His Perfect Bride (The Brides of Paradise Ranch - Spicy Version Book 1) by Merry Farmer Read Free Book Online Page B

that.”
    “Thanks. I appreciate it,” Franklin answered.
    Jarvis nodded, then smiled at Corva. “I’ll leave the two of you to get better acquainted.”
    He nodded once more, then turned to go. Then it was just the two of them again.
    “I…I suppose I need to unpack my things and get settled.” Corva moved toward the table where she’d left her carpetbag. “I don’t have much.”
    Franklin crossed the main room to the open bedroom door. “I’ve had the guest room made up for you. I hope you like it.”
    Corva paused halfway through turning around, a lump in her throat. “The guest room?”
    Franklin scratched the back of his neck, wincing for a moment before meeting her eyes. “I figured it was too soon for us to share a room. Since we just met and all.”
    How thoughtful of him…and how uncomfortable. It was as clear as day that he wasn’t ready for a real marriage.
    Corva forced her back to relax and put on a smile anyhow. There would be time for all that later. “Thank you,” she said, carrying her bag across the room to the spare bedroom. “It’s lovely.”
    Once again, they ended up standing closer to each other than was strictly proper as Corva crossed through the doorway. Instead of feeling threatened or endangered, as she had far too many times before in similar situations, Corva felt safe. If that wasn’t a good sign of things to come, she didn’t know what was.

Chapter Four
     
    The differences between Nashville and Paradise Ranch became astoundingly apparent to Corva early the next morning as she woke from a heavy sleep. Living at Hurst Home—and before that at her uncle’s house—waking was always accompanied by the bustle of traffic outside, of early morning hawkers out selling their wares, and, on good mornings, the rich baritone of the cobbler’s assistant as he walked to work, singing old plantation songs.
    The only songs Wyoming held were the twitter of birds greeting the dawn, the call of a hawk somewhere in the distance, and the brush of trees swaying in a breeze. A beam of sunlight slanted through a crack in the guestroom curtain, spilling across the bed where Corva lay under a thick quilt, perfect for nights that were still chilly. The whole thing was so serene that she closed her eyes again, feeling that, for once, she was completely safe.
    She awoke a second time to the clatter of pots in the kitchen.
    “Blast.” A crack of fear burst through her, and with it, memories of at least a hundred blows and insults. Gasping, Corva launched herself out of bed and scrambled into clean clothes. The few things she had were old and wrinkled after spending the last week in her carpetbag during the journey. She was sure she looked like a destitute waif as she rushed out of the guest room and through the main room to the kitchen, but it was better to fix breakfast looking like a drudge and have it hot on the table by the time her uncle woke up than to feel the back of his—
    She stopped in the kitchen doorway, and slapped a hand to her pounding heart. No, she wasn’t in Nashville anymore. Franklin wasn’t Uncle Stanley. That was all behind her, hundreds of miles away. Still, it was rude of her to sleep in.
    Franklin was stationed at the stove, leaning against a contraption that looked like a cane with a leather seat on top, frying bacon. The legs of his trousers hung loose, no braces in sight.
    “I’m sorry.” She scurried up to the counter where a loaf of bread and a knife stood waiting. “I shouldn’t have slept in. It was irresponsible of me, unforgivable. I promise never to let it happen again.” Her hands shook as she picked up the knife.
    It wasn’t until she had sliced four pieces and slid them into the toasting rack on the stovetop that she realized Franklin was staring at her. She dragged her eyes to meet his, expecting to see anger, or at the very lease disapproval.
    He watched her with nothing more than surprise. And perhaps a shade of bewilderment.
    “I figured you