Lone Star Heiress
Winnie Griggs
Rescuer Turned Husband?Plucky Ivy Feagan is headed to Turnabout, Texas, to claim an inheritance, not a widower's heart. That all changes when strapping schoolteacher Mitch Parker rescues her in the wilderness. Straightlaced Mitch has never met a woman like Ivy–beautiful, adventurous and good-hearted–but he already lost love once and doesn't dare try again.When Turnabout's gossips target Mitch and Ivy's friendship, he proposes to save her reputation. But Ivy doesn't want to marry for honor, and she doesn't need to marry for money. Ivy will only agree to a proposal made for love's sake–but will Mitch make his heart part of the marriage offer?Texas Grooms: In search of their brides…
Rescuer Turned Husband?
Plucky Ivy Feagan is headed to Turnabout, Texas, to claim an inheritance, not a widower’s heart. That all changes when strapping schoolteacher Mitch Parker rescues her in the wilderness. Straightlaced Mitch has never met a woman like Ivy—beautiful, adventurous and good-hearted—but he already lost love once and doesn’t dare try again.
When Turnabout’s gossips target Mitch and Ivy’s friendship, he proposes to save her reputation. But Ivy doesn’t want to marry for honor, and she doesn’t need to marry for money. Ivy will only agree to a proposal made for love’s sake—but will Mitch make his heart part of the marriage offer?
Texas Grooms: In search of their brides…
“Oh, you have a tree swing!”
Ivy turned back to Mitch with a teasing grin. “It appears there’s a bit of playfulness in you after all.”
“I hate to disappoint you, but that swing was already there when I moved in.” He regretted the words as soon as he saw the disappointment flash across her face.
She fisted a hand on her hip, looking quite severe. “You mean to tell me that you’ve never once even sat in that swing.”
“Guilty.”
“Well, that’s downright wasteful.”
He waved a hand toward the swing. “Feel free.”
“Well, there’s no time like the present.” With a saucy smile she started across the lawn. Ivy set the swing in motion, soaring high and laughing aloud.
Mitch leaned against a porch support, crossing his arms and enjoying the view.
As he watched her it occurred to him that perhaps her presence in his once quiet household was going to change his life more than he’d considered.
But it was too late to go back now.
What troubled him more was that he didn’t want to.
WINNIE GRIGGS
is a city girl born and raised in southeast Louisiana’s Cajun Country, who grew up to marry a country boy from the hills of northwest Louisiana. Though her Prince Charming (who often wears the guise of a cattle rancher) is more comfortable riding a tractor than a white steed, the two of them have been living their own happily-ever-after for thirty-plus years. During that time they raised four proud-to-call-them-mine children and a too-numerous-to-count assortment of dogs, cats, fish, hamsters, turtles and 4-H sheep.
Winnie retired from her “day job” and now, in addition to her reading and writing, happily spends her time doing the things she loves best—spending time with her family, cooking and exploring flea markets.
Readers can contact Winnie at P.O. Box 14, Plain Dealing, LA 71064, or email her at winnie@winniegriggs.com.
Lone Star Heiress
Winnie Griggs
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
He shall choose our inheritance for us.
—Psalms 47:4
To my awesome agent Michelle and my fabulous critique partners Connie and Amy, who all, at various points, helped me talk through some of the tough spots I encountered while writing this story. Thanks for your willingness to listen, offer terrific suggestions and most of all your belief in and enthusiasm for this story.
Contents
Chapter One (#u2038834d-1929-5ee5-be14-4642e6efcb30)
Chapter Two (#u43ba3d45-47cf-52e3-acbe-ba479dcface4)
Chapter Three (#ue1f1ac71-7fca-5f63-a708-f26ff08a83c4)
Chapter Four (#ued6c0686-2636-5063-b128-1b51c2199101)
Chapter Five (#ub973392b-6f5d-5f5a-8011-6c842315200d)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)
Questions for Discussion (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One
Texas
June 1896
“This doesn’t look good.”
Ivy gently set the hoof back down on the grassy road and patted the mule’s side. “No wonder you’re limping, Jubal—it ’pears like you’ve picked up a honey of a stone bruise.”
The mule turned around to nip at her, but she avoided him easily enough. Although Jubal might be ornery at times, he usually wasn’t mean. Unfortunately, these weren’t usual circumstances.
Maybe she shouldn’t have set such a demanding pace this past day and a half, but she’d hoped to make it to Turnabout in two days’ time. A woman traveling alone for this distance, even if she was dressed as a boy, was vulnerable to gossip and worse.
But it looked as if she was doomed to spend another night on the trail.
“Not that anyone’s gonna notice we’re late,” she told Jubal, “since no one is expecting us exactly. I’m just anxious to find out what the mysterious inheritance is that this Drum Mosley fellow is holding for me.”
