Patchwork Bride. Jillian Hart
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This job meant a lot to him so he would take the warning on the chin. Not let insult to injury show.
“I can read between the lines,” Worthington went on. “The mud on the girls. Mud on the buggy. And poor Sweetie was barrel high. I noticed you cleaned the buggy, boots and tack without saying a word. You helped the girls when they needed it, and I’m much obliged. I can rest easier knowing they are in safe hands with you at the reins.”
Sometimes folks surprised you, Shane thought as he gave the last buckle a tug. Maybe this would be a better assignment than he’d figured, not that he was looking forward to driving Miss Meredith Worthington around town. But this was what Worthington wanted, so he would do it to the best of his ability. “I won’t disappoint you, sir.”
“You say that like a man who has no clue what he’s in for.” Worthington shook his head, retracing his steps. “Meredith is not happy about this. Consider it a word of warning.”
Meredith. As if his thoughts had summoned her, she bustled into the barn, dusted with snowfall and clutching a big stack of schoolbooks in the crook of her arm. If the scowl on her beautiful face was any indication, she was about as thrilled with the situation as he was.
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