One sharp, dark brow angled up before he turned back to his work, ignoring her. Or trying to.
She forced a smile through the bubble in her throat and grasped one of the thin branches he’d just cut before yanking it up and out. “It occurred to me that I didn’t let you in on the full array of skills I have to offer. You are one lucky man, because I just happen to be a crack cleaner. I can cook and sew, darn socks or—”
“No, thank you.” He froze her with those iceberg eyes.
Don’t cry. Breathe. Smile.
Doing her best to ignore him, she took another branch and yanked, throwing it to the ground as she’d seen him do. “You haven’t tasted my—”
“I don’t wish to taste anything.”
Bless me, what kind of man is this, who—
“How about…?” In an act of desperation, she searched for something he might want. “You wanna tasteme?” The words popped out, incomprehensible to her ears and so far from anything she’d ever said—much lessthought—that she almost looked behind her to see who had uttered them.
No one budged. Five full seconds of silence passed before he turned to give her his attention. She wanted to take it all back.
“Pardon?”
Abby opened her mouth, but apparently the devil who’d prompted those words had decided to leave her high and dry. Nothing emerged.
Above them, the sky darkened. Or maybe that was just her vision. Why on earth had she said that? To get him to notice her, she figured. She saw Church kids do it all the time—acting up for attention. Short-lived, since the surest response was a beating—no matter how young the child.
His eyes raked up and down her body, way hotter than ice should be.
“Is this a proposition?” he asked. His voice was cracked and rough, like leather that’d sat too long and needed dusting off. But the accent, layered over the top? That was smooth.Mellifluoussounded like the right word. She’d have to look it up in the dog-eared dictionary she kept hidden under the bed—the only thing she’d ever stolen in her life. She kept expecting to burn in hell for that, but it had yet to happen.
Maybe this was it.
The second brow rose to meet the first. “You need money,” he said. It wasn’t a question.
“I need a job,” she corrected.
“Find one in town.”
“It’d take me hours to walk there.” Besides, Church members drove the road into town all the time. They’d see her and pick her up and there’d be hell to pay. She’d be more hidden here, right next door. Nobody came over to this side of the mountain.
With a sigh, he hung his shears on one of the wires that held the vine branches up and ran one gloved hand through his too-long hair. “I will take you.”
“Where?” she bleated, panicked that he meant he’d drop her back at the Church.
“Into town.”
Her next words sailed out on a sigh of relief. “Any chance you could just give me a job instead?”
“I don’t need your—”
The sky chose that moment to open up, spitting shards of icy rain down on them and drowning out anything else he might have said. Abby raised her eyes to where she could have sworn the rocky mountain face had curled up into a triumphant smile.
“You’ll have to hurry if you wanna get this finished before we get iced in,” she yelled through the loud, stinging patter. “If this goes on too long, you’ll slip and slide right off the hill.” She could see the words sinking in, could feel his change of heart…or maybe that was her Lord and Savior taking pity on her. Whatever it was, her words or divine providence, the man appeared to come to a decision.
“You will need gloves if you are going to do this. And a jacket.” Abby thought of her coat, in a ball beside her hole in the fence. The thin wool would soak up this rain as fast as could be. The man walked a few steps in the direction of his cabin before turning back. “You are coming?” he said before continuing on toward the log cabin.
“Sir?” she called out.
He stopped again, huffing with annoyance. “Yes?”
“I’d like to…” She marched to him and reached out a hand, waiting through his perusal before lifting it higher, insistent. “I want to shake your hand, sir. To thank you for giving me a chance.”
