“If you say so,” Tristan grumbled.
“Let’s stay hopeful,” Tess urged.
“I am,” Dom told her. That earned him another smile. Her brother arched a brow and flicked his gaze between the two of them.
Dominic Prince’s smiles were too beguiling, gradually slipping past her defenses like ivy wound its way up the garden fence at Foxdene: slowly, gently, and yet with determined persistence. Now, she felt the answering tug of a smile each time he looked her way.
She was beginning to believe those easy smiles weren’t simply meant to charm but were a genuine reflection of his nature. From what she’d observed, he was good-tempered whenever he was working. In fact, the harder the day’s work, the happier he seemed. She sensed his frustration when nothing was found at the end of a day, but he still joked with the others, had built a rapport with Tristan, respected her suggestions, and listened to her observations.
Somehow, the workaday Dominic Prince she was beginning to know was every bit as appealing as the swashbuckler he’d been for the ladies at Priscilla Walcott’s party.
No, I am not thinking about that kiss.
The inn’s door banged open. A gust of rain swept in followed by a breathless boy in a brown cap and wet boots. His cheeks were red from the rain, and he shouted over the sudden silence.
“Mr. Wilton’s barn’s come down! Roof caved clean through. Daisy’s trapped and she won’t come out!”
Dominic and Tristan and a few other men from the dig were on their feet before the boy finished speaking. Tess stood too.
“Come on,” Dominic said.
“Can we take your market cart, Mrs. Randall?” Tess asked as the innkeeper’s wife stood among them, having just finished topping up teacups.
“Aye, whatever you need,” her husband called from the kitchen’s threshold. “I’ve just returned from the village, and Angus is in the harness still.”
The group raced out behind the inn and climbed into the wooden cart. Tristan helped hand Tess up to the driver’s seat, and Dominic took the spot beside her. She knew the Wiltons well, and it seemed the Randalls’ horse, Angus, knew the way too, for the hardworking animal took the path easily. They were at the Wiltons’ cottage in but a few moments.
Mrs. Wilton stood outside the barn, her face tear-stained under her wide-brimmed hat. The structure itself was a mess of collapsed thatch, its beams exposed. A man’s voice could be heard as he shouted in frustration.
“Still not coming out?” Tristan asked as he jumped down from the horse cart.
Dominic handed Tess down, and they approached to stand beside him. A few of the other men shouted into the barn for Mr. Wilton.
“Stubborn girl, she is,” Mrs. Wilton told him. “Must be scared witless. And my mister won’t let me inside again. Twisted my ankle when I tried to get to her.”
“How old is the child?” Dominic asked.
“Oh—” Tess started.
“No child, sir.” Mrs. Wilton frowned at him as if he’d lost his wits. “Daisy’s our best milk cow.”
“Ah.” Dominic shot Tess a look. “Shall we try?”
Tess nodded and started off toward the barn. “Do you think your charm will work on cows too?”
“We’ll soon find out.”
Tristan and another man from the dig emerged from the barn carrying chickens in baskets. “Be careful if you’re going in,” her brother told them.
Mr. Wilton stepped out as they approached, leading a calf. “Daisy’s the last of them. If we lose her, we lose our earnings.”
“Let us see if we can persuade her, Mr. Wilton,” Tess told him.
“Kindly of you, Tess.” He glanced back at his barn. “We’re going to see if we can repair the posts and put canvas over the top.”
“Who tends to her most?” Dominic asked.
“The missus has a taking for her, but the stubborn thing won’t heed her today.”