Ivy gave the mule’s side another pat as he brayed out a complaint. “I wish there was something I could do to make you feel better.” They were a day-and-a-half’s ride from home and headed in the opposite direction. It had been several hours since they’d seen signs of people or habitation, so she figured they’d be better off pressing forward. “Guess we’ll just have to get by as best we can.”
She turned to her other traveling companion, also of the four-legged variety. “Well, Rufus, I guess I’ll be walking the rest of the way alongside you.”
The dog barked in response and she rubbed his head, comforted by the feel of his shaggy coat and the trusting look in his eyes.
“Let’s hope we find a homestead with neighborly folks who won’t mind strangers bunking in their barn.” She straightened. “At least there’s lots of good foraging to be had this time of year.”
She took off her straw hat and wiped her forehead with her sleeve. It might be the first week in June, but the summer heat had already set in.
How far had they come since they’d started out at dawn yesterday? Other than a couple of short breaks, they’d only stopped when darkness made it unsafe to travel last night. They broke camp at daybreak this morning and she estimated it was getting on to four o’clock now. Surely they were getting close to Turnabout. Which meant it would be time to exchange her britches for a skirt soon.
She glanced down at Rufus. “Whatever this inheritance is, it sure better be worth all this trouble. ’Cause we could really use some good luck about now.”
She patted Jubal’s neck. “Wouldn’t it be something if we could return home with enough money to rebuild the barn and buy a new milk cow? That would sure make Nana Dovie’s life a lot easier.”
Grabbing the reins, Ivy looked the mule in the eye. “I know you’re hurting, but we need to make it a little farther before dark.”
She moved forward and lightly tugged. To her relief, Jubal decided to cooperate. She glanced down the narrow, deserted road as she absently swatted a horsefly away. They hadn’t seen so much as a fence post or wagon rut since before noon. Apparently this shortcut to Turnabout wasn’t well used. But surely they’d spot some sign of civilization soon.
Not one to enjoy long silences, Ivy shared her thoughts aloud. “It’s been a wearisome day and you two have been great companions. Don’t think I don’t appreciate it. In fact, I have a special treat for each of you that I’ll hand out as soon as we stop for the night.”
She glanced at Rufus, padding along beside her. “It would be nice if you and I ended up with a barn or shed to sleep in tonight, don’t you think?”
Not that she minded camping out—that’s what they’d done last night and, other than fighting off some pesky mosquitoes, they’d managed just fine. But those gray clouds gathering overhead would likely bring rain before morning and she didn’t relish the idea of getting soaked.
But as Nana Dovie always said, worrying was like doubting God. If you truly believe He’s in charge, then you have to trust He’ll work everything out for the best.
Of course, it never hurt to let Him know what you’d like to have happen.
“Mind you, Lord,” she said respectfully, “I know we can use a bit of rain to settle the dust. It’s just that I’m not sure that sheet of canvas I brought along will keep out more than a spit and a drizzle, and I’d rather not have a mud bath. If You could help me find a dry place to sleep, it would be most welcome.”
She glanced over at the mule. “And please help Jubal heal quickly. Amen.”
Ivy smiled down at Rufus. “Now, whatever happens, we’ll know He has it in hand.”
An hour later, she frowned up at the overcast sky. The clouds had thickened like clabbered milk and the heavy air clung to her skin like a damp petticoat. And they still hadn’t come across any signs of civilization. Jubal’s limp was more pronounced now—she couldn’t in good conscience push him further today. She had to let the injured animal rest.
“Well, boys, as Nana Dovie says, when you don’t get the thing you prayed for, it don’t mean God ain’t listening. It just means the answer is either no or not now. So it looks like we’re going to spend another night under the stars. And this is as likely a spot as any.”
* * *
Mitch Parker sat comfortably in the saddle, soaking in the morning sunshine and peaceful surroundings, letting all the stress of the past few weeks dissolve away. It had rained most of last night, but the rhythmic pattering on the cozy cabin roof had added to the serenity.
And today had dawned bright and warm—perfect weather for the first full day of his vacation. The leaves on the trees had that special shine they always had after a rain and the only sounds were those of the birds and insects. He might even take out his sketch pad later.
School was out for the summer, giving him a welcome break from his teaching duties. But more than that, he was ready for a break from Hilda Swenson. The persistent widow and mother of three had made him the target of her attention for the past several weeks and seemed oblivious to his hints that he wasn’t interested. She was a flibbertigibbet of the highest order—something he had no patience for. And her determined pursuit was playing havoc with the quiet, well-ordered life he’d strived so hard to build for himself and was determined to maintain at all costs.
He never wanted to go back to what he’d once been. Nor did he want to be a husband again, not after the tragic outcome of his marriage.
His rebuffs of the widow’s overtures would obviously have to be more direct in the future—a confrontation he wasn’t looking forward to. Thus his decision to slip away to a friend’s cabin for a week or so.
Mitch shook off those thoughts. He’d deal with that unpleasantness when he returned to Turnabout. This week was for relaxing and regaining that all-important sense of control over his life.
