Little Love Affair (Southern Romance 1)

She couldn’t forgive him for leaving her, and she couldn’t even believe he was gone. Her heart was a tumble of contradictions. The tears were drying on her cheeks. When they had stopped, she did not know, but she must return to her work. She looked down at her hands, where she was still clutching a bridle in one hand. She had been going to the stable to saddle Solomon’s horse, Beauty, and take her into town for supplies.

Supplies they could ill afford. Every month, it seemed, there was another crisis, and Clara felt hope slipping further away. She took her mother’s advice, she balanced the books, and she planted the crops as her father had taught her. It wasn’t her fault, she knew. The harvest two years ago had given less than it should, and they had never recouped the cost. However, it seemed nothing she did helped at all.

Well, sitting here crying certainly wasn’t going to help. She was just standing to dust off the front of her dress when she heard the scream.

Cecelia. It could only be her.

Clara hiked up her skirts and ran, steadying herself on the tree trunks as she careened downhill towards the fields. No matter how many times she told Cecelia to stay in the house, to keep away from the forest, her sister never listened. You go into the woods all the time!

And now it had happened: for all the times Clara had feared that they might find soldiers in their woods, or refugees, or mercenaries but found nothing, now something had happened at last. Her heart was pounding with fear. Cecelia had not screamed again—was she safe now, or had the scream been her last?

She could not lose her sister too. Clara burst into the clearing at the edge of the fields, looking desperately around herself at the shoulder-high wheat. There. A disturbance, her sister’s pale-brown hair and the flash of red as Cecelia ran for the farmhouse.

She wanted to call her sister’s name in relief, but if someone was chasing her, it would be best not to tip her hand now. Surprise was all she had and, Clara thought wryly as she looked down, the bridle in her hand. Well, it was something. Ducking down, she forged into the field and began to run as quietly as she could, hoping that no pursuers would see the way the wheat rustled around her.

She heard Cecelia a moment before they collided and clapped her hand over the girl’s mouth to stifle a scream. “It’s me! Cecelia, it’s me.”

“Clara!” Cecelia clung to her, eyes wide and scared.

“Keep running,” Clara whispered. She grabbed her sister’s hand and pulled her along, casting an anxious glance over her shoulder. She could hear nothing but the wind and the birdsong, but her heartbeat was pounding. “What happened?”

“I saw a man.” Cecelia’s bottom lip was beginning to tremble. She stumbled and pushed herself up. “He was walking in the woods, Clara. I think there was another one. He saw me and he waved. He was going to come after me. I can’t... please, I can’t run anymore.”

Clara looked over at her sister, trying not to gasp for breath herself. This was one of the times Solomon had warned her about: when she would need to smile so other people would smile, be strong so that they would be strong. Even with her hair coming down out of its bun and a smear of dirt on her cheek, Cecelia was beautiful.

She was a target.

The crashing sound in the wheat behind them let them know that they weren’t out of danger yet.

“Go!” Clara pushed her sister forward.

“What about you?”

“Go! I’m just going to trip him. I’ll be right behind you.”

If only she felt as confident as she wanted to. Her heart was pounding, and Clara very much wanted to be sick. She braced herself, taking a deep breath and gripping the leather of the bridle to swing. The bits were metal, at least something to cause a little bit of pain. Something to give her time to run.

A look over her should showed her that Cecelia had left. She took a deep, shuddering breath. One thing less to worry about. All she had to do was keep this man from catching up.

What about her?

Best not to think abo

ut that now. Clara squared her shoulders. A lout, a drifter, a soldier on a horse. She was ready for anything.

Anything, of course, except the man who came falling out of the wheat behind her. Dark-haired and strong-nosed, dangerously thin and still one of the most handsome men she had ever seen in her life.

Chapter 2

The man skidded to a halt when he saw her. The beard on his face suggested he had not been able to bathe for days and the smell, unfortunately, confirmed it. He was in a shocking state of disarray. His coat missing entirely, and his shirt was torn open, showing the dark hair across his chest.

Clara directed her eyes back to his hastily, hoping she was not blushing. “Who are you?” She brandished the bridle and to her surprise, he did not laugh.

He stopped, holding his hands up, his dark brown eyes pleading, and Clara clenched her hands to keep herself from smiling reassuringly. This man had threatened her sister. He was not to be trusted. And yet, when he stopped uncertainly, ducking his head in an awkward greeting, she found her bobbing her head back, as if she wasn’t holding a bridle out in front of her like a weapon.

Hello, trembled on Clara’s lips. For a moment, everything seemed right with the world. Just a misunderstanding. A lost man. Then, when she did not speak, he cleared his throat.

“I’m...” He shook his head, as if that wasn’t how he wanted to begin. “I beg your pardon, miss.”