Karen Kirst - The Husband Hunt

Pivoting on his heel, his long strides quickly ate up the distance to the stream. Sophie followed at a reasonable distance, making a point to breathe through her mouth. Oh, this was terrible. Worse than terrible. He would never forgive her.

On the bank, he tugged off his brown leather work boots, tossed them onto the grass and waded into the sluggish water. While the crystal-clear Smoky Mountain stream dissecting her property wasn’t deep enough for diving, it was deep enough to submerge oneself in, and that’s what he did. When he came up for air, he threaded his fingers through his hair to dislodge the moisture. His white shirt molded to thick, ropy shoulders, chiseled chest and flat stomach carved from countless hours milking cows, mucking out stalls and working the fields. A farmer’s physique.

She forced her too-interested gaze elsewhere, forced herself to remember. Nathan is my neighbor. My childhood friend. He probably doesn’t even think of me as a girl.

And why would he when she didn’t have a clue how to act or dress like one?

Brushing bits of dirt from her earth-hued pants, she fiddled with her rolled-up sleeves and mentally shrugged. She may not dress all fancy like other girls her age, but at least her clothes were clean and pressed and, most importantly, comfortable. Farming was backbreaking, sweaty work. It didn’t make sense to wear frilly skirts and fine silk blouses that would only get ruined.

Still...she couldn’t help but wonder sometimes what it might be like to wear a dress, to have her hair done up in a sophisticated style. Would Nathan think her beautiful then?

Get your head out of the clouds, Soph.

“We’ve got canned tomatoes in the springhouse—” she pointed downstream “—I’ll go and get them. Surely that will get the smell out.”

“Forget it.” Not sparing a glance her direction, he sloshed up and onto the bank. “I’ll take a vinegar bath at home.”

Twisting her hands together, she took halting steps forward. She wanted to go closer, but she was standing downwind and the odor was overpowering. “How long are you going to be mad at me?”

Pausing in tugging his boots on, he shot her a hard glance and retorted, “For as long as it takes the smell to wear off.”

“But—”

“No.” He cut her off with a jerk of his hand. “Honestly, Sophie, when are you going to learn to curb your impulses? Think before you act? One of these days you’re going to land yourself in a real heap of trouble and I may not be around to help. Quite frankly, I’m getting kind of tired playing rescuer.”

* * *

Nathan reached his parents’ cabin and was climbing the back porch steps just as Caleb emerged. One whiff had his younger brother backing up and raising his arm to cover his nose.

“What happened to you?”

“Sophie Tanner happened, that’s what,” he muttered, still aggravated with the headstrong tomboy. If she’d only listened to him and stayed put a few more minutes, he wouldn’t smell like a rotten bucket of pig scraps. He unbuttoned his shirt. “Do me a favor. Grab the vinegar from the cabinet. And ask Pa if he’ll help you milk the cows. I doubt they’ll let me near them reeking of polecat.”

“What has Sophie done now?”

Explaining what happened as he undressed, he chucked his shirt, pants and socks into a heap to be burned later. Caleb’s resulting laughter didn’t bother Nathan. His brother laughed so rarely these days that he relished the sound of it, no matter that it was at his expense.

Clad in nothing but his knee-length cotton drawers, he prompted, “The sooner I get that vinegar, the better. Hurry up.”

“I wish I could’ve seen your expression when that ole polecat doused you. And Sophie...I imagine she was fit to be tied.” Brown eyes full of mirth, he was still chuckling and shaking his head as he disappeared inside.

Half sitting on the porch rail, Nathan recalled Sophie’s last expression all too clearly. Her eyes wide and beseeching, her face pale, even distraught, as he stomped off.

He pinched the bridge of his nose to dispel the blossoming ache behind his forehead.

You didn’t handle that very well, did you, O’Malley?

Caleb reappeared, a black handkerchief concealing the lower half of his face. The wicked scar near his eye lent him a sinister air.

“You look like a bank robber.”

“I won’t say what you look like.” Caleb held out the vinegar bottle. “Why the hangdog expression? Oh, wait. Let me guess. You gave Sophie a piece of your mind, and now you’re feeling guilty.”

Grabbing the bottle, Nathan pushed upright and descended the steps. The grass pricked the sensitive soles of his feet. “She’s too impulsive.”

Following a couple of paces behind, Caleb remarked, “She’s been that way since we were kids. Remember that time she took a flying leap off Flinthead Falls and nearly drowned?”

“Don’t remind me.” His stomach hardened into a tight knot just thinking about it. She’d been fourteen to his nineteen, a beautiful wild thing oblivious to danger, bursting with life and optimism that infused the air around her with sparkling energy. He’d rescued her as he’d done many times before. Lectured her, too. Now eighteen, she’d settled down since then, but he knew that untamable streak yet lingered, poised to make an appearance at any moment.

Caleb waited outside while Nathan retrieved the copper tub from the toolshed.

“And remember that time you and Danny Mabry were entrenched in a tug-of-war and Sophie distracted you? Hollered your name?” He chuckled. “You fell flat on your face in the mud.”

Nathan pursed his lips. Talk about being embarrassed. A girl he’d fancied had been watching that tug-of-war and his goal had been to impress her with his strength and skill. She’d taken one look at his mud-caked face and shared a hearty laugh with her friends. That was before he’d decided females were too much trouble to fool with.

Lifting the other end of the tub, Caleb helped him carry it to the porch.

“Oh, and do you remember—”

“I have the same memories as you, Caleb.” He cut him off, uninterested in rehashing all the scrapes and fixes Sophie Tanner had gotten herself—and him—into. “I just want to get this smell off.”

“Fine.” He helped maneuver the tub and straightened, yanking the handkerchief down around his neck, his uncharacteristic good humor gone. “Tell Pa I’m going to get a head start on the milking.”

Watching him stalk across the yard, Nathan regretted his abrupt words. The accident that had scarred Caleb and nearly killed his best friend almost two years ago had transformed the lighthearted prankster into a surly loner. He hardly recognized his own brother and it had nothing to do with his altered face.

Please, God, heal his hidden hurts. Help us to love him unconditionally and to be patient. He missed the old Caleb. He wondered if he’d ever glimpse that man again.

* * *

Three days and several vinegar baths later, his family no longer cringed when he entered a room. Poor Kate hadn’t come around since that first day. His brother Josh’s wife was expecting their first child, and her delicate condition magnified her sense of smell, which meant simply breathing the air around him had made her nauseous.

They were seated around the table Thursday night enjoying Ma’s pecan pie when a soft knock sounded on the kitchen door. Pa went to answer it. When Nathan heard Sophie’s quiet voice, he gulped the remainder of his coffee and, excusing himself, went to greet her.

Hearing his approach, Pa bid her goodbye and returned to the table.

Sophie’s gaze collided with his, remorse churning in the blue depths. The final pieces of irritation dissolved and he wished he had gone to see her before this.