An Old Fashioned Romance

From The Windswept Flame by Marcia Lynn McClure

Tom set himself down on one of the kitchen chairs, propping his feet up on another.  When he’d left for town that morning to stock his flour, he’d never imagined he’d end up committing himself to hard labor all day Saturday.  And he’d never imagined bumping into a pretty little filly from his past.  He hadn’t quit thinking about Miss Cedar Dale, not for one moment the whole way home.  Fact was, it was a good thing Ol’ Fred knew his own way back, for Tom doubted he’d even been paying attention to where the horse was going.

Yep.  Little Cedar Dale had grown up into a right beautiful young woman.  Tom was a bit uncomfortable with the way his mouth had begun to water as he’d sat studying her in her mama’s parlor.  She’d make someone a sweet little wife someday, if she ever got over the death of her other lover.  Tom wondered if she ever would get over it, for she’d sat watching him like a frightened bunny staring at a wolf.  What a pity it was, seeing the life wrung out of her so completely.  He smiled remembering what a chatty chipmunk she’d been as a child, chuckled when he remembered the way she used to beg him to wait for her to grow up so she could marry him.  Yep.  It was a dern shame she’d been so hurt.

Tom looked around the empty kitchen and sighed.  He missed Slater and Lark.  He’d have to get himself a dog to keep him company.  A dog or a wife.  Matilda Perkins was willing enough, he knew.  He also knew she wasn’t for him.  Oh, she was beautiful and kind, but his heart just couldn’t seem to love her.  And if Tom Evans knew one thing, a man oughta love a woman he married.  Instantly his thoughts returned to Cedar Dale, alone, frightened, broken.  He thought of her soft, nut-brown hair, the clear blue of her eyes and once again his mouth began to water.

“Time to get to work,” he mumbled, pushing himself out of the chair.  Yep.  He needed a dog.  Mrs. Simmons had a female ready to drop a litter any day.  He’d ask her if he could take one of the pups when they were old enough.

Tom left the house, intent on mucking out the stalls in the barn.  If he was going to spend Saturday out at Flora Dale’s place, he’d better be sure his place was kept up.  He shook his head, disgusted at himself for letting his mind wander in the direction of Cedar Dale again.  She was a pretty thing.

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