She stopped abruptly, realizing in the nick of time that he had to have got the age from Stephanie’s letters. What other surprises was she going to encounter because of Stephanie’s correspondence with the man? She wished she could see those letters before she blundered badly over something.
“Because?” Lucas prompted.
“Of my height,” she finished lamely. “It’s always made me look older.”
“You don’t like your height, do you?”
She nearly choked. No man had ever been so indiscreet as to even mention the subject. The very idea! For this one to presume…had he no manners at all?
“It’s not so much that I don’t like being tall,” she said defensively, wishing she could upbraid him instead. “It’s just that most men find my height disconcerting, and that can sometimes be an embarrassment.”
“I don’t.”
“You wouldn’t,” she said dryly.
He laughed. Then he gripped her elbow and steered her toward the front door. “How about a walk? The rest of your work can wait a bit.”
The audacity of the man, Sharisse thought. He hadn’t even waited to see if she would agree to walk with him. Then she realized what he’d said.
“What work are you referring to, Mr. Holt?” She firmly eased her elbow out of his grip and stopped walking, forcing him to halt and look at her.
“The garden needs tending—weeding and so on. Clothes need washing. My room could use a good going over. Just wifely things, Miss Hammond.”
She wanted to balk, but his low tone, the way he addressed her as Miss Hammond after dismissing that formality yesterday, made her hesitate. Was he angry? She wished it were easier to tell, but with him she never knew for sure.
“I hadn’t realized…”
“I can see that,” he said gently. “And I’ll make allowances for it. But I did warn you in my letter that life here wouldn’t be easy.”
Did she dare say she thought he’d been referring to the climate? Never once had she thought she’d be put to work as a servant, yet that was the only way she could look at her situation. And there wasn’t a single thing she could do about it, short of having him send her back to New York immediately. What a tempting idea that was. Her conscience pricked her as she thought of her sister. She had to give Stephanie a chance. She wouldn’t admit how scared she was of seeing her father.
She managed a smile, though she really felt like crying. “About that walk, Mr. Holt.”
He grinned and took her elbow again. She was acutely aware of his touch, his closeness. She was so aware of it that she didn’t notice where he was leading her until they reached the corral. She drew back in distaste, and he said, “What’s wrong?”
She gave him a look. “I don’t like horses. And I dislike even more the smells associated with them.”
He grinned. “Honey, this is a horse ranch. You’re going to have to get used to those smells.”
“I don’t see why.” Her eyes narrowed suspiciously.
“Unless you expect me to clean the barn. Let me tell you—”
“Hold on, no one said anything about cleaning the barn. But you will be riding.”
“No, I won’t.” She shook her head firmly.
His dark brows shot up. “Are you telling me you don’t ride?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
“We’ll have to correct that, then.”
She didn’t like his expression at all. He looked forward to the lesson, didn’t he? “You brought me here in a perfectly good buggy. I can drive it.”
“But I don’t own a buggy. That one was rented, and Billy is taking it back to town today.”
At that exact moment the vehicle in question charged out of the front of the barn, stirring up enough dust to choke them. Sharisse shielded her eyes and watched the Indian, now dressed in a much more civilized manner, race wildly away from the ranch.
