This is an excerpt from Love in Its Season, my contribution to Under the Harvest Moon, the next Bluestocking Belles Collection with Friends.

Jack strolled through the lower town considering ways to approach Miss Hughes without her turning him away. As the farrier’s cottage came into view, there she was. Gwen, his heart said. Stupid heart. What use would a magnificent woman like her have for a broken-down soldier, soon to be an ex-soldier, old before his time, beset by nightmares, with only one working arm, no job and no idea where he was going or what he would do?

She was harnessing a horse to a little vehicle—something between a cart and a gig, with a gig seat in front and a small cart tray at the back. The frown on her face hastened his steps. She was worried, and he wanted to fix it.

“Good morning, Miss Hughes.”

She turned at his greeting, her eyes widening in surprise. “Captain Wrath!”

As an ex-cavalry man, he recognized the setup in the cart back of the vehicle—the farriers and blacksmiths in the army had carried larger versions of the little portable forge, and the other boxes undoubtedly carried the tools of Miss Hughes’s trade.

“Off to work?” he asked, trying to keep the disappointment out of his tone.

“Yes, if…” Relief spread across her face as a boy of about nine raced around the corner of the cottage and skidded to a stop in front of her.

She continued to look in the direction he came, welcome turning to puzzlement. “Is your mother far behind?” she asked the boy.

“Mam can’t come,” the boy reported. “Said to tell you she’s sorry, Miss Hughes, but Chrissie got too close to the fire, and her apron caught, and Mam’s had to take her to the doctor.”

Miss Hughes paled, her eyes widening. “I hope Chrissie is not too badly hurt,” she told the boy. “Does your mother need anything?”

“It’s not too bad, my Mam says. She dropped Chrissie in the rain barrel straight off,” he was backing away as he spoke. “I have to go back and watch the baby. Sorry, miss.” He took off the way he had come.

Miss Hughes nibbled at her lower lip, her eyes full of worry.

“Anything I can do to help?” Jack asked.

Hope lit her face, followed by rejection. “I do not know you, Captain Wrath,” she pointed out. True, but Jack was more and more certain that his heart knew hers. Which surely meant that her heart knew his?