“Slap her?”
“Yes. I could never slap her.” Shannon studied the remains of her uneaten peach. “It would be wrong. She couldn’t defend herself.”
Brandon reached for the peach and took it from Shannon’s unresisting hands, pulling her attention toward him again. He tossed the fruit into the river. “Did you think that’s what I threatened her with when I cautioned her about her saucy manners?”
“Yes. Wasn’t it what you meant?”
“No.” He sighed, pitching a chicken bone behind him. “I’ve never struck Clara. That was…someone else’s way of handling her. Never mine. Clara knows I meant that she would not be allowed to join Cody and me at the table if she continued on her present course.”
“I didn’t realize,” Shannon said slowly.
“I know. That’s why I came to see you.” It was a half-truth at best. “I wanted to talk to you about it. You were already sleeping when I got here. You looked…serene.” And lovely. “I didn’t want to disturb you.”
Shannon looked away. “Thank you. I was tired. I didn’t know caring for a sick child could be so wearing on one’s nerves.” She tugged at the hem of her dress, covering her bare feet. “I should be going. Martha will be wondering what’s become of me.”
Brandon stilled her hand by placing his on top. Her skin was warm. His fingers felt the pulse in her wrist.
“No. Stay.” There was no command in his voice. He was giving her a choice and at the same time asserting his own desire to have her remain. “Please.”
“All right.” She slipped her hand from beneath his, and to keep herself busy, she gathered her hair at the nape of her neck and brought it over her shoulder. She concentrated on braiding it.
Brandon took off his hat and set it aside. Strands of gold and silver mingled damply at his temples. He watched Shannon’s beautifully slender hands thread deftly through her hair. To keep his thoughts from straying to what it would be like to feel those hands in his own hair, Brandon asked, “How do you do that?” His voice was thick. Had she noticed?
Shannon paused and looked at him oddly, not sure she had understood his question. “This?” She raised the braid.
“Yes,” he said, clearing his throat slightly. “How do you do it?”
“It’s not hard.” She spread her fingers, showing him how she had separated three strands. “It’s a matter of lapping one over the other.”
“May I try?”
She laughed a little uneasily at the request, the boyish eagerness he could not quite hide. “With my hair, you mean?”
“Yes. May I?”
“I don’t—” She was about to refuse him. Even while her mouth was forming the words, her thoughts were moving ahead, tangling her tongue, making it difficult to express herself. Her eyes strayed to his hands. Hard hands. Work-roughened hands. But they would be gentle. She knew they would be gentle and her soul opened up, craving the touch of those hands. “All right,” she heard herself say, and it sounded loud to her own ears even though Brandon had to lean forward to catch it.
Brandon uncrossed his legs and moved across the blanket, sensing it was too much to ask Shannon to join him. She started to turn, intending to give him her back, but he stopped her. “No. Stay as you are. I’ll work from the front, over your shoulder. You can watch me.”
Feeling his hands in her hair was one thing, seeing them, something else again. Her head tilted to one side as Brandon caught her hair in his fingers. The back of his hand touched the slope of her breast. Shannon glanced at Brandon’s face. Except for the concentration he accorded his task, it was impassive.
“Am I doing it right?” he asked.
Shannon had no idea. She had been unable to look away from his profile. Her eyes dropped downward. “Yes. That’s right.” She steadied her breathing, afraid her breast would fill his hand if she drew air too deeply. He finished plaiting. His hands hovered near the tip of her braid. “I have a ribbon somewhere,” she said. He began to unwind his work. “What are you doing?”
“I’m loosening your braid. I like it better that way.”
“Oh.”
He chuckled softly. “Do you ever argue with anyone?”
Shannon blinked. Brandon’s face was very close. There were tiny flecks of gold at the edge of his eyes, and she was vaguely surprised she had never noticed them before. “I don’t like to argue.”
“That could be good.” He reached around her with one hand and spread her hair across her back. “It could also be bad.” He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. His hand cupped the side of her face. “Have you ever wanted anyone to kiss you?”
The question startled Shannon, but the only indication she gave of it was in the widening of her eyes.
“I don’t think so.”