And this back-of-beyond cabin had been just the place to do it. He was grateful to Reggie Barr for giving him the use of it. In a way, it was a homecoming. The cabin was where he’d spent his first night in this part of the world, two years ago. Reggie had been a stranger then, but had held his fate in her hands. Now he counted her and her husband, Adam, amongst his closest friends.
He’d made it to the cabin yesterday afternoon, in time to get some fishing in. Fishing, reading and sketching, and no people around. Yes, this was going to be a fine week indeed.
Just before he’d left town yesterday, Reggie had told him he could find some mulberry trees north of the cabin. So now he was heading that way, hoping to gather a generous amount of the fruit, and curious to explore a different section of the woods. Perhaps he’d find inspiration for some of the sketching he planned to do.
A bark echoed through the trees, catching Mitch’s attention. What would a dog be doing out here? It was a four-hour ride from Turnabout and as far as he knew, no one lived out this way. Then again, maybe someone had settled here recently. He grimaced at that thought. He hoped whoever it was wasn’t the gregarious type—he wasn’t in a sociable mood.
But he was getting ahead of himself. A dog didn’t necessarily mean there were people around. The animal could have wandered all this way on his own.
Mitch slowed Seeley, then pulled the horse to a stop. Maybe he should turn around and return to the cabin. If there were people up ahead, there was no sense in inviting an acquaintance. Perhaps if he refrained from intruding on them, they’d return the favor.
Then he reluctantly set Seeley in motion again. If he was going to have neighbors, it was best he meet them at a time of his own choosing rather than have them arrive on his doorstep when he wasn’t prepared. He could also drop a hint or two that he valued his privacy.
As Mitch neared the spot where the dog’s bark had come from, he heard a human voice as well, though he couldn’t make out the words. Well, that answered that—there were people out here.
He peered through the woods and spied a youth standing on a log, plucking mulberries from a tree. It appeared someone besides him had designs on the berries.
Mitch quickly scanned the surrounding area, looking for the other members of the lad’s party. There was a scruffy-looking dog and a mule, but no sign of either a homestead or other people.
The dog spotted him first and began barking furiously.
“Goodness, Rufus, what’s gotten into you? Is it another squirrel?” The youth turned to look and, as he caught sight of Mitch, his eyes widened and his foot slipped, losing its purchase on the log. His arms flailed as he attempted to catch his balance. The youth’s hat went flying and the appearance of a long untidy braid had Mitch quickly revising his initial impression.
A moment later, she was flat on her back on the ground.
And not moving.
Nightmare memories of another fallen woman whooshed through Mitch with the force of a flash flood. He vaulted from his horse, his heart pounding like a mad thing trying to escape his chest.
Not again. God wouldn’t be so cruel as to make him relive such a tragedy a second time.
Would He?
Chapter Two
In a matter of seconds, Mitch knelt beside the all-too-still form, checking for signs of life. When he saw the rise of her chest, his frenetic heartbeat slowed slightly. But he refocused immediately. He needed to find out just how badly she was hurt.
His breath caught for a moment as he spotted reddish stains on her shirt and hands. But a heartbeat later he realized they came from berries, not blood.
Why was she out here alone, and why was she dressed as a boy?
He shoved those thoughts aside—there would be time later for those questions, once he’d made certain she was okay.
It was his fault she’d fallen. He hadn’t intended to startle her, but that didn’t absolve him of the fact that he had. He of all people knew that actions often had unanticipated consequences. He also knew his imposing size could make strangers uncomfortable at the best of times. For a lone female who wasn’t expecting him—even one dressed as a boy—his arrival must have been a shock.
She stirred and he turned his attention to her face, only now taking in her physical appearance. Her nose and cheeks were dusted with a liberal sprinkling of freckles, giving her a youthful look. Her still-closed eyes were partially covered by a fringe of reddish-brown hair that had escaped her braid. He absently brushed the tendrils away from her face and was rewarded with a grimace and a soft moan, welcome signs that she was regaining consciousness.
“Easy,” he said, still uncertain of her condition.
She started at the sound of his voice, and her eyes flew open, regarding him with wide-eyed confusion and uncertainty. The deep clover-green of her irises startled him momentarily. They were the most amazingly intense eyes he’d ever seen.
“Are you hurt?” He kept his voice calm, trying not to further alarm her.
“I don’t... My head hurts, but I think I’m okay.”
She made as if to sit up, but he placed a hand on her shoulder, gently restraining her. “Easy now. Take a minute before you move around too much.”
She gave him a peevish frown. “I need to sit up—the ground’s wet.”
That’s what she was worried about? Probably still addled from the fall. “I understand, but let’s check you out first.”
The suspicion in her expression deepened, and she attempted to put more distance between them. “I can check my own self, thank you.”
Though her words were assertive, her tone was slurred and she seemed none too steady. He didn’t want to agitate her further, however, so he nodded.
