As he journeyed the final mile toward the farm, Peter thought, Within a month, harvest season will be over. He had no hope of putting his mistake out of his mind completely. But maybe, just maybe, once he’d fulfilled his obligation to Marshall, Peter would be able to stop thinking about the pained, bewildered tone in Susannah’s voice the day he’d called her and ended their courtship without so much as a word of explanation.
Susannah felt so drowsy after the long trip—and her second slice of pie—that she was tempted to take an afternoon nap while Lydia was resting. But she knew what she really needed was a walk in the brisk autumn air. She had just retrieved a sweater from her suitcase when she heard a buggy coming up the lane. Groossdaadi! she thought.
She raced outside and hopped down the porch steps, running up behind the buggy that had stopped just shy of the barn behind the house. Since her grandfather apparently hadn’t seen her, she decided to sneak up on him, the way she used to do as a young girl. She knew now that she’d never really scared him, but she loved it that he always pretended to jump back in surprise, first throwing his arms in the air and then wrapping them tightly around her.
“Boo!” she exclaimed, springing forward once he’d climbed out of the carriage.
But as soon as the man turned, she immediately realized her error; although he was tall and broad-shouldered, he looked nothing like her grandfather. This man had wavy brown hair beneath his straw hat, his eyes were gray-blue and there was a small bump on the bridge of his nose. This man was Peter Lambright, her ex-suitor. She nearly stumbled backward in surprise.
“Hello. I’m Peter Lambright. You must be Lydia’s niece,” he said, smiling. She used to love that smile; it could keep her warm for hours, but now it turned her insides to ice.
Clearly, because of her weight loss, he genuinely didn’t recognize her; it wasn’t just an expression, like Lydia had used. You didn’t see me for who I really was when I was heavy, so I guess I can’t expect you to see me for who I am when I’m thin, Susannah thought bitterly.
“Neh. I’m Marshall’s kinskind, Susannah,” she retorted sarcastically, as if they’d never met. She crossed her arms and lifted her chin in the air, waiting for the realization to sink in. His mouth dropped open and he appeared dumbfounded, so she asked, “What are you doing here?”
“I—I… I’m helping Marshall harvest this year. I came to ask whether he needs me tomorrow or if we’re going to begin on Muundaag.”
Susannah felt a surge of dizziness. She couldn’t believe her ears. “You’re helping with the harvest?”
“Jah. He—he asked me last winter if I’d help out since Lydia’s seh couldn’t kumme here this year.” Red-faced, Peter fiddled with the reins, since he hadn’t hitched the horse yet. “How long are you visiting?”
Susannah didn’t want to chat; she wanted to flee, but it was as if her shoes were pegged to the ground. “Until Lydia’s wrist heals.”
Peter wrinkled his forehead. “Her wrist?”
“She had a fall and she broke it. I’ll be cooking meals and keeping haus.”
“I’m very sorry to hear that,” he said grimly.
“Pah!” Susannah sputtered. She suspected he meant he was sorry to hear Lydia had broken her wrist, but it came out as if he was sorry to hear that Susannah was going to be staying throughout the harvest season to do the cooking and housekeeping. And no one was sorrier about that than she was. “My groossdaadi isn’t home, but Lydia did mention that harvesting is still scheduled to begin on Muundaag, unless it rains.”
“Okay. I’ll kumme back then,” he replied, yet instead of leaving, he lingered a moment longer, as if he wanted to say something else. Or maybe he wanted her to say something else. But she had absolutely nothing more to say. She tapped her foot against the ground impatiently and he swiftly scrambled back into his buggy.
As his horse trotted away, Susannah felt like weeping. I didn’t know how I was going to see him every other Sunndaag in kurrich without getting upset, she thought. How am I going to handle knowing he’s right here on the farm six days of the week?
Copyright © 2021 by Carrie Lighte
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ISBN-13: 9780369715197
The Bull Rider’s Fresh Start
Copyright © 2021 by Heidi Blankenship
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
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