This is how you ran off every possible suitor who came calling.
“That wasn’t me, that was the drought!” Lara said to herself.
“What was the drought?” Mr. King’s low, unhurried voice sounded from above her.
Lara ripped her hand away from the photo and jumped to her feet. “Mr. King, I— Nothing. I was thinking aloud.” She clasped her hands together and prayed he wouldn’t question why she’d been hovering over his satchel like a thief.
That particular prayer went unanswered. Or perhaps God decided that now was the perfect time to teach her a lesson.
“Might I ask what you were looking for in my bag?” Mr. King said, glancing from her to the satchel on the floor.
“I . . .” Lara followed this gaze. The bit of photograph still protruded from it, taunting her. Who was in the photo? She shook her head just slightly, trying to clear it. What a thing to wonder right now!
“Miss Cummings?” He’d crossed his arms and his look of mild concern had transformed into the beginnings of a scowl. “I don’t take kindly to thievery.”
“Oh, no!” Words finally seemed to make their way to her mouth at the same time a traitorous warmth crept into her cheeks. Mama had always said honesty was the best when presented with the opportunity for a lie, so Lara bit down her embarrassment and opted for the truth. “I’m sorry. I was merely curious about that photograph. I shouldn’t have pried. Please don’t leave.”
He stared at her a moment as if debating whether her explanation was satisfactory. His jaw worked as his dark eyes traced her face. Lara fought the urge to squirm. It was almost laughable, how much taller he was. His future wife would have to get used to craning her neck to speak to him or kiss him.
Oh, good heavens! Why was she thinking about kissing?
Certain her face was the same shade as a summer tomato by this point, Lara fought hard not to look away. Perhaps he’d think she was only embarrassed because she was caught almost pulling that photograph from his satchel.
And not because she was imagining those likely well-muscled arms wrapping themselves around her and pulling her to that broad chest—
“I’m not leaving. Not just yet. But I expect a degree of privacy, Miss Cummings.” Mr. King paused, dropping his arms to his sides. “Besides, you might not like what you find when you go prying in a man’s things.”
Well, if that didn’t just make her even more curious about what might be inside his satchel. Lara swallowed, trying to push that thought away. “I apologize again, Mr. King. I’ll leave you to get settled. Please let us know if you’d like those blankets laundered, or it you need fresh linens.” Her face flamed again. It seemed the hospitable thing to say, but now all she could think was that she’d mentioned bed linens in front of this man who she’d only imagined kissing a moment ago.
He chuckled. But whether at her words or her embarrassment, she didn’t know. “I’ll be sure to do that.” He scooped up his bags, that little yellowed corner of the photograph still peeking out from the satchel. She had to yank her eyes away from it.
“Oughtn’t you get back up to the house? Some might consider your presence here scandalous.” Amusement lurked at the corners of his lips as Lara fought to keep from blushing again—and she realized that was what he’dwantedto happen.
She straightened, pressing her shoulders back. If he wanted to play a game, she could certainly hold her own. “It’s only scandalous if you make it so, Mr. King.”
He had no response to that, but he didn’t look away. He shifted his satchel on his shoulder. Her eyes fell to the open flap again. That photo was like a beacon, drawing her attention over and over—and shehadto know. “Who is in that photograph?”
The words lingered between them, her driving need to know everything out in the open. It wasn’t any of her concern, Lara knew that well enough. But perhaps he’d tell her, and then she could walk away with that incurable desire for knowledge soothed for the moment.
He held her gaze, and she wondered how it was possible to have eyes that shade, so dark they nearly blended into his pupils. Then those eyes crinkled around the edges as he shook his head and smiled.
“My horse. Trip.”
Lara blinked at him. The man had paid for a photo of hishorse? Then again, she ought not be surprised. If she could, Josie would have photographs of her dogs and cats displayed in the house.
“Satisfied?” he asked, still smiling in a way that made Lara question whether he’d told her the truth—and wondering if he could see past her question to her insatiable curiosity about everything. Or whether he was playing the game again.
“Perhaps,” she said lightly before moving toward the door. She glanced back at him before sliding outside to retrieve the laundry. “Perhaps not.”
