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The Oregon Pursuit: Christian Western Historical (The Window to the Heart Saga Book 4)

By Jenna Brandt

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The enticing scent of fresh baked goods drifting down the street. As Pierre approached the bakery, his mouth watered. Memories of his family estate’s dinner table piled high with loaves of crisp golden baguettes, delicious puffed pastries and decadent cakes filled his head. Eager with anticipation, Pierre rounded the corner, with William beside him.

“Pierre, this is the finest French bakery in all of America. I could not believe it when I stumbled upon it a few months back while I was finishing up negotiations for the railroad. You had mentioned you missed all the familiar food from back home and this place came to mind.”

“My mother insisted we eat only the best. She selected the premier baker of the Parisian culinary world to be our family chef resulting in creating an exceptionally high standard when it comes to what I consume.”

“It never ceases to amaze me, Pierre, how your snobbery knows no bounds. I am telling you, these beignets are going to impress you.”

“I have to admit, the baked goods smell promising. After all the sub-par food I have had the displeasure of ingesting in this country, I can hardly imagine anything in America comparing to what we have back on the continent.”

* * *

The chaos in the bakery was exceptionally high. The Independence Day celebration was happening in the evening and Amelie had already made over a dozen pies for the pie-eating contest. On top of that endeavor, everyone wanted bread for sandwiches and pastries to take with them for the town festivities.
Two well-dressed gentlemen in perfectly tailored suits entered the building in the thick of the morning rush. Amelie only had time to glance up and greet them with a quick “hello.”
She overheard their conversation as she helped the customers in front of them.
“My, this place seems remarkably busy.”

Amelie glanced up and looked at the man who was speaking with a thick French accent. He looked assured of himself, as if he believed his opinion was the only one which mattered. Objectively, he was good-looking, with his dense dark hair slicked-back to precision and his piercing brown eyes. Contrasting with his alabaster skin, she could tell he was used to getting attention wherever he went. Amelie suspected it only added to his ego.

“It is because of the American holiday they observe. You know, the one which celebrates their ‘liberation’ from my homeland’s ‘oppression,’” the Englishman ridiculed.
“Americans can be so obnoxious. This land is filled with the most repellent people I have ever had the displeasure of meeting.”

“Pierre, ever since you got rejected by Lady Margaret for the second time, you have become inconsolable. I am telling you, if you just give Oregon a chance, you are going to grow to admire it. You might even find another lady to take your mind off your loss.”

Amelie could feel the man’s eyes on her, as if by staring at her he was saying, Look, there is one, right there. Uncomfortable with the attention, she patted at her wrinkled dress and apron and pushed back several tendrils of her golden-brown hair, which had fallen lose from her bun.
The Frenchman did not even glance her way, but continued to stare at his friend.
“Hardly. I cannot wait to finish my business here and return to Paris.”
As they approached the counter, Amelie recognized the Englishman who exhibited average features but a kind smile. Apparently, he did enjoy her baked goods because he had frequented the bakery on several occasions.

“Good morning, Miss.”

“Good morning, Sir.”

“We would like two beignets and a piece of the brioche, if you still have some left.”
She watched to see if the other man would even acknowledge her presence, but he remained firm in his unresponsiveness. Irritated by the dismissive manner of his friend, Amelie fumed. In a clipped tone she responded, “Right away.”

Turning around without making eye contact with either man, Amelie went into the back room where a batch of brioche had been cooling. As she packed up their order, she could hear them still talking.

“My, my, it seems you have upset the baker of the establishment. Miss Leclaire seems to be angry with you, Pierre.”

“I have no idea what I could have done to upset that woman.”

“Your problem is if a woman does not have a title, she is of no consequence to you, Pierre. I mean, we are in America, you might as well sample the local goods. You could have your pick of the local women.”

“I am sure you are right. However, what is the point in that? I am tired of trying to drink and copulate Margaret’s memory away. Another woman is not going to fix anything.”
What a complete blockhead! Could he really be so pretentious as to not realize how indifferent he had just been towards her? Moreover, he seemed to think if he deigned to pay any woman attention, she would swoon at his feet. He might be used to women fawning all over him, but it would never be the case with her. She did not have the time or patience to deal with someone like that.

Amelie marched herself back into the room with their bag of pastries in hand. Haughtily, she shoved the baked goods over the counter towards them.
“Will that be all, my lord?” Amelie mocked.

Her comment got his attention. For the first time since entering the bakery, the Frenchman glanced her way. When his eyes met hers, it was a like a lightning bolt sparked between them. What started off as a glance turned into an unwavering, resolute stare. Amelie felt the connection and wanted to look away; however, some unknown force between them continued to hold her in place. It would not let her attention waiver.

“I think I was mistaken, William. Oregon may very well be growing on me.”
The Englishman was oblivious to the situation going on between his friend and Amelie.
With gusto, he boasted, “Wait until you taste these pastries.”
“If they taste half as good as their maker looks, I would say you are right in your earlier statement that they are the best pastries in all of America.”

Amelie felt a blush flash across her body. No one in her life had ever paid her such a compliment. She wanted to stay mad at him, but this stranger had a way with words.
Hearing the banging of the back door and a soft spoken, “Sorry, Amelie,” she remembered Elise told her she would be coming back from Lizzy Wilcox’s home to help clean up before the holiday festivities.

The moment was broken and Amelie quickly looked down at the countertop. She picked up a rag and busied herself with cleaning the already spotless counter. In a curt manner, she stated, “Enjoy the pastries, gentleman.”

“Oh, we will, Miss Leclaire,” the Englishman replied.

“Indeed. I am quite certain I am going to be a frequent visitor of this bakery.”

She did not look up even though she could not mistake the flirtatious suggestion in the Frenchman’s statement.
Once the two men had left, Amelie asked Elise to take over the front for a moment. She went into the back to sit down. What just happened? She had never had her emotions turned upside down so rapidly in all her life. Amelie had better watch herself with that man; maybe he could make her swoon after all.


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