“All right, but if you insist on sitting up, at least let me assist you.” He placed a hand at her elbow and helped her up, keeping close watch for signs of injuries or weakness. Once he was sure she wouldn’t fall over again, he eased back on his haunches, ignoring the dampness seeping through the knees of his pants, trying to maintain a nonthreatening pose.
As soon as he moved back, she pulled a knife from somewhere and had it unsteadily pointed at his chest. “If you’re thinking to rob me, mister, you should know I don’t have much worth stealing, but what’s mine is mine.”
The dog, alerted by her tone, stiffened and bared its teeth at him.
“Whoa, there.” Mitch threw his hands up, palms out, trying to assure her he wasn’t a threat. The knife, while not especially large, looked sharp enough to do some damage. And although he was quite certain he could take it from her with little effort, he didn’t want to do that unless he had to. “I just want to make certain you’re okay, nothing more.” She placed her free hand on the dog’s back, but he had no illusions she was restraining him.
“I’m talking about before that. Why were you sneaking up on me that way?”
“I didn’t sneak up on you. I happened on you while looking for the mulberry trees. My apologies if you were startled.”
She blinked those amazing eyes as if trying to clear her vision, and the trembling in her hand grew more pronounced. Was it due to pain? Or weakness?
“Are these trees on your place?” she asked. “’Cause I didn’t mean to trespass.”
Trespassing should be the least of her worries right now. He didn’t like the slur that had crept into her voice. Time to be firm, for her own good. “We can discuss all that later. Right now I need to know if you’re badly hurt.”
She still didn’t lower the knife, though the effort seemed to cost her. But her left hand moved from the dog to the back of her head. “I... My head—” She pulled her hand back and stared at it as if it belonged to someone else.
It was stained with blood.
Mitch bit off an oath. “You are hurt. Let me have a look.” He moved in closer, and she quickly raised the knife to block him, swaying slightly with the effort. Her dog let out a warning growl.
This girl had more spunk than sense. “I’m only trying to take a look at your injury—that’s all. You’re bleeding and it’s not something you can tend to yourself.”
Without a word, she nodded, her gaze never leaving his face.
Keeping his moves slow and smooth, he shifted to get a better look, ignoring the knife that unsteadily tracked his movements. A patch of blood on the back of her head stained her hair, matting it against her scalp. The wet, muddy ground she’d been lying on hadn’t helped matters any, either. He tried gently parting the hair but couldn’t see much beyond the blood.
He moved to face her again, and realized she’d closed her eyes. Had his ministrations hurt her?
But a moment later her eyes opened with obvious effort and her gaze held a question.
“I’m going to get my canteen so I can clean this up and get a better look. Try not to move.”
She nodded wearily, then winced. “There’s a shallow creek just beyond those trees.” Her voice sounded strained and pain shadowed her expression.
He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile, crossed his fingers that she’d be all right until he returned, then sprinted back to Seeley.
Snatching up his canteen and the small cloth bag he’d intended to put the berries in, he quickly headed back, only detouring once when he saw her own canteen amongst her things.
Mitch pulled out his handkerchief as he knelt beside her again. Her hand was back on the dog’s neck, but now she seemed to be using it for support rather than restraint. Not a good sign. Still, her stoicism and ability to keep her wits under the circumstances was commendable.
“I’ll be as gentle as I can,” he said as he wet the cloth.
She tried to raise the knife again. With a sigh, he wrested it from her in one quick move, then set it carefully out of her reach.
He regretted the spark of fear he saw in her eyes. “I’m sorry—” he kept his tone matter-of-fact “—but I can’t have you hurting either yourself or me while I’m focused on fixing you up.”
She watched his every move, and he saw the caution and uncertainty she was trying to hold at bay.
“I guess I should introduce myself,” he said, hoping to distract her. “Mitch Parker, at your service.”
“Ivy Feagan.” She offered her name reluctantly, then he heard a quick intake of breath as he dabbed at the cut. She indicated the dog. “This here is Rufus.” Her voice had a note of challenge in it.
Good. He preferred bravado to fear. “Glad to meet you. By the way, did you get to sample those mulberries before I interrupted you? I hear they’re exceptional.”
She answered affirmatively, then fell silent again. There were no indications she was hurting, other than an occasional hitch in her breathing when he touched a particularly sensitive spot. When that happened, she’d start talking, mostly rambling thoughts, as if to hide her reaction.
Despite her unfocused chatter, he found himself admiring her. She didn’t complain, or dissolve into hysterics or cower—all of which would have been understandable reactions given the situation. Instead, she maintained a stoic demeanor. He’d known men who would have acted with less restraint in these circumstances.
It took all the water in his canteen, but he finally had the area clean enough to see the cut. It was a nasty-looking gash, but the bleeding had almost stopped.
He rinsed his now-soiled handkerchief, then squeezed out as much water as he could. He folded it into a thick pad, then gently covered the injury. “Do you think you can hold this in place for a few moments?”
