Carolyn Davidson – The Seduction Of Shay Devereaux (страница 7)

He inhaled deeply, then opened his eyes. Her smile was teasing, her lips parted and, wonder of wonders, the woman was totally oblivious to his problem.

“You’re almost as bad as Marshall,” she said smugly. “I think all male creatures must be alike. They can cope with a broken nose easier than a blister.”

He gained his breath. “And how would you know about broken noses, Miss Jenny?” he asked. Then watched as she stripped his other glove off with care.

“Carl had a shovel fall from the barn wall once. It caught him right across the bridge of his nose, and he bled like a stuck pig.” Her hands repeated the cleaning process and he focused his thoughts on Carl’s bleeding nose.

“What did you do for him?” The salve covered his palm now and his gaze swept her profile, noting the freckles across her nose, the sweep of eyelashes against her cheek.

“It was a cold winter that year, and I made an ice pack from the horse trough.” Her hands stilled as she thought of that time, and a sad smile touched her full lips. “He wouldn’t let me pamper him.” Her eyes were bright as she blinked twice, then looked up at him.

I’d let you pamper me any day of the week. The woman was about as tempting as any female he’d ever met. No. More so, Shay decided as she rolled the remainder of her bandage, then pinned it carefully so that it would be tidy in the small box she held. Twists of paper, their contents marked with neatly printed labels filled one side. A cloth bag held an aromatic scent he could not place, though it seemed familiar. Probably herbs of one kind or another, he decided. A large tin of carbolic salve, a bottle of thick, creamy liquid and smaller bottles of camphorated oil and witch hazel made up the neat contents of her medical supplies.

“My mother used to have witch hazel,” he said. “She used it for all our bruises and cuts.” His mouth tightened, aware of Jenny’s interest, her eyes lighting at his words. Her hands paused, holding the roll of bandage suspended.

“Where did you live?”

It was a simple question, one he should have answered readily, and yet some need for anonymity clutched at his throat and he shook his head. “It’s not important.”

Her eyes dimmed, the light vanquished by his terse reply, and she bent to her task, swiftly tidying the box, then rising to replace it in the pantry. He watched, aware of the hurt he’d inflicted, and his jaw tightened. It was just as well. He was becoming too attracted to her. Attracted. What a pale word to describe the desire that even now continued to find expression beneath the covering of the oilcloth that draped across his lap.

“We’ll be eating in just a few minutes,” Jenny said brightly. “You’d might as well sit there. Isabelle is ready to dish up, I think.”

Murmuring agreeably, he glanced up to find Isabelle’s eyes fixed on his face. Her hands busy with the kettle she held, she glanced away, but not before he’d gotten the message her gimlet gaze sent flying in his direction. She was only too aware of his reaction to Jenny Pennington. And if looks could kill, Shay would be stretched out on the floor, waiting for burial.

Isabelle saw too much, Shay decided. Her next move would no doubt be to warn her friend against him. For all that she was a woman full grown, there was an air of innocence about Jenny that inspired a protective instinct in those surrounding her. Even the men in the field had watched him closely today when she’d offered the gloves for his use. Hell, he was halfway to being her champion already and he’d only known her for a couple of days. He’d protect her gladly, against any and all comers.

He’d work for her, plow his hard cash into her farm, and help her survive through another growing season. He’d stick it out until he was sure she was on her feet, safe and secure. And then what? Leave and not look back?

Not very damn likely. He’d probably be looking over his shoulder for the rest of his life. Might as well add Jenny to the list of those he’d left behind. He had a notion she’d be haunting his dreams anyway. And then he realized something that caught him up short.

He hadn’t dreamed of the prison camp in Elmira, or of Carl’s death for the past two nights.

He’d worked, and worked hard, Jenny thought. There was no faulting the man’s ambition. And she’d gotten used to his presence here over the past weeks.

The barn was filled with the scent of hay, bits of it floating to the floor as two men worked in the loft above. Jenny covered the pail of milk she’d just coaxed from the cow and rose from the three-legged stool. Shay said there was enough hay in the loft to feed for the better part of the year. Part of the second cutting, come August, would be sold to neighbors who needed more than they raised for themselves.

