But would the Rebs really hire a boy to spy? He’d seen worse—dead boys on the field of battle not even old enough to shave.
Air leaked out of Devon’s lungs.
“I can’t vait for you to see what I’ve fixed you for dinner tonight.” Frieda squeezed his arm.
“Let me guess.” He refocused and nudged his elbow to hers. “A pie?”
“No, silly, you can’t have dessert first. I’m talking dinner.”
“Everything that comes from your hands tastes like dessert.”
“I bet you say that to all the ladies.”
“None compare to you.” He lifted her hand and brushed his lips to her gloved fingers.
Frieda sucked in a breath. Her face went dead serious.
Don’t fall for the act.He returned her hand to his elbow. “I’ll expound more on your charms this evening in your parlor.”
“You shall?” Her voice fluttered.
“Dinner?” He whispered. “We were talking about dinner.”
“Oh, yes.” She blushed. “Vhat do you think aboutdumplings? Papa butchered a chicken last night since you vere coming. Chicken and dumplings, and blackberry pie?”
“Best meal of my life.” He turned their steps to the beaten trail that led back to the street and shot a side-glimpse toward the youth.
The boy jerked his head down. He’d been looking.
Devon squared his shoulders. Time to give their observer something else to goggle at. “Frieda,” he whispered. “Forgive me.” He pivoted to her front and inhaled. Hand trembling and stomach contorting, he lifted her chin.
Her eyes widened.
This was not who he should be kissing.
His arid tongue cleaved to the roof of his mouth as he bent his head and brushed his lips to her cheek.
She fluttered like a chickadee fluffing its wings. Her lips skimmed his beard before he could withdraw. He fought against the wince that threatened to squeeze his eyes. Their lives might depend upon this deception.
He gazed into her sparkling blue irises and spawned a smile as if he considered her the most beautiful woman in the world. He should say something, but what?
She squeezed his hand and whispered. “I know ve’re only pretending.” But the tremor in her voice said otherwise.
He nodded. She deserved to have a beau. But not him. “Slowly, let your reticule slip to the ground between us. Out of sight of the fellow behind us.”
Her eyebrows arched. “Vhat?”
“I need an excuse to return and see what he’s up to.”
She frowned. The reticule plopped lightly on his boot toe.
“Thank you.” He tucked her hand around his elbow and strode down the path to the street. Once they returned to the hubbub of people and wagons, he stopped. “I want you to head straight home. I’ll be along later.”
“No. I’ll vait.” She clung to his arm. “I mean, I’m fine going back on my own, but vhat if the fellow’s dangerous?”
“Don’t worry. I can handle him.” He tapped the revolver beneath his coat. “But I don’t think it’ll come to that. I’ll ask him if he’s seen your reticule. It’ll give me a chance to take a good look at him and get a better sense of what he’s up to.”
“Be careful.” Worry filled her eyes. Her dimples faded.
