Page 177

June let go of his hand and turned to face him. “Mr. Pembroke told me to take you somewheres to cool you off.”

“I’m cool enough.”

“That’s for me to decide,” she informed him. “Mr. Pembroke put me in charge of you.”

“That ain’t what he said.”

It wasn’t like him to be so touchy, but she knew he was still a bit raw from earlier.

“He put me in charge of you,” she insisted, “clear as day.”

Mad climbed a bit higher. Even though he was standing two steps below hers, their faces were level. A bright rectangle from the narrow stairwell window had fallen over his eyes, making them gleam like silver. He settled his hand on the railing beside her and stared at her bold-like, as if he fancied her and didn’t mind her knowing it.

“All right, Junie,” he said, still quarrelsome and shirty, “you’re in charge of me. What do you want?”

Her nerves were jumping, but it was a delicious feeling.

Oh, he was a splendid figure of a man, all of him bang-up with muscles, and that scowl on his handsome face. Everything inside her wanted to rise to the challenge he presented. Someone had to manage him. It was a service to the public.

After trying to think up an answer to his question, she settled for, “You have coal dust what needs washin’ off.”

“Need to clean the tack and sweep up first. I’ll wash meself after.”

“You’ll wash now,” June insisted.

Mad stared at her intently, trying to understand her mood. “You sore with me, June?”

“No, why would I be?”

“You saw me in a state back there.”

“Yeah, but you kept hold of yourself.”

“Weren’t easy,” he muttered.

“I know it weren’t, but you pulled yourself out of it. I was scared you might break your promise to me.”

His face gentled then. “I wouldn’t never do that.”

All the blood in her veins turned to boiling sugar.

No one ever really expected happiness in this life. Rich or poor, hardly no one got what they wanted. You had to be content with your lot, whatever it was. Be grateful for small blessings. Know it could all disappear in an instant, and rewards would come in the next life, not this one.

But as June stood on the steps with this man who had told her she was his sunrise, she realized she might be one of the lucky few who’d found a happiness she’d never counted on.

“You might fetch hot water from the tack room stove,” she suggested. “It’s faster than putting a kettle on upstairs.”

Mad gave her a long-suffering glance and headed reluctantly down the steps.

June scampered upstairs to his private room. The shakiness went deeper, into her bones, as she untied her apron, unbuttoned her bodice, took off her skirt, shoes, garters, stockings. She pulled out her hairpins too, setting the mass of curls loose and combing her fingers through it.

Just as she finished folding her clothes and setting them on the wooden chair, the door pushed open.

Mad stood there, his eyes widening at the sight of her. After a long, breathless moment, he fumbled to close the door and set down the can of hot water.

“Junie,” he said, in a voice like raw velvet.

She was glad she was wearing her nicest chemise, the neck and hem trimmed with lace that had a narrow pink silk ribbon threaded through it.