She obediently placed a hand over the pad. He picked up the cloth bag, quickly removed the drawstring and held it up to show her. “I’m going to use this to tie the bandage in place. Okay?”
“Okay.”
He secured the pad, then leaned back to study his work. With the ties dangling over her left ear, she would have looked comical if the situation weren’t so serious.
“That will have to do for now.” He met her gaze and frowned. He didn’t like the paleness of her skin. Her freckles stood out in stark relief, her eyes looked huge and the rest of her face had a pinched look. And he could tell she was struggling to stay focused. What should he do now?
“How bad is it?” Her wariness was still evident, but he thought he also sensed the beginnings of trust.
He chose his words carefully—he didn’t want to alarm her unduly. “You’ve lost some blood. I imagine you’re going to have a whopper of a headache for the next several days, but I’ve seen worse.” Much worse. “But right now we need to see about getting you someplace where you can rest and be tended to properly.” He strived to keep the worry from his tone. “Do you have friends nearby or a place I can take you around here?” Please let her say yes.
“No.” Her single-word answer offered no clue as to why she was out here on her own. And that disconcerting wariness was back in full force. He couldn’t really blame her for her caution—in fact he rather admired her for it. But she shouldn’t have been placed in the position of fending for herself this way.
He tried again. “Is anyone traveling with you?”
“Only Rufus and Jubal.”
Rufus was the dog, but who was Jubal? “Do you know where Jubal is?”
“Jubal is my mule—” Her face suddenly drained of any remaining color and her eyes fluttered closed.
Mitch managed to catch her before her head hit the ground again.
He quickly assured himself she was still breathing, and to his relief, her eyes fluttered open. As soon as she realized her position, she struggled to push him away. “What—”
He reached for her canteen and held it up to her. “You fainted. Here, drink this.”
She quieted and took the canteen, raising it to her lips. Her gaze never left his.
After a few sips, she handed the canteen back, but he shook his head. “You need to drink it all,” he said firmly.
She stiffened at his tone, but after a heartbeat obediently drained the canteen.
What in the world was he going to do with her?
If he had a wagon, he’d transport her directly to Turnabout and hand her over to Doc Pratt. But there was no wagon, and in her current condition, she’d never be able to sit in the saddle for the four-hour ride to town. Even if she could, she probably shouldn’t.
That left him with only one option. Whether he liked it or not, he’d have to temporarily abandon his plans for solitude. “I suppose you’d better come with me to my cabin, where you can rest until you’re feeling better.” He only hoped she could sit in the saddle long enough to get that far.
“Thank you,” she said, her suspicion obvious, “but that’s not necessary. Once I rest a bit I’ll be able to get on with my journey.”
He knew bluster when he heard it. But he tried to navigate around her caution carefully. “Nevertheless, I’m responsible for your fall and the least I can do is share my shelter and my food with you.”
She appeared to be wavering. Hoping to tip the scale in his favor, Mitch retrieved her knife.
She tensed as apprehension flared in her eyes.
He quickly held the knife out to her, hilt first. “You can hold on to this if it makes you more comfortable.”
He only hoped she didn’t decide to skewer him with it.
* * *
Ivy accepted the knife, wondering just how much she could trust this stranger. His size was certainly worrisome—he wasn’t just taller than Goliath. He also had the broadest shoulders she’d ever seen.
Still, he’d been nothing but kind and helpful. Surely if he’d meant to harm her he’d have done so by now. And despite what she’d said, her inability to stop shaking or keep her thoughts focused was worrisome. Perhaps a hot meal and a dry place to rest would cure that. “I suppose I can rest at your cabin as well as I can here. But just for a little while.”
He smiled approvingly and she decided he looked much less intimidating when he smiled. In fact, you might say he looked downright handsome, in a bigger-than-life kind of way. It was mighty tempting to let go of her worries and let this man handle them. And right now she was having trouble remembering why she shouldn’t.
“Good.” He nodded to his left. “I’d like to move you to that tree over there so you have something to lean against while I gather your things.”
Move her? She wasn’t sure she could stand and make it more than a couple of steps right now, even if he helped her.
But before she could respond, he gave her a stern look. “You appear none too steady and I wouldn’t want to have to deal with you falling again.”
She could see where he might feel that way, and to be honest, he had good reason. But she had a better idea. “I’ll just lean against Rufus instead.” She gingerly rearranged herself to demonstrate. And loyal Rufus allowed her to prop herself against him, just as she’d known he would.
She wished he would just get on with gathering her things so she could close her eyes and relax for a minute or two. But she had the nagging feeling she’d forgotten something important.
He studied her a moment, then stood. “I’ll only be a few minutes and then we’ll be on our way.”
As soon as he turned away, she closed her eyes. Then she suddenly remembered what it was she needed to tell him and her heavy eyelids lifted reluctantly. “Mr. Parker.”
He turned and took a step back toward her. “Yes? Is something wrong?”
