Spring Creek Bride. Janice ThompsonЧитать онлайн книгу.
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Ida couldn’t seem to move.
In fact, she could scarcely breathe as she took him in. Funny, standing here in this close proximity, he didn’t look like the criminal sort at all. But you could never tell with wolves, especially those so carefully disguised. She was a strong woman. She could overlook his attractions with little trouble.
Couldn’t she?
“I don’t believe we’ve officially met,” Mick said.
“I know who you are, Mr. Bradley,” Ida replied.
“And you are?” he asked, extending his hand.
Ida didn’t want to answer his question, and yet her hand clasped his and her mouth spoke the words. “Ida Mueller.”
“It’s a real pleasure, Miss Mueller,” he said, tipping his hat and holding on to her hand. For a moment, she was lost in his gray eyes, until Sophie cleared her throat, reminding Ida of her manners.
She quickly removed her hand from his.
MILLS & BOON
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JANICE THOMPSON
is a Christian freelance author and a native Texan. She resides in Spring, Texas, near her grown children and infant granddaughters. Her family is active in ministry, primarily writing, music, drama and evangelism. Janice started penning books at a young age, and was blessed to have a screenplay produced in the early 80s. From there, she went on to write several large-scale musicals. Currently, she has published more than thirty full-length novels and nonfiction books (most lighthearted and/or wedding themed). She’s thankful for her calling as an author of Christian fiction and knows the Lord has brought her to this point so that she can present stories that will change people’s lives. Romances come naturally to Janice, since she’s coordinated nearly a dozen weddings, including recent ceremonies and receptions for all four of her daughters.
Janice Thompson
Spring Creek Bride
Who knows whether you have come to
the kingdom for such a time as this?
—Esther 4:14
In memory of my father, Billy Hanna—
a small-town man with a big-as-Texas heart.
Acknowledgments
To my agent, Chip MacGregor: You are a godsend. Thanks for believing in me and special thanks for finding just the right house for this story.
To Krista Stroever: Thank you so much for the opportunity to write for Steeple Hill Books. You helped make a long-term dream come true. I appreciate your patience with the process. You’re a true mentor.
To Louise Rozett, my line editor: Thanks for the spit-shine. You walked me through my first copy edit at a new company, and I’m so grateful.
To my wonderful critique partners, Kathleen Y’Barbo, Martha Rogers, Marcia Gruver and Linda Kozar: Thanks for falling in love with my hometown of Spring, Texas, with me! Here’s to lunch at Wunsche Brothers Café! Let’s meet there again…soon!
To the people of Spring, Texas (past and present): You have left your mark on my soul.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Epilogue
Questions for Discussion
Chapter One
Spring Creek, Texas, 1902
Ida Mueller pressed a lock of unruly hair behind her ear and rounded the large dining table with a chipped serving bowl in hand. Chair legs scraped against the wood-planked floor as the rowdy lumber-mill workers rushed to sit down for another one of her home-cooked meals. She couldn’t help but smile at their enthusiasm.
“Smells good enough to eat!” one of the younger fellows joked.
Ida plopped a spoonful of crisp fried potatoes onto his plate and kept moving as she responded. “You’ve eaten at my table every day for nearly a year, Carl Walken, and you haven’t found reason to complain yet.” She reached up with the back of her hand and wiped a bit of perspiration from her brow.
His eyebrows lifted mischievously. “Ain’t just the food keeps me coming back.” A playful wink followed.
“Ya reckon?” Another of the men elbowed him.
Several of the fellows let out whistles and Ida felt her cheeks turn warm. She scurried to the opposite side of the room and continued on with the chore of feeding the work crew, trying to ignore their usual flirtatious ways.
“None of that now.” Her father’s stern voice rang out from the head of the table. He always knew how to keep his men in line, especially when it came to his daughter.
“Aw, Mr. Mueller,” one of the fellows groaned. “You never let us have any fun.”
“Better mind your p’s and q’s,” Ida quipped. “I’ve got a platter of Wiener schnitzel in the kitchen, but I’ve half a mind not to serve it.”
The