He leaped to his feet before she started kicking. “Who sent you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Who told you to follow me?”
“No one. Why would they? None of the rest of the world cares if you have your fancy set on Frieda Schramm. You weasel. You said it wasn’t about her.” She swung at him again.
He dodged. That’s what this was about? Morning Fawn…was jealous?
“What does that look mean?” She jabbed both hands to her hips. Hips covered introusers.
“Nothing.”
“It means something. And I want a real answer.” She brandished her slouch hat in his direction. “You and Frieda deserve each other.” She scowled at him. “Nick Moyer could lose more land by dinner time than you’ll ever own in your life.”
How dare she? “So that’s the measure of a man, huh? How much land he owns? If that’s what you think matters in a marriage, then you go ahead and wrangle a proposal out of that man.”
“Couldn’t be any worse than you chasing after Miss Perfect. I can see you now, all settled down, mucking out the pigs every evening, then scrubbing up to come sit by the fireside, read the newspaper, and watch her make doilies. Maybe if you’re lucky, you’ll get a good night peck on the cheek.”
He snorted. Him marrying Frieda. Doilies. Kiss on the cheek.
She glowered at him. Moisture glistened in her eyes. “You can wallow with the pigs as far as I’m concerned.” She pivoted from him.
“Morning Fawn.” He touched her shoulder.
She jerked away and punched at his arm.
He blocked her fist, the impact landing solidly in his palm. She raised her other hand, and he latched onto her wrists. “If you try to hit me again, I’m going to pin you to the ground until you’re ready to listen.”
Golden sparks flared at him from the hazel depths of her eyes. “Get your hands off me and never touch me again. I’m done with you. If I ever see you again, it’ll be too soon.”
Tears streamed down her cheeks, turning his knees to pond scum. Realization dawned. She was in love with him.
And he’d hurt her.
She scrubbed the heels of her palms across her cheeks. “I couldn’t care less about you.”
“It’s not what you think, Taa Aruka.”
She startled at the last two words. “You told me that one before.”
Words rasped out of his throat. “I’m a spy.”
“A what?”
Dear Lord, should he do this? But how could he not? Mouth dry, he stepped toe to toe with her. “A spy.” His voice was hardly more than a breath. She needed to understand the possible consequences. “I could be killed if I’m discovered.”
Her mouth slackened. “You’re serious?”
He pointed to his face. “Do I look like I’m lying?”
She teetered. “No.”
He steadied her with his hand on her shoulder. His palm sank deep against the twig and leaf-speckled wool coat. “What you saw between me and Frieda was an act.”
“You two practically melted all over each other.”
He winced. Obviously, he’d been too good at acting. Anything short of honesty would deem his credibility worth about as much as the leavings from a morning bedpan. “I’m on a secret mission. The Schramms are my contacts. The courtship with Frieda is part of my cover to avoid suspicion.” Dare he tell her everything? There were more lives than his at stake.
