A Bride for Dry Creek Read Online Free
Author: Janet Tronstad
was her worst enemy. He hadnât planned on gagging her until she made it clear she was going to scream.
And all the while she was kicking and spitting, heâd been doing her a great service.
Yes, he sighed, he could see why being a hero had gone completely out of style. It wasnât easy being the knight on the shining white horse. Not with the women of today. Come to think of it, it wasnât even easy with the horses of today. Honey made it clear sheâd rather be eating oats than rescuing a damsel in distress.
âTired, thatâs what you are,â Flint said softly ashe leaned over the horseâs neck. Honey sighed, and he gave the horse another encouraging nudge. âWeâre both tired, arenât we? But donât worry. Weâre almost there. Then Iâll have something sweet for you.â
The bundle behind him gave an indignant gasp and then another angry growl.
âI was talking to the horse.â Flint smiled in spite of himself.
Chapter Two
F rancis wished she had worn those ruby silk flowers in her hair like the teenagers had urged her to do. At least then, when the horse shook her, the petals would fall to the ground and leave a trail in the snow for someone to follow when they searched for her in the morning. Maybe if she were lucky, some of the sequins on her long evening dress would fall to the ground and leave a trail of reddish sparkles.
She still didnât understand what had happened.
One minute sheâd been looking at the night sky, searching for the tail star of the Big Dipper. The next minute sheâd felt someone put an arm around the small of her back. She hadnât even been able to turn around and see who it was before another arm went behind her knees and she was lifted up.
Suddenly, instead of seeing the night sky she was looking square into the face of Flint Harris. For a second, she couldnât breathe. Her mind went blank. Surely, it could not be Flint. Not her Flint. She blinked. He was still there.
She was speechless. He was older, it was true. Instead of the smooth-skinned boy she remembered, she saw the face of a man. Weather had etched a few fine lines around his eyes. A tiny scar crossed the left side of his chin. His face was fuller, stronger.
Oh, my Lord, she suddenly realized. Itâs true. Heâs kidnapping me!
Francis opened her mouth to scream. Nothing came out. She took a good breath to try again when Flint swore and hurriedly stuffed an old bandanna into her mouth. The wretched piece of cloth smelled of horse. She understood why it smelled when Flint slung her over his back like she was nothing to him but a sack of potatoes in a fancy bag. He then hauled her off to a horse tied behind Mr. Gossettâs house.
Once Flint got to the horse, he stopped to slip some wool mittens from his hands and onto her hands. The mittens were warm inside from his body heat, and the minute he slid them onto her hands, her fingers felt like they were being tucked under a quilt.
But she didnât have time to enjoy it.
There was a light on in old man Gossettâs house, and Francis struggled to scream through her gag.She knew the man was home since he never went to community gatherings. He was a sour old man and she wasnât sure heâd help her even if he knew she was in trouble. Through the thin curtains on his window, she saw him slowly walking around inside his kitchen. Unless heâd grown deaf in these past years, he must have heard her. If he did, he didnât come outside to investigate.
Flint didnât give her a second chance to scream. He threw her over the back of the horse, slapped his jacket on her shoulders and mounted up.
Ever since then sheâd been bouncing along, facedown, behind his saddle.
Finally, the horse stopped.
They had entered a grove of pine trees. The night was dark, but the moon was out. Inside the grove, the trees cut off the light of the moon, as well. Only a few patches of snow
And all the while she was kicking and spitting, heâd been doing her a great service.
Yes, he sighed, he could see why being a hero had gone completely out of style. It wasnât easy being the knight on the shining white horse. Not with the women of today. Come to think of it, it wasnât even easy with the horses of today. Honey made it clear sheâd rather be eating oats than rescuing a damsel in distress.
âTired, thatâs what you are,â Flint said softly ashe leaned over the horseâs neck. Honey sighed, and he gave the horse another encouraging nudge. âWeâre both tired, arenât we? But donât worry. Weâre almost there. Then Iâll have something sweet for you.â
The bundle behind him gave an indignant gasp and then another angry growl.
âI was talking to the horse.â Flint smiled in spite of himself.
Chapter Two
F rancis wished she had worn those ruby silk flowers in her hair like the teenagers had urged her to do. At least then, when the horse shook her, the petals would fall to the ground and leave a trail in the snow for someone to follow when they searched for her in the morning. Maybe if she were lucky, some of the sequins on her long evening dress would fall to the ground and leave a trail of reddish sparkles.
She still didnât understand what had happened.
One minute sheâd been looking at the night sky, searching for the tail star of the Big Dipper. The next minute sheâd felt someone put an arm around the small of her back. She hadnât even been able to turn around and see who it was before another arm went behind her knees and she was lifted up.
Suddenly, instead of seeing the night sky she was looking square into the face of Flint Harris. For a second, she couldnât breathe. Her mind went blank. Surely, it could not be Flint. Not her Flint. She blinked. He was still there.
She was speechless. He was older, it was true. Instead of the smooth-skinned boy she remembered, she saw the face of a man. Weather had etched a few fine lines around his eyes. A tiny scar crossed the left side of his chin. His face was fuller, stronger.
Oh, my Lord, she suddenly realized. Itâs true. Heâs kidnapping me!
Francis opened her mouth to scream. Nothing came out. She took a good breath to try again when Flint swore and hurriedly stuffed an old bandanna into her mouth. The wretched piece of cloth smelled of horse. She understood why it smelled when Flint slung her over his back like she was nothing to him but a sack of potatoes in a fancy bag. He then hauled her off to a horse tied behind Mr. Gossettâs house.
Once Flint got to the horse, he stopped to slip some wool mittens from his hands and onto her hands. The mittens were warm inside from his body heat, and the minute he slid them onto her hands, her fingers felt like they were being tucked under a quilt.
But she didnât have time to enjoy it.
There was a light on in old man Gossettâs house, and Francis struggled to scream through her gag.She knew the man was home since he never went to community gatherings. He was a sour old man and she wasnât sure heâd help her even if he knew she was in trouble. Through the thin curtains on his window, she saw him slowly walking around inside his kitchen. Unless heâd grown deaf in these past years, he must have heard her. If he did, he didnât come outside to investigate.
Flint didnât give her a second chance to scream. He threw her over the back of the horse, slapped his jacket on her shoulders and mounted up.
Ever since then sheâd been bouncing along, facedown, behind his saddle.
Finally, the horse stopped.
They had entered a grove of pine trees. The night was dark, but the moon was out. Inside the grove, the trees cut off the light of the moon, as well. Only a few patches of snow
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