Linda Ford by The Cowboy's Surprise Bride Page B

filled a page of unsatisfying description.
    I fear I am portraying this poorly. I will ask Miss Edwards to give you her own description.
    The feelings filling his heart would not form as words on the page. He stared at the pen in his hand. What did he really want to say?
    Margaret, my dear. I have no intention of marrying Miss Edwards. I will send her back to her home as soon as the weather permits. I hope news of the house I have built will persuade you to reconsider and come in the spring.
    He blotted the ink and waited for it to dry then folded the pages and addressed the envelope. He set the letter on top of the bookshelf in plain view. A reminder to Miss Edwards of his intention.
    As soon as the weather permitted, he would give Linette a tour of the house then request she write to Margaret with a full report.
    He pulled out the magazines and newspapers from yesterday’s mail and returned to his chair to read. The room radiated warmth, something on the stove simmered. So far the meals had been a disappointment, but the aroma gave him hope supper might be better.
    Cassie’s knitting needles clicked in a steady rhythm. Underneath the table, Grady resumed play, murmuring to his toys and occasionally raising his voice as he ordered one of the pretend animals to stop or turn. Linette stirred the pot and hummed.
    Eddie thought of the big house and Margaret’s presence. Would she fill it with a similar sense of home and contentment? Or would they live parallel lives like so many married couples did? He only had to get through the winter to find out.
    Later, they shared a tasty soup full of vegetables. The meat proved to be a little chewy but he managed. It beat starving.
    Dishes finished, Cassie took Grady to bed. Linette followed shortly afterward.
    For some reason he’d expected her to linger as she had last night. Not that he needed company. Of course not. He was grateful for a chance to be alone in his own house. He had plenty of reading to do. But he kept pausing to listen. He didn’t hear a word and soon abandoned reading the newspapers. He unrolled his furs. As he bent to put out the lamp a flicker of color on the wall caught his eye. He straightened, lifted the lamp to a painting, ornately framed. Bluebells, yellow gorse, orange poppies and other flowers in wild abandon filled the canvas.
    As he stared, winter disappeared and he imagined strolling through the spring fields of England. The warm moist air bathed his face. The scents of the flowers filled his nostrils.
    Another painting hung next to the flowers. The hill country with undulating blue hills in the background and lush green pastures dotted with white sheep in the foreground. In the middle to the left, a cluster of farm buildings. To the right a large manor house. Although the buildings should have dominated the scene they instead became a mere mention in it...a flicker of interest. All that mattered was the land, the hills, the grass. He stared for a long time, as his heart drank in things he couldn’t name. The artist had captured the life of the land and given it a voice.
    He held the lamp closer and leaned over to see the name. There were only two initials. L.E. Linette Edwards? He drew back. Had she painted these? He looked at them again—the field of wildflowers and the pastoral scene. They both reached out to him, as if each brushstroke had the ability to talk.
    He shook his head and stepped back slowly. These paintings did something to the room.
    He turned and another patch of brightness caught his attention. A quilt of cheerful colors hung over one chair. When had it appeared?
    He blew out the lamp and crawled into his bedroll.
    Had Linette painted these pictures? Who was she?
    He dismissed every vestige of curiosity. It didn’t matter that her paintings spoke to him. She was not the sort of woman who belonged in his home.
    Or his heart.

Chapter Five
    T he snow fell all the next day. It piled up deeper and deeper, especially at the sides of the