His Passionate Pioneer Read Free

hips, her eyes flashing as she emphatically stated that she was God-damned tired of being a girl. He could remember vividly seeing her red hair—freed from her braids after her escapades—blowing in the wind, her bare foot stomping as he tried to explain that he couldn't take her on what she called, 'his great escape from a horrible, boring town'. She'd told him she didn't give a damn, he could go to hell as far as she was concerned. He'd also seen the tears in her eyes that she refused to allow to fall, not even when told that young ladies did not scream and throw tantrums, and definitely did not take the good Lord's name in vain. He and his brother had been witnesses to the spirited girl screeching and kicking up her feet when her Pa had simply picked her up, tucked her beneath his arm, and given her a spanking. By the time she'd been set back down onto her feet, she had tears streaking down her dirty face, but there was still defiance burning in her eyes. He could also remember that that was the day he had known his dream would be expanded to include a beautiful and spirited, copper-haired girl.
    He'd returned to discover that, even though Anna hadn't grown much more than an inch since that day, she was definitely no longer a little girl. She'd turned eighteen a few months earlier and had grown into a beautiful woman. He'd almost chuckled as he'd tucked her hair into her bonnet, but had really wanted to continue to caress the silken strands of fire. Though her hands had been clenched in her skirts instead of on her hips, and despite the hurt she'd obviously been feeling, he'd been glad to see some of the pain fade away as fire took its place in her green eyes. Hearing the pastor begin to reiterate the rules of the auction, he knew it was time to prove that the woman he still loved had not misplaced her trust.
    "I don't know why it matters," he commented, crossing his arms over his chest. "I bet every single one of those baskets contains the same fried chicken, slaw and biscuits."
    "How much?"
    Richard turned his head slowly, as if surprised to hear a response. "Excuse me?"
    Jacob Johnson shrugged. "Just asking how much you wanna bet." When Richard didn't take the bait, he continued. "I'm just saying, if you're sick of eating chicken, I know a basket full of freshly fried trout."
    "How fresh?" Richard asked, looking from Jacob to the table and back again. He didn't miss Cassidy flipping her hair once more, or the fact that she held her left hand, three fingers splayed, in front of her. He had to admit she was quite the little beauty but he was far more interested in a woman who was beautiful inside and out. Remembering his plan, he looked back to Jacob and shrugged.
    "I tried fishing last week and didn't get a single bite," he added.
    Jacob's laugh was joined by his best friend, Darrell's. "That's because you don't know where the honey hole is and aren't using the right equipment."
    "Stop teasing, Jacob," Cassidy said, smiling sweetly. "It's not nice, and besides, Mr. Andrews has been away. He's probably forgotten all the good places to fish."
    Richard noticed that several men were listening—as he'd hoped they would. He wanted as many people as possible to hear what he hoped would be quite revealing. Even Pastor Brown, who had ended his spiel, appeared not to be in a hurry to begin the auction, bending down to listen to something his wife was saying.
    "Ah, that's right," Richard said, tipping his hat back a bit. "I seem to remember hearing that you are quite the fisherman. You even tie your own flies with feathers, or is that someone else?"
    Jacob's chest puffed up with pride. "Dang right I do. In fact, your brother asked if I might make some to sell at the mercantile but I told him no." His loud laugh drew yet more attention. "I'd rather sell him fish—like those I caught yesterday down where that copse of pecan trees hang over the bank. Those fish surely do love all those feathers. They were practically jumping out of