Plum Pudding Bride Read Online Free Page A

church-meeting with a beau .” She strung the word out.
    “I’m not actually your beau.” Peter shook the umbrella off and leaned it up against a bench.
    With a little bounce of her shoulders, Kitty rolled her eyes. “Play along, Peter. You’ll never make Patience jealous with that dour face.”
    “She will be here, right?” Peter offered his arm to escort Kitty up the aisle.
    The coat-lined foyer had a broad double door that opened up to the sanctuary beyond.
    “If she isn’t, she’ll have Mrs. Clinton to answer to.”
    They squeezed past knots of women chatting and squalling babies.
    Up front, the organist struck a few chords.
    Holding out his hand, Peter opened the way for Kitty to slide into the wooden church pew.
    Before entering, Kitty took a look over his arm. “Bart Hensley’s powerful jealous. Look at his face.” She giggled and slid into the seat.
    Peter’s gaze followed hers to the man. “He’s twenty-five years old and a reprobate.”
    “You’re twenty-eight and Mrs. Clinton thinks we’re the sweetest sparking couple ever to live.” Kitty played with a strand of her hair. Twisting the lock around her finger, she raised one shoulder flirtatiously.
    “We’re not actually sparking.” Peter frowned and tried to see over his right shoulder while pretending to be checking his tie. Patience said she’d be at church-meeting. She had to be somewhere in these crowded pews.
    “Tell that to Mrs. Clinton.” Kitty sat on the wooden seat.
    “What?” Peter swung around, right into the stout leader of the ladies’ temperance league.
    Mrs. Clinton’s purple silk skirts filled the entire church aisle, but over the woman’s shoulder he caught a glimpse of Patience’s lovely profile. Left aisle, third from center. Her eyes possessed a breathtakingly brown tint. Those deep pools were majestic, just like the solid-rock mountaintops. And when she laughed, her eyes would—
    A hand grabbed his as Kitty made a simpering noise. “So good to see you, Mrs. Clinton.”
    “I, unlike you, am always at church-meeting. What’s this I hear about you being half an hour late last Wednesday and walking by a saloon on your way here?” Mrs. Clinton looked down her blistered nose at Kitty.
    Kitty gulped and looked down at her boots. They were newly polished, unlike Patience’s. Currently, Patience’s right boot had an adorable curlicue scuff mark off-center.
    “But I’m glad to hear that you’re being courted by such a pillar of our community. He’ll keep you out of trouble.” Mrs. Clinton’s wide cheeks rose and she plopped one hand on his shoulder. “You really are a fine specimen of a man, Mr. Foote.”
    “Thank you?” Peter glanced back at Patience. She had moved up a row now, well within voice range, at least if it was Mrs. Clinton’s voice. Inwardly, Peter cringed.
    “A storeowner, a member of the sheriff’s posse on occasion, and so handsome.” Mrs. Clinton patted her skirts. Heavy rings encircled all of her fingers. “Can we expect a spring wedding?”
    Wobbliness started in Peter’s ankles and worked its way up his leg bones. “Um.”
    Kitty clasped his hand with both of hers. She laid her cheek on his shoulder. “Perhaps. I certainly could see myself wearing white in springtime.”
    Mrs. Clinton smiled approvingly and crashed herself down on the armrest of the bench. The town carpenter would be thanking her for the extra income if she did that too often. “There’s a most exquisite new dress pattern, just out, that all the Eastern ladies are wearing. I’m sure Peter could order it for you from his store. I think it would make up delightfully in an organza. I have some pearl buttons I could give you for the back.”
    Now Mrs. Clinton was huffing. Other petticoats gathered around her, but her garish purple drowned out the rest.
    Peter glimpsed Patience again.
    From an aisle back, she watched intently.
    A cold gust blew in through the double doors as last-minute stragglers rushed into the