“I thought you needed something...” Kit paused meaningfully, “a moment ago... under the table. After our conversation this afternoon, I knew you couldn’t possibly be hiding...”
He knew darn well she had been hiding.
“So,” he continued. “I thought you might be stuck and need some help.”
“I am stuck, under your muddy boot!” Hallie sat back on her heels and pulled fruitlessly on the pinned fabric. He wouldn’t budge. She looked at the fork, still clutched in her sweaty palm, and a wicked little smile teased her own lips. Knowing he watched, she eyed his thigh, slowly, up and down, as if contemplating exactly where to plant the fork.
Kit prudently stepped off her skirt. She swiped at the rusty dirt marks stamped into her favorite dress. The mud wasn’t all that dry, so instead of flaking off, the grit smeared into the fine weave of the fabric. She sat there still fuming, more embarrassed than angry, but clutching the fork, daggerlike. Her breath was ragged.
A small hand gently patted the bare skin of her collarbone. Knut leaned over and asked in childish innocence, “Did you lace your gussies too tight again, Hallie?”
The picture of honesty, he looked up at Kit. “When Hallie huffs and puffs, Da says it’s because she laces her gussies so tight she can’t move,” he announced.
“It’s not gussies, silly,” Liv corrected with an authoritative tone. “It’s gussets.”
“I’m not silly! Girls are silly.”
“Are not.”
“Uh-huh!”
Hallie rose to her knees and slammed the fork on the table so forcefully that both Liv and Knut hushed. Suddenly, two large hands grabbed her waist and lifted her to her feet. Kit’s hands squeezed her waist.
She looked at him, frowning.
“I was checking your gussets, Hallie-girl,” he whispered in her ear. “They do feel a little tight.”
She twisted out of his grip, having long ago lost her sense of humor, and feeling indignant at being the brunt of his “They are fine! Just fine! Absolutely perfect!”
Kit shrugged and returned to his table. Hallie settled into her own seat, flushed and uncomfortable. But she was overwhelmed by a desolate feeling of failure.Oh God, this wasn’t what I meant. I didn’t want him to laugh at me. And he’s back to calling me girl!
All she wanted now was for Kit Howland to forget the very existence of that frightened, silly, clumsy young girl she’d just proven herself to be.
Knut’s chattering little voice was grilling Lee for whaling tales, but at Hallie’s frown he returned to his seat. Millie barreled out of the kitchen carrying a steaming pot which she placed before the men.
She turned her aproned girth toward the twins. “Well, lookee here! These here two mustagrowed a foot. Gonna hafta feed ‘em a whole passel of food jus’ ta fil ‘em up.”
“Y’know what, Miz Dockery?” Knut asked.
“What?”
“Hallie burnt supper! Y’shoulda seen it.” Knut waved his small arms in the air. “Smoke was everywhere, and it smelled something awful! An’ Hallie’s face got all black an’ everything, just like Rufus Jefferson—only his is black ‘cause God made it that way—I knowed ‘cause he told me so. An’ y’know what?”
“What?”
“Hallie promised we could have her dessert if we were good.” He looked around the table. “She did. She really did. Remember, Hallie?”
Hallie closed her eyes.Gunnar was right, he is a tattletale.But Hallie looked into those guileless eyes and gave up. There were no secrets with chatty four-year-olds. They didn’t understand discretion.
“I’m being good, huh?”
“Yes, love,” she answered, “you’re good.”
Knut pointed to the steaming pot on the men’s table. “What’s that?”
“Jus’ the thing ta warm yore vitals,” Millie boasted. “Maria will be bringin’ ya some real soon.”
Knut rose to his knees and craned over to see better.
