Would that we had, Shannon thought unhappily. She sat back down in her chair and waited to see what Brandon would do.
“Let me see it, Papa!” Clara had scrambled off her chair and was dancing in front of Brandon, trying to grasp the book that he held just out of her reach.
“Not with those sticky fingers,” he said repressively. He set the book aside and knelt in front of Clara, taking a linen napkin from the tea table and wiping her fingers with it. “Apple tarts?”
Clara nodded. “Mishannon and I made them,” she announced proudly. “You may have one, mayn’t he?” Shannon nodded and Clara continued, “Take the rocker and sit with us.”
Brandon looked skeptically at the child-size rocker and wisely elected to pull a stool to the table. He helped himself to one of the tarts. With his free hand he opened Clara’s book. “I found it in the library,” he said between mouthfuls. “I believe Clara calls it the allybet book.”
“Yes,” Shannon replied. “We were doing R words. River. Raft. Roses. That sort of thing. I thought we left it on the bank. I can’t think how it came to be in the library. Thank you for returning it.” She touched the corner of the book and tried to nudge it away from Brandon before he turned the page. Her hand brushed his and she pulled back immediately. Brandon murmured something, though whether he was commenting on the apple tart or the A pictures in front of him, Shannon couldn’t decide.
“This likeness of Addie is quite good,” he said.
Shannon felt all the stiffness go out of her spine and the set of her shoulders as he thoughtfully flipped the page. “Ball. Basket. Bell. Boy.” He paused and pointed to the sketch of himself, then looked at his daughter. “Who is this, Clara?”
“Oh, Papa, can’t you tell? That’s you.”
He smiled and tapped her nose with the tip of his finger before he turned to Shannon. “My point, Miss Kilmartin, is that in Clara’s book I should be a P word. Papa. Or an F word. Father. But B is for Brandon, is it not?”
“Yes, but…”
“And Clara does not call me Brandon, does she?”
“No, but…”
“And, for that matter, neither do you.” A faint smile curved his lips. “In fact, you rarely call me anything. Why is that, I wonder?”
“I’m sure I don’t know. I never noticed.”
Brandon shrugged lightly and turned his attention back to the sketch. “Tell me, do I often look this formidable?”
“Well…”
“And my brows? Are they always drawn together in that off-putting manner?”
“On occas—”
“And my chin? I had no idea I thrust it out quite like that.”
“You don’t alwa—”
“No matter. You probably drew this some time ago,” he said as if thinking aloud. “I wonder…I would like you to do another sketch—under the P words, of course. Will you do that for me, Miss Kilmartin?”
Clara had been very quiet during the one-sided conversation, but now she added her voice to her father’s request. “Oh, yes! You must, Mishannon! I will make Papa laugh and he’ll be handsome! You’ll see.”
Brandon did laugh then, and Shannon, who thought him handsome even when he was out of sorts, was caught by the sudden, remarkable male beauty of his features. “I’ll get my ink and pen,” she said quietly, not at all certain she could do justice to his face in his presence.
Brandon placed the ledger in front of Shannon when she returned. “I think you can fit me in between Princess and Pinwheel,” he said seriously. “There’s enough room, isn’t there?”
“Yes.” She dipped the quill in the ink and carefully printed Papa. Clara had come around the table to watch her, and Shannon allowed her to hold the quill, guiding her through the last letter. Without glancing at Brandon, she began her sketch, not realizing that drawing him from memory was more revealing than if she had studied him first. In less than two minutes she was done with the portrait.
Brandon saw Shannon’s lips purse, then she blew softly on the ink so it would dry quickly. He imagined he could feel her sweet breath on his own cheek, and unconsciously he touched the back of his hand to his face.
Shannon showed her work to Clara first, then, with her approval, slid the book in front of Brandon and waited with some trepidation for his comment. He studied the sketch for what seemed an eternity and offered no opinion.
“Interesting,” he said finally, shutting the book carefully. He gave Clara a kiss on her cheek and stood. “Good day, ladies. Clara, I’ll see you at dinner.” Then he was gone, and Shannon was left to wonder if she had mistaken the satisfied smile that had hovered briefly on his beautiful mouth.
Across acres of tobacco plants Cody saw Brandon riding toward him. “You are looking remarkably pleased with yourself,” Cody said as Brandon drew up beside him. “Dare I inquire the cause?”
