“Here we are.” Mack swung open the white picket fence leading to a canary yellow door. He gave a sharp rap and eased it open. “Aunt Jenny? It’s me, Mack.”
No one answered, and Winnie noted the dark interior.
“Maybe she isn’t home?”
Mack checked his pocket watch. “It’s almost one o’clock. I suppose she could be visiting a friend. We can wait inside.”
They stepped inside the plain, tidy entryway. Mack helped her out of her coat and hung it on an empty peg next to an assortment of colorful knit scarves. And then, to her horror, he sat on the low bench and pulled off his boots. Flecks of dried dirt fell to the polished wood floor.
“What are you doing?”
Mack paused. “I know this seems odd, but trust me, we’ll be in greater trouble if we track in mud. Here, take off your shoes and put these house slippers on.”
She winced as she slid her dirty stockings into another woman’s slippers.
“Do you smell that? Aunt Jenny made fresh bread.”
He took off down the hallway, but Winnie hesitated until the delicious aroma of warm, yeasty bread proved too great a temptation. Stomach rumbling, she entered the kitchen.
Mack sat at the small kitchen table covered in a cheerful floral cloth, slathering butter on two thickly cut slices of soda bread. She sank into a chair beside him, and he offered her a slice. She took a large bite, her eyes closing as she savored the simple, delicious fare. When half the slice was gone, she opened her eyes and caught Mack watching her. Her cheeks flushed.
“I don’t like when you watch me eat.”
He chuffed her chin. “If you craved me half as much as you do that bread, I’d die a happy man.”
She rolled her eyes and jerked her chin toward the table. “Are you going to read that note tucked under the plate?”
His slice paused halfway to his mouth. “I didn’t even see that.”
“Once again, your journalism skills are suspect.”
“I would have seen it in another minute or two if you hadn’t upstaged me. Again.”
She was tempted to roll her eyes once more, but she just smiled. His compliments were certainly not true, but she enjoyed them anyway. She waited for Mack to scan the note.
“She thinks I missed yesterday’s steamer and will arrive sometime today. Her friend’s daughter went into labor this morning, and she’s not sure when she’ll be back.”
“Oh.” Winnie shifted in her seat, torn between dismay and excitement at the notion of a few more unchaperoned hours with an incredibly attractive man who, for whatever reason, found her irresistible. The longer she stayed in his company the harder it was to resist throwing herself into his arms. And, being honest with herself, the harder it was to maintain her protective walls.
“And there’s soup on the stove.” Mack rose to his feet and lifted the lid. “Potato leek, my favorite.”
Winnie’s stomach rumbled, and she shrugged when Mack grinned at her. “Which do you want more, a hot bath or hot soup?”
“Definitely a bath.” She plucked at a salty strand of hair. “This is my last chance to put myself together before meeting the other suffragists.”
“Why don’t you take your things to the guest room at the top of the stairs, and I’ll start heating water for the bathtub.”
“Would your aunt mind if I hang my damp clothes outside?”
“She’d be mad if you didn’t.”
As she gathered her things and headed up the stairs, he called, “There should be a warm robe in the closet you can use.”
By the time she returned to the kitchen, wrapped in the plaid robe and her necessities tucked under one arm, water was heating on the woodstove. Mack sat at the table, carefully folding and stacking a set of cloth napkins. He jumped up when she entered, and she looked around expectantly.
“Where’s the bathtub?”
He pointed to the corner of the kitchen. “Behind that screen.”
