Innocent Fire

“I’m not a very good wife.” She spoke aloud before she knew it.

He came over to her immediately, kneeling next to her, forcing her to look at him. “You’re a wonderful wife.”

“I’m an awful cook. I don’t know how to do laundry. I can’t clean game. My sewing is too fancy. I’m the worst shot, and I can’t ride. Everything you need in a Texas wife, I’m not.” She felt ridiculous tears welling up, and she tried to stifle them.

“You’re right,” he said unpleasantly. His eyes were cold. “I am angry with myself—and with John. I’m angry at myself for wanting you, and angry at him for bringing you out here in the first place. You don’t belong in Texas. You belong in some fancy duke’s castle, tucked away nice and cozy, in fine dresses and silk stockings.”