‘Far past a marriageable age…’ Is the woman mad? How old can she be? And why haven’t a dozen men fallen at her feet with proposals?
The sway of her derriere held him transfixed as he followed her down the stairs. He let the pleasure of physical attraction, familiar and ordinary, if inappropriate, settle in. Perhaps it would drive out the fascination that gripped him.Not for you, Zachary Newell.The thought had become a chant in his heart.
By the time they reached the kitchen, he feared his desire had become all too obvious. He swept past her to the door. “See what you can find for the little fellow—and perhaps for a ravenous coachman—I’ll see to the animals.”
“Take the milk bucket,” she called, handing it to him.
He almost ran out the door.
Ravenous, Zach? Couldn’t you have found a better word, a less suggestive word, a calmer word?He let work distract him from the woman waiting in the kitchen.
Algernon, content in his accustomed stall, happily munching on feed, accepted his ministrations with little more than the flick of an ear. Toweled and brushed, the beast almost sighed when Zach covered him and ran a soothing hand along his neck. “You’re a heroic fellow for a gentleman of your late years, Algernon. Well done, sir.”
George had more dignity. She stood for milking calmly enough before nipping his arm as if to say, “You took long enough to see to my needs, Worthless Human,” and trundling off to butt the gate with her head. Zach led her to a fenced paddock with a rope and left her cropping the grass greedily.
“Did you check the chickens?” Darts of the desire he had been trying to suppress shot through him at the sound of Patience’s voice.
He leaned both elbows on the fence and kept his back to her. “You have chickens?” he asked over his shoulder.
“Behind the barn. Follow me.”
He did so gladly, happy with the view and grateful she wasn’t facing him.This has to stop, Newell. You promised she could trust you. Doesn’t that extend to a ban on ogling her person?Perhaps not. After an interminable day with her nestled between his thighs, he thought he deserved to ogle.But no more than that.
She stopped abruptly, arms out, and he almost ran into her. “The coop is intact! I feared the feathered dears might have been blown clear to Yarmouth.” She spun around, joy radiating from her expressive face like sunbeams.
“It’s leeward of the barn,” he mumbled, turning with a pounding heart to a structure that also survived but less well. “So did that tool shed, but not as well.”
She laughed. “The shed looked like that before the storm! I’m surprised it didn’t fall in.” She nipped into the chicken coop, and Zach walked over to inspect the rickety tool shed.
He listened with half an ear and most of his heart to her announcing to the chickens that their feed had remained dry, cooing over each one, calling each by name. He forced his thoughts to the structure in front of him.
The tool shed had been built from four frames, each nailed in a piece, and then put together. He suspected the entire structure had been built by the boys who got it almost but not quite right. While the shed leaned precariously, three of the four major pieces appeared solid. A door cut into the fourth disrupted the integrity of the piece, bringing both rot and collapse.
An idea took root. “Patience, I could—” His jaw dropped when he turned. The woman who had been cooing over her birds had one by the neck.
She shrugged. “Dinner. We need a good one. And Bertha hasn’t been laying for months.” She started for the house, then glanced at him over her shoulder. “Don’t forget the milk bucket.”
Zach leaned against the shed, but it swayed and he stood upright, laughter overtaking him.Lush and desirable. Brilliant and nurturing. Resilient and unpredictable.He knew then he had tumbled completely in love—passionate, all-consuming, and wholly impossible love.
CHAPTER10
Patience watched the man at work; she’d come out to call him to supper, but the sight of him drove her objective into a ditch. He’d removed his coat and loosened the maroon and indigo scarf he’d warn around his neck all day. His linen shirt, damp and dirty from his labors, clung to his shoulders, muscles flexing beneath the fabric. The sight beguiled her almost as much as his honey-brown hair glowing in the last meager light of the setting sun.
She blinked to clear her head.Speak up before he catches you drooling, you ninny.“Mr. Newell—dinner is ready.” He’d been Zach all day. He’d been close as her own gown all day. He’d been too close all day. His smile when he looked up from his work left her knees weak.This will not do, Patience. Endure the night and let this good man get back to his own life.
The smile disappeared as if he brought a shade down over it. Patience wondered if he struggled with the same uneasy but consuming awareness she did. The thought excited her; his words didn’t.
“Will it keep? If I can finish this much, I can get started early tomorrow so we can be on our way.”
This much?It took her a minute to remember why he pulled down her shed.He wants to patch the roof before we go.He had told her he thought he could pull the walls of the shed up using a pulley he found in the barn. She thought that possibility dubious, given his injury, but left him his pride, determined to offer aid in the morning if she had to.
“Miss Patience? Do you mind? I can come now if you prefer.”
“It will keep. You finish here. I’ll heat water; you’ll want to wash up.” She thought for a moment, and an image brought fire creeping up her neck. “Will you want a bath?”
He went perfectly still. “No,” he choked out. He hesitated before going on. “I’ll manage—but dirty as I am, I best wash up outside.”
It was dark before he came to the door, coat over one arm, and picked up the pan of water she had kept warm while she waited.