“It’s about Jubal. You should know, he turned up lame yesterday. It’s why we’re camped here.” She hoped he’d show Jubal the same kindness he’d shown her.
His expression tightened, but he nodded and continued on his way.
Ivy watched as he made quick work of collecting her few items. For a big man, he moved with surprising grace.
She closed her eyes again. Sometime later she heard Mr. Parker talking, though she couldn’t quite make out the words. His tone was soothing and a bit distant.
Prying her eyes open, she watched him approach Jubal. The mule eyed him suspiciously, ears flicking forward. Gradually, though, the animal relaxed, and by the time Mr. Parker attempted to stroke his nose, Jubal seemed ready to eat from his hand.
Satisfied, Ivy let her lids fall shut again.
“Miss Feagan.”
The voice seemed much closer this time and when she opened her eyes he stood over her, a worried look on his face. His horse stood just behind him.
“I’m okay,” she assured him. “Just resting my eyes.”
If anything, the concern in his expression deepened. “This is Seeley. He’s a well-behaved horse with an easy gait. I know you’re probably not feeling up to a ride, but the cabin isn’t far and I don’t know of any better way to get you there.”
She tried to focus on the animal. He was big—probably had to be to carry such a rider. But how did the man expect her to mount? “I can ride, but getting into the saddle might be tricky.”
His lips quirked up at that but he nodded solemnly. “I think we’ll be able to work that out.” He offered his hand. “Do you think you can stand for just a moment if I help?”
“Of course.” At least she hoped so.
He placed his hand under her elbow and gently guided her into a shaky standing position. Unfortunately, her legs felt more like limp rope than bone and muscle. If he hadn’t been supporting her she probably would have toppled over. Still, if she could get a good grip on the saddle and he formed a stirrup with his hands, she might be able to—
Before she could complete the thought, he’d scooped her up in his arms.
Caught by surprise, her arms reflexively slid around his neck. “What in blue blazes do you think you’re doing?” The man, for all his well-meaning kindness, was much too high-handed for her liking.
He hefted her, pulling her unsettlingly closer against his chest. “I’m helping you into the saddle.”
The ease with which he lifted and held her was impressive. She wasn’t a petite woman, but he made her feel almost dainty. And the sensation of being held in such a way was unnerving. Though, strangely, she felt completely safe.
He looked down at her uncertainly. “It would be best if you rode astride rather than sidesaddle.”
Ivy shrugged, or at least what passed for a shrug in her current position. She shook off her irritation at the same time. This was merely an expedient way of getting her on the horse, nothing more personal. “It’s my preferred method of riding, anyway.”
He stared into her eyes, and she felt the full power of his gaze. He seemed to be gauging her strength and her resolve. Would he find her wanting?
As she stared back, the flecks of gold in his deep brown eyes drew her in with surprising intensity.
She finally blinked and the connection—if it had ever been there—disappeared.
He cleared his throat. “Once I get you up there, do you think you can keep your seat?”
“Of course.” She’d have to, wouldn’t she?
Was he really planning to lift her bodily into the saddle?
As if in answer to her question, he did exactly that. Mr. Parker kept a supportive hand at her waist until she’d grasped the saddle horn and swung her leg over.
“How are you feeling?”
Was he concerned for her or just for the trouble her passing out would cause?
She’d felt dizzy for a moment, but that had settled into a merely foggy sensation. “I’m fine.” Then she frowned. “How are you planning to travel?” Would he try to climb up behind her? How did she feel about that?
“As I said, it’s not far. I’ll walk.”
He turned the horse and led it toward Jubal, but his gaze rarely left her. It was disconcerting to be the focus of those very direct brown eyes. He quickly tied Jubal’s lead to his horse’s saddle then moved to her left. She noticed Jubal only carried a saddle, and realized he’d loaded her things onto his own horse. It was more kindness for her animal than she’d expected.
“Still doing okay?” he asked.
She forced a smile. “I’m ready when you are.”
“I’ll be right here at your side. If you start feeling the least bit faint, let me know. Better to delay us than to risk your falling over.”
She nodded and he patted the horse’s side and clicked his tongue to set the animal in motion.
As they headed down the road, Ivy smiled drowsily at the thought of what an odd procession they made. She was in the lead on his horse, he walked on her left, Jubal followed on the right and Rufus alternately led and padded alongside.
The pounding in her head was amplified with each step the horse took, but she was determined not to worry her self-appointed caretaker more than necessary. She would remain conscious and she would stay in this saddle until they reached this cabin of his.
Because the alternative wasn’t only dangerous and inconvenient.
It would also be altogether mortifying.
Chapter Three
Mitch kept a close eye on his injured charge as they traveled back to the cabin. He hadn’t been fooled by her assurances that she was okay. He’d seen the tremble in her hands, the glaze of pain in her eyes, and the way she fought to maintain focus. The sooner he got her to the cabin, the better. But jarring her too much wouldn’t do, either. He only hoped she had enough sense to let him know if she needed to stop.
