked. She turned to find Josiah already across the threshold. The puddle beneath him spread like an ink stain.
    â€œStop it!” she cried. “You have to leave your wet clothes on the porch.”
    That misplaced dimple showed up again. “If you insist. . . .” He stepped backward across the threshold, slid his palm beneath his suspenders, and shrugged one strap off his shoulder. The second strap was sliding down his arm when Katie Ellen slammed the door in his face.
    She’d caught enough glimpses of Josiah swimming at the deep hole of the river to know he didn’t cotton to wearing clothes when he didn’t have to. An annoying predilection he hadn’t outgrown even as he’d filled out into a good-sized man.
    Through the door he called, “I’m soaked clean through. How many of my clothes do you want me to leave out here?”
    â€œGo home!” she hollered.
    â€œI’m afraid I can’t. The bridge washed out.”
    â€œWhen did that ever stop you? You can swim.”
    His low chuckle unsettled her