Wait a minute.
Again with the idea of love?
He tipped his head, shoving the thought far, far away. “Let’s get this over with, then.”
Her cloth came down more firmly this time, directly dabbing where his jaw had caught on a shingle nail as he’d slid down a roof headfirst.
“Ye’ll be lucky if this don’t harbour infection. Scamperin’ after brigands takes a toll on a body. Ye’re as reckless as Frankie.” Martha shook her head as if he were one of her own. “I don’t like to think of ye on the streets at night. T’aint safe.”
“That’s the whole reason I’m out there, to keep you and yours from harm’s way.”
“And I do appreciate it, Mr. Baggett, truly.” She wrung out the rag once more, the water increasingly murky with dirt and blood. “But I still fear for ye.”
“Don’t fret on my account.” He winced as she rubbed a bit too hard. “I can hold my own.”
“La, sir!” Her hand froze, instant remorse clouding the blue in her eyes. “I meant no disrespect. A strappin’ fellow like ye, o’ course ye know how to handle yerself.”
Truly, he ought not to grin, but the praise tasted too sweet to keep his lips from curving. “I took no offense, Mrs. Jones. You’ve never been anything but kind to me.”
“Yer an easy one to be kind to,” she whispered, her breath warm against his cheek.
This was dangerous ground. Far too dangerous. He should pull back, end this banter, but he was trapped between the window, the woman, and his own desire. There was no good way out of this.
Other than humour, perhaps. “I’m sure you say that to all the fellows who cross your threshold.”
“No.” She shook her head slowly, her gaze never once leaving his. “Only you.”
“I am happy to hear it.” Blast. Did that husky voice belong to him? The roughed-up hand that suddenly stroked her face, was that really his? How could he—a hardened officer used to composing himself in any and all situations—lose self-control like this?
Footsteps tapped into the room. Martha whirled like a top, splashing water from the basin as she dropped the cloth into it.
Kit raised a knowing brow. “Hope I’m not interrupting anything, but is Mr. Baggett all patched up yet? We’ve a rookery to shake down.”
Martha retreated several steps from him, though the starch in her spine didn’t wilt. “He’s a bit worse for the wear but no stitches required, and I’ll thank ye to keep it that way, Kit Forge.”
Charles grabbed his hat and rose, admiring Martha’s spirit. “It’s Mrs. Forge you ought to worry about. If I bring her back to Jackson with so much as a scrape, he’ll have my head.”
Kit popped a fist onto her hip. “And you don’t think Martha would do the same and more to me if you get banged up? I suspect we’d better both stay on our toes.” She swaggered over to the front door and yanked it open. “G’day, Martha. I should be back around four to fetch Bella.”
Charles tipped his hat at Martha. “Thank you, Mrs. Jones. Your ministrations have made me a new man.”
Her cheeks bloomed dusky rose, then she held up a finger. “Hold on.”
She dashed out of the room. He exchanged a glance with Kit, who merely shrugged her shoulders.
“Perhaps she is—” Kit began but was cut off by Martha’s green skirts swishing back into the room.
“Here.” Martha handed him a cloth bundle. “Can’t have ye runnin’ about on an empty stomach. ’Tis only bread and cheese, though, so I’ll feed ye a proper meal at supper, eh?”
“I look forward to it. Good day.” He wheeled about and followed Kit outside, where she abruptly stopped and faced him.
“Why don’t you just marry the woman and be done with it?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mrs. Forge.” He strode off, unwrapping the cloth and shoving a huge bite of warm bread into his mouth. Better that than to talk himself into a hole he’d never climb out of.
Her footsteps caught up to him in record time. “Liars will burn in a lake of fire, you know.”
He swallowed his bread without so much as looking at her. “Takes one to know one, I’d say.”