For the first time in months, she felt rich. Rich with the knowledge that her animals had good pasture to feed on, that there was an abundance of hay in the loft, and there was a field of corn ready to hoe. Shay was talking about a second crop. A late planting would take them through the winter, he said, and she’d agreed, after noting Noah’s slight nod. In the meantime, the chickens were turned out to forage for themselves every morning. The pullets and young roosters were growing rapidly, and there were more hens wanting to nest, one of them determined to settle herself in the bushes near the house.

The sound of hammering caught her attention and she put the milking stool aside in haste. The man was up to something again, and it was barely past breakfast time. Sure as the world, he’d found another project to lay his hand to, and she hastened from the barn, following the noise of his labor. The remains of two old trellises lay on the back porch, Shay kneeling amid the fan-shaped designs, adding a strip of new wood. He caught sight of her and rose, watching as she walked toward him.

It made her quiver inside when he did that. Not that his perusal was intimidating or in any way worrisome. It was just that his gaze made her aware of herself. Aware of the way she walked, the way her hand dipped into her apron pocket, the way her hips swayed in rhythm with her steps. And he didn’t miss a shred of it. His lips moved just a little, the bottom one twitching a bit, and his eyes darkened, if that were possible.

She hadn’t been so studied, not ever in her life, as she had lately. Carl had paid attention to her, mostly in the bedroom, sometimes when he was feeling randy. But Shay was a different sort, more intense, more observant, and that intensity was focused on her, more often than not. As if each movement she made was unique, each word she spoke worth hearing.

It could be heady stuff, she decided, climbing the two steps to the back veranda, where he watched and waited. His hand reached for the milk pail and she gave it to him, unthinking. “I’ll take it in to Isabelle,” he said. “Wait here a minute. I want you to tell me where to put this trellis. There are roses blooming all over the ground on the east side of the house. They’d be better off with something to climb on.”

Jenny nodded. His request was reasonable, no matter what Isabelle thought. A whispered warning early this morning had brought quick color to Jenny’s cheeks. “You watch out for that man, Miss Jenny. He’s a dark one, with thoughts about you he shouldn’t be thinkin’.” Isabelle’s eyes were sparkling with indignation as she spoke. “He’s lookin’ at you like you’re an available woman.”

I am. Jenny closed her eyes as she remembered the words. Available for marriage, anyway, though I doubt that’s what Shay is thinking of. The screen door slammed as he returned, and he lifted one finger as a signal.

“Just another couple of nails and this will be ready. Have a seat, ma’am.” His words encouraged her to linger, and she perched on the edge of the veranda, arms wrapped around her knees as she watched him. Long fingers held the nail, and the hammer hit it twice, driving it firmly into the wood beneath. Another nail was pounded home and Shay set aside the hammer, lifting the trellis with him as he stood.

“I knew the roses were being neglected, but the wind kept blowing them down, and I didn’t know how to fix…” Her voice trailed off as Shay carried the trellis past her, a nod of his head urging her to follow. She stood quickly, brushing her skirts down. A movement at the door caught her eye and she waved at Isabelle, flashing a smile as she trotted behind her new handyman.

Thorny branches, profuse with roses, lay beneath the library window. “I’ll bet you can smell them at night,” Shay said, leaning the trellis against the house. The sun was climbing rapidly into the morning sky and its warmth brought forth the scent of the flowers, rising from the ground to surround them with its aroma.

“Yes,” she agreed, hands shoved into her apron pockets, watching as he lifted the heavy branches aside, making room for himself to stand. Curtains caught the breeze and billowed into the room as she watched, and past his bent form she caught sight of her bed. Covering the mattress was a pieced quilt, one her grandmother had made years ago, now the only memento she had of the elderly woman who lay in the churchyard. Her nightgown was tossed carelessly against the counterpane and Jenny wished fervently that it had been folded and put away in her chest of drawers.