The Borrowed Bride by Susan Wiggs Read Free Book Online Page A

selection of horse liniments, containers with handwritten labels, jars with rusting lids, a few giant syringes. Dan selected a plastic bottle of antibiotic powder and dusted the wound with it.
    The bird erupted into a panic. Dan gathered it awkwardly to his chest and held it there, grimacing as a set of talons sank into his forearm.
    Isabel bit her lip. “What can I do?”
    He shrugged. “Hell, I don’t know. We should probably immobilize this wing.”
    “Let’s try that.”
    Even with Gary helping them, it took over an hour to bind the wing. The bird had the temper of a pit bull, with razor talons and a can-opener beak to back it up. By the time they had fashioned a bandage of gauze, all three of them bore a few nicks.
    Gary lined a crate with straw and positioned it under a single lightbulb for warmth. He placed the bird inside, and they stood back, watching. The bird still had fire in her eye and a haughty air, and her chest rose and fell rapidly. Gary went to put up the horse.
    “I guess we should feed it something,” Dan said.
    She shuddered. “Don’t eagles eat raw meat?”
    “I think so,” he said.
    “Couldn’t we try a can of tuna fish or something?”
    As they walked up to the house, Dan draped an arm across her shoulders. The movement was so natural and felt so right that before Isabel even thought about it, she leaned her head into his shoulder. His knuckles grazed her cheek, and she shivered.
    “I should get my purse,” she said, wondering why her voice sounded so lifeless and flat. “I guess we’d better get started for Seattle.”
    “Nope.” His stride didn’t falter as they mounted the steps.
    Isabel stopped and looked at him. “What do you mean?”
    He gave her a smile that raised a hollow ache in her chest. “Too late, Isabel.”
    “Anthony said to take all the time I needed. I’ll never be too late for—”
    “I mean too late in the day. It’s dark out.”
    She blinked, then looked around. Through the black-leafed trees, the sky was deep purple with twilight.
    “You’re stuck with me for one more night, Isabel,” he said unapologetically, then turned and went inside.

Six
    T he next morning, Dan caught his breath when Isabel walked into the kitchen. He had probably, at some point, seen a more beautiful sight, but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember when.
    Her face was scrubbed clean, her hair slightly damp from the shower. She wore a gray sweat suit with the University of Washington seal on the front. The soft folds of fabric enveloped her small frame.
    She helped herself to coffee. “I found the sweat suit in the closet in my room. I hope you don’t mind.”
    “’Course not, Isabel. It’s chilly this morning.” He rose and handed her the sugar bowl.
    She smelled like every warm, fragrant dream that haunted a man in the dead of winter. When she didn’t fuss with her hair, it relaxed into a long waterfall of silk he wanted to bury his fingers in.
    “Did you check on the bird?” she asked.
    “A couple of times in the night, and then at the crack of dawn.”
    What he didn’t tell her was that he had also stood in her room in the dark, watching her sleep while wave after wave of tenderness and regret rolled over him.
    Five years ago, she had slipped into his heart through a side entrance when he thought he had barred all the doors. He set his jaw and clenched his eyes shut, remembering.
    The day she had told him about the baby was branded on his memory. She was so thrilled and so scared. So was he. No, he was terrified.
    His feelings for her suffered from some sort of paralysis. Too young and too thickheaded to understand that the first bloom of love needed to deepen and ripen and mature, too stupid to see that responsibility wouldn’t stifle him, he’d panicked.
    Her grief and rage over the miscarriage provided him with the opportunity to escape. Like a fool, he took it.
    “Dan?” Her voice intruded on his thoughts.
    He opened his eyes and blinked at