“Sure,” I said, trying not to sound hot or bothered. “For the next few hours anyway.” I smiled innocently.
He paused, studying my lips, my eyes, and I found myself wondering if he was going to touch me, embrace me.
Then I found myself wondering why I didn’t just take that step into him and touch him.
He made a littlemmsound, then turned and walked down the hall, leaving me surprisingly disappointed.
What was wrong with me? I couldn’t have these feelings for the man. I’d known him exactly one day. I had a farm to run, a grandmother to take care of, a brother to free, and a new House to serve, apparently.
How did any of that, any of the past twenty-four hours I’d been through, add up to the feelings for Abraham Seventh that were taking root in me?
Foolish heart, I thought. I don’t have time for you.
But my heart, being foolish, did not listen.
Okay. Since I wasn’t going anywhere, I pulled the duffel out from under the chair and checked to be sure the scarf was still there. It was half-unraveled and I needed to do something to salvage it before it lost more stitches. I plucked a couple pens off the desktop and used them to knit a few rows, then stared at the clock and pulled the thread back out.
Time did not stop. So this knitting—however Grandma had done it—was a onetime trick. If I wanted to keep the scarf and the time it held near me, or, better yet, on me, I’d need to cut the length of yarn and bind off the edge so no more stitches were accidentally pulled out.
The light coming through the window at the end of the sitting room was already bright. I’d missed dawn, and enough of the day had gone by that it was midmorning. Kiana White had told Oscar that she would send a medical technician over to test to see that I was galvanized—a prospect that made me want to barf.
So that meant I could either pace around the room until the technician showed up, or I could work on the scarf to keep busy.
Scarf it was.
But even though my hands were busy, my thoughts just kept on thinking. Had I made the right choice to sign the contract? Would Oscar follow through with his promise to help me find my brother? Would he let my grandma live on our property without House interference? Would he work to make House Brown legitimized among the other Houses?
Abraham had almost kissed me.
And I’d kicked him in the crotch.
That was a promising beginning to a ten-year work relationship.
I finished tugging the yarn through the last stitch to secure it, then wrapped the yarn around my hands a couple time and pulled until it broke.
I held up the scarf. It was definitely shorter. Probably wouldn’t drag the floor when I wore it. But the stitches were all locked in tight until I wanted to unknot them again. No accidentally wasting time.
I tucked the scarf back in my duffel and wound the yarn into a small ball that I also tucked in the duffel.
“Good afternoon!” a woman’s cheerful, clipped voice called out from the other side of the bedroom door. “Are you awake, Matilda? There is so much to do.”
“Be right there.”
The door flew open.
“Nonsense, darling. I shall come to you.” The small woman who had served us cookies and ice tea—Elwa—powered into the room. Her straight black hair was pulled back in a tight bun, and she wore a gray jacket, skirt, hose, and shoes all cut in a chic style. She had a bundle of clothes draped over one arm.
A dour-faced man about twice her size, wearing white from head to foot, followed her in.
“I am Elwa,” she said as she laid the garments across the foot of my bed in the adjoining room. “No need to worry about packing. It is done. No need to worry about what to wear.”
She turned and gave me a sharp eye, then nodded. “Country living agrees with you, Matilda, my darling. Here. This.” She pulled away a few hangers, leaving behind a lacy tank top, sweater, and slacks, all in shades of gray. “Perfect for your day. Your travel. But first the blood for tests. Quickly, now.”
“What?” I said, my brain not quite up to the speed of Elwa’s mouth.
The man in white stepped forward right on cue. “Hold still,” he said with all the bedside manner of an undertaker.
I held still, eyeing him warily. “What are you doing?”
