Judith waved a hand in front of cheeks that were decidedly pink. “I was afraid if I lingered a moment longer, I’d join in with all that weeping going on. The last thing dear Ivan needs is to contend with two distraught women, not that I don’t believe he’d rise magnificently to that occasion.”
“Why were you in danger of weeping?”
“Honestly, Arthur, I would think that needs no explaining.”
“It does if you expect me to understand why you were evidently on the verge of tears.”
“Ladies are occasionally overcome with emotion when they witness a gentleman they hold in high esteem behave in a mannerthat leaves their hearts pitter-pattering.” Judith sent him a rather sad shake of her head. “You really should work on your sensitive side, Arthur. Perhaps if you were to allow that side to come out of that dark chasm you apparently call a heart, people wouldn’t call you the scourge of the earth.”
“The only one to ever call me that is Eunice, and you know full well she only called me that because she wasn’t in agreement with my taking her back to Montana.”
“She does seem to enjoy thwarting you.” Judith gave him a pat on the arm. “You may very well be beyond hope, dear, in the sensitivity department, but I suppose time will tell about that. And with that said, if you’ll excuse me? I’ve just spotted some of the resident artists gathered by the barn, all dressed in Grecian costumes. I’m afraid I can’t resist the lure of mingling with fellow creatives, especially when I know that any attempt to help you embrace a more sensitive attitude is surely going to be for naught.”
After she gave his arm another pat, Judith darted across the lawn and toward a group of at least ten people who, upon closer inspection, looked exactly as if they’d come straight out of a Greek tragedy. Arthur wasn’t surprised when Judith made a beeline for a man wearing a Viking helmet, who seemed to be in the process of posing his fellow artists around a circle of boulders.
That man, a Mr. Dodger Barstow no doubt, welcomed Judith with open arms, as if they’d been friends for years, right before he handed her off to a man splattered with mud. That man, Mr. Grover Cropsy if Arthur wasn’t mistaken, immediately handed Judith a pail brimming with something questionable. But since Judith was beaming a bright smile at the man, Arthur didn’t feel compelled to intervene, instead turning his attention to where three women were walking out of a henhouse, one of whom turned out to be Eunice.
His lips quirked as he watched her decline a chicken one of the women was trying to hand to her before she caught sight of him, said something to the women, then began striding his way, stopping a few feet away from him.
He grinned. “May I assume I just provided you with a viable excuse to get out of what could have turned into a concerning situation? I distinctly remember you telling me years ago you don’t care for chickens.”
“I couldn’t think up a plausible reason to avoid seeing the chickens those women told me Mother adores, but I was in fear for my very life the entire time I was in that henhouse. Chickens and I have never seen eye to eye, but... you remembered that I don’t care for chickens?”
“Why do you seem surprised?”
“I didn’t think you ever put much stock in our conversations.”
“You’d be wrong about that.”
Her eyes immediately narrowed. “This isn’t some new tactic to convince me I need to marry you, is it?”
He narrowed his eyes right back at her. “You’re a remarkably suspicious woman, and this time your suspicions are completely unwarranted.”
She considered him for a moment before she bobbed her head. “Good, then I’ll apologize for the suspicion. But before you retort with something that may have me calling you a scourge again, tell me how matters went with Mother.”
“She dissolved into sobs the second I finished disclosing the extent of her inheritance.”
Eunice blinked. “I bet that was an unexpected twist to your day.”
“Indeed, and then, when I proved I was less than adept with the consoling business, Ivan took over.” He frowned. “I’m not convinced he’s all that adept either, because Georgette started sobbing again, although I’m sure it doesn’t speak well of my character that I fled from the house, but that was only because Judith hustled me right out of it. Apparently, the sight of Ivan being considerate was leaving her in danger of breaking into sobs as well.”
“There is something compelling about a man possessed of a sensitive nature.”
“Ivan doesn’t strike me as being all that sensitive.”
She smiled. “You’d be surprised. Underneath that gruff anddangerous exterior lies a man with a heart that’s as soft as a newborn kitten.” Her smile faded. “It is concerning that Mother was sobbing, though. She’s not a physically demonstrative type and she rarely cries.”
“I noticed that the two of you didn’t enjoy so much as a single hug when you reunited after a ten-year absence.”
“We’re not really the hugging type.”
“You might want to mention that to Judith at some point. It could spare me another lecture from her on my lack of sensitivity if she realizes you’re not a sensitive sort either.”
“I never said I wasn’t sensitive. I’m simply not comfortable with physical affection, probably because of the house I was raised in.”
“I see” was all Arthur could think to say to that, although he didn’t really see at all. Frankly, he’d never considered the idea Eunice might be sensitive because she presented herself as a tough-as-nails woman, and...
“I’m feeling a distinct need to walk in order to think some things through,” Eunice said, interrupting his thoughts. “Would you care to join me? I wouldn’t mind some company.”
