“Homemade is the best. You don’t need to be buying any fancy dyes.”
“Rusty nails?” Naomi immediately conjured up images of Luke tearing the boards off of her porch. “I believe I can track a few of those down.”
Together they placed two large pots of water on the stove to boil, and then her maid set out with a pail to collect the acorns from a nearby patch of Oak trees. Wearing the lavender gown, for now, Naomi marched toward the stable.
She wasn’t completely surprised to find Major Cockfield—Luke—inside, as she’d heard him sawing back and forth over one of the rough planks. She had not really prepared herself to see him half-dressed, sleeves rolled back, muscles rippling with each stroke.
Watching from the large open doors, she kept quiet, not wanting to break his concentration.
And truth be told, she was a little embarrassed at having lazed in her bed for the last two days. She had no doubt that Ester had mentioned it to him.
When he paused to swipe his arm across his brow, he glanced up and caught her watching him. Sparkling cobalt eyes were kind but also curious.
“Nails.” Her voice emerged sounding raw, causing her to clear her throat.
A lock of chestnut hair fell along his jaw when he tilted his head.
“I’m in need of rusty nails.” She indicated the empty bucket by lifting it slightly. “I thought you might have collected a few over the past few days? We, Ester and I, need them to dye my gowns black. I don’t have anything appropriate other than this.” She was babbling now as he turned his back to her. “I need to—”
“Right here,” he cut off her clumsy explanation and faced her again, this time with a small cup filled with exactly what she was looking for.
“It sets the dye… They have to be rusty.” Naomi explained.
He stepped closer, his gaze locked on hers, causing her to wonder how it was that her blood ran hotter in his presence. She startled at the clanging of metal when he dumped the cup into her bucket. “Will this suffice?”
There were quite a few. “From the porch?” She asked.
“And the roof.” His chuckle was low and soft. “And the trim.”
How ironic that these remnants of something no longer useful would be used make the clothing she would wear during her mourning. “I apologize for not—”
“It’s fine,” he cut her off for the second time. She stared down at the hand he’d dropped onto her wrist. “We all grieve in our own way.”
“And you grieve by…working with your hands?”
“I was drunk three nights in a row after the ambush. If I hadn’t any responsibilities, I likely would have been drunk a week straight.” His rueful smile moved her senses around like puzzle pieces.
She swallowed hard and dropped her gaze the tinted nails. “This ought to be more than enough.” She shook the bucket. The boiling pots awaited her in the kitchen where she would spend the day removing the color from most of her wardrobe. Did she feel reluctant to go back to the house because she wanted to avoid this step towards accepting Arthur’s death? Or did she just find an odd comfort in Luke’s company?
Or perhaps a little of both?
“Ester mentioned you had a few questions—about the roof.” She lifted her lashes and caught him watching her, and then quickly glanced away.
“Which leaks concern you the most? Ester mentioned the one in the parlor, and one in your bedchamber.”
“The one in the attic is the worst.” It seemed every time it rained, she discovered new ones. peered into the small dressing room that adjoined her chamber.
“I’ll check on that one first then.” She could feel his gravelly voice in her chest.
“Thank you.” She stepped backward, bumping into a wheel barrel and then stumbling around it. Her emotions scrambled into an even less intelligible puzzle. “Do you have need of anything? Water? Tea? Are you hungry?” She barely remembered her manners. He was a guest, after all, who was laboring for free on her estate. A major, no less!
His eyes dancing, he shook his head. “I’m good. Thank you.”
“All right then. And thank you again, for everything.”
“Naomi?” He called out just as she was about to bolt.
She didn’t answer but met his gaze.
