“If the front door had blown open, she sure hadn’t heard the gust of wind. She turned from the table she’d fashioned out of planks, then froze in place. Her husband had not only entered, but had already shut the front door and hung his hat on a peg. How could a man that big move with such silence? His gaze darted from the newly made table, to a mug of wildflowers she’d picked with Grace, then swept the perimeter, taking in the straightened crates, the pots hung on a wall instead of heaped in a p...ile, and the folded pile of Grace’s clothing set sweetly in a basket. His lips parted, but it took awhile before sound came out. “What have you done?” Clasping her hands in front of her, she lifted her chin. “This place was in need of some tidying up, Mister—” His dark eyes shot to hers, and she clamped her mouth. Though he’d told her to call him otherwise, his name stuck in her throat, scraping it raw. It was too intimate to call the man Samuel, yet Heath seemed so harsh, something the likes of a pirate might catcall.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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