The trip, which had taken only twenty minutes on his way out, took nearly an hour on the return. He paused their little caravan a few times to give her a rest from the jarring movements and make her drink some water, but otherwise he kept them moving at a slow, steady pace. At least there was no sign of fresh blood seeping from underneath her bandage. Perhaps the worst really was over.
Throughout that endless trip he tried to keep her talking, to make certain she was both conscious and aware. Fortunately, talking seemed to be something she enjoyed. Not that they had a coherent conversation. She mostly rambled and his contribution was limited to an occasional question whenever the pauses drew out.
Mitch learned she came from a small town called Nettles Gap and that she lived with someone she called Nana Dovie. He also learned the life history of her dog and her mule, and what great companions they’d been on this trip.
She continued to assure him she was all right whenever he inquired, but by the time he called for the third rest stop he could see she was starting to droop. So when the cabin finally came into view he wanted to shout, “Hallelujah.”
“Almost there,” he said bracingly.
She straightened and he could almost see her gather her strength as she squinted ahead.
He directed Seeley right up to the front porch before he called a halt. “Now you’re going to have to let go of the saddle horn and slide right down into my arms. Don’t worry, I’ll catch you.”
To his surprise, she displayed none of the suspicion she’d exhibited earlier. Perhaps it was because she was exhausted and hurting, but he hoped it was at least partly because she had begun to trust him.
A moment later, she’d half slid, half fallen into his grasp. And for the second time he thought how nice she felt in his arms, how he wanted to protect her from harm.
“If you’ll set me down, I can walk from here.”
He ignored her and headed up the steps. She didn’t argue further, which in and of itself worried him. After a bit of tricky one-handed maneuvering, he got the door open without jostling her too badly, then carried her inside and set her on the sofa.
“I’m going to check your bandage. It won’t take but a minute, then you can lie down.”
Without a word, she slumped against the cushion and closed her eyes.
He watched her a moment. She looked so vulnerable, so achingly brave as she tried to hold herself together. His hand moved to brush a lock of hair from her forehead, then stopped just short of its goal. His hand slowly withdrew, as if it had a mind and conscience of its own.
This burgeoning awareness of her as more than a person in need of aid was dangerous and had to be smothered before it could go any further.
He turned and moved to the counter, ready to put some distance between them.
* * *
Ivy focused on remaining conscious, at least conscious enough to not fall over. She didn’t want to get blood and dirt all over his furniture. There were probably all sorts of other things she should be worried about, but for now the only thing getting through her foggy mind was the longing for the promised bed and the chance to sleep undisturbed.
She didn’t realize Rufus had followed them inside until he nudged her leg with a worried whine. She placed a hand on the dog’s head without opening her eyes. “I’m okay, boy. Just need to rest for a bit.”
Sometime later—she wasn’t sure how long—Mr. Parker returned. “Now, let’s have a look.” She felt the tug as he removed the cloth pad that had stuck to the blood.
“How does it look?” she asked.
“The bleeding’s stopped. I’m going to put a clean bandage on it and then let you rest while I cook some soup.”
As he pressed the cloth against her head a moment later, Ivy marveled at what an amazingly gentle touch he had for such a big man.
Then he was done. She opened her eyes to see him examining his work. He made a small adjustment to the bandage, then met her gaze. “Ready for your nap?”
She’d been ready. But she’d rather not be carried again. It was a mite too unsettling. “Yes. If you’ll lend me a hand and show me the way, I’d prefer to walk.”
He frowned, but finally nodded.
Good to know he wouldn’t just ignore her wishes willy-nilly.
He placed a hand at her elbow and helped her up. Then, slowly, led her to a door next to the fireplace.
Leaning on him more than she cared to admit, Ivy stepped inside a cozy bedchamber. As soon as she was seated on the edge of the bed, her rescuer knelt down and unlaced her boots.
She studied his bent head, strangely entranced by the whorl of hair at the top. What would he do if she reached down and touched it? She stopped herself just short of acting on that thought. What was wrong with her? That knock on the head must have affected her more than she thought.
When he’d removed both her shoes, he hesitated a moment, then went to work removing her socks. The sensation of his hands on her skin sent little tingles through her that caught her unawares.
She must have made an inadvertent movement because he glanced up.
“Sorry if that was uncomfortable,” he said as he stood.
She wasn’t sure how to respond so said nothing.
He studied her uncertainly, and she wondered if he was worried about putting her to bed. But before she could reassure him that she could take it from here, he turned, suddenlike, and marched to a chest across the room. He came back with a bundle that he shoved at her.
As she took it, she realized it was a nightgown. But whose?
He rubbed the back of his neck, looking extremely uncomfortable. “I thought you might want to change. I don’t think Reggie would mind if you borrowed this.” He turned and quickly moved to the door.
Once there, however, he paused. “I’ll leave this open just a crack. If you need anything, call out.”
He smiled as Rufus padded in. “It appears you’ll have company.”
As he left, she had two completely unrelated thoughts. The first was that it was kind of him to allow her dog inside the cabin.
And the second was, just who was Reggie and what was she to him?
* * *
Mitch unsaddled, then fed and watered both Seeley and Miss Feagan’s mule. He patted the mule’s side as the animals dipped their heads in the feed trough. Jubal’s limping had gotten more pronounced the farther they’d walked. It would be best if he was allowed to rest for a couple of days before they set out again. Which meant a trip to town would not be on tomorrow’s agenda, not unless they left the animal behind.
Which posed another problem. Miss Feagan’s presence had become more than just an intrusion on his privacy. Now he had her reputation to worry about.
Of course, one could say that a woman who traveled alone in these backwoods probably wasn’t terribly concerned with her reputation, but he didn’t know the full story on that. Nor was that an excuse for him to treat the issue lightly.
There was nothing he could do to salvage the situation—it wasn’t as if he could snap his fingers and make a chaperone appear. He’d just have to do what he could to make her comfortable and hope for the best.
On the way back to the cabin, Mitch noticed the stack of firewood was low, so he grabbed the ax from the shed and spent the next twenty minutes replenishing the pile.
Wiping his face with the tail of his shirt, he decided a quick dip in the lake to cool off and clean up wouldn’t be amiss.
He quietly entered the house, wanting to check on the patient before he got out of hailing distance. He pushed her bedchamber door open just enough to look inside. The dog, lying beside the bed, lifted its head to stare at him. He stared back, keeping his demeanor impassive, and after a moment the dog lowered its head again. However, the animal’s watchful gaze never left Mitch’s face.
Miss Feagan, on the other hand, didn’t stir. She lay on her side under the covers with that thick mahogany braid of hers mostly unbound. He watched her a moment, assuring himself she was sleeping and hadn’t passed out again.
In sleep her expression lost most of the hardness that suspicion and pain had given it. With her hair flowing over her shoulder and that generous sprinkle of freckles, she had the look of a schoolgirl. The guilt he’d felt for his part in her fall washed over him again. Along with something protective and tender.
He wanted to find whoever was responsible for her and give them a piece of his mind for allowing her to end up in this situation. She deserved better.
Then Mitch remembered something he’d heard once about head injuries, something about not letting the injured party sleep too deeply. He hated to rouse her, but he’d hate it even more if he didn’t and she got worse.
He squeezed her hand while he said her name. He had to do it three times before her eyes opened.
She glanced up at him, obviously disoriented. “What is it?”
“Nothing important. Go back to sleep.”
With a nod, she closed her eyes and snuggled down deeper into the pillow. He pulled out his pocket watch and noted the time. He’d repeat the process every thirty minutes for the next several hours, just to be safe.
Mitch started to ease back out when he spotted the pile of dirty clothing she’d left on the floor. She’d need something clean to wear whenever she recovered enough to leave the bed. He crossed the room under Rufus’s watchful gaze, gathered up the discarded clothing, then left, pulling the door behind him until only the barest crack remained.
Pausing just long enough to give the soup simmering on the stove another stir, he headed back out.
* * *
Ivy frowned as a soft woof intruded on the peace of her sleep. Rufus did it again and she reluctantly gave up on trying to sink back into oblivion.
“What is it, Rufus?” Even to her, her tone sounded petulant. Then she saw Mr. Parker standing in the doorway and her cheeks heated.
“Sorry if I disturbed you,” he said. “I was just checking to see if you were ready for some soup. If you’d rather continue sleeping, though, the food will keep until you’re ready.”
She eased herself up against the pillows, wincing at the throbbing of her head. “Actually, food sounds good.” Her cheeks heated again as her stomach loudly echoed those sentiments. She certainly wasn’t making a very good impression. “If you give me a minute to collect myself, I’ll join you at the table.” She wondered if there was a robe in that trunk he’d pulled the nightgown from.
But he shook his head. “You stay put and I’ll fetch you a bowl.”
Before she could argue, he changed the subject. “How’s your head?”
“Better.” Not exactly a lie. The throbbing had eased.
From the corner of her eye, she spotted her knife resting in easy reach on the bedside table. It was likely his way of trying to reassure her that she had nothing to fear from him, and her heart softened a little more. He really was a very kind, honorable man. She was no longer worried about his intentions, even though she was still at his mercy.
He stepped closer. “Mind if I check?”
It took her a moment to realize he was referring to her injury, and she turned to give him access to the back of her head. As he bent nearer to study the bandage, she felt suddenly shy and vulnerable. Both feelings were foreign to her and that made her edgy and unsettled. It didn’t help that as he checked the bandage, his hands brushed against the nape of her neck and she shivered in reaction.
It was just an aftereffect of her fall, she told herself.
He stilled. “Sorry. Did I hurt you?”
“No.” She tried to keep her tone light. “I guess I’m more woozy than I’d thought.”
“Understandable.” He straightened and stepped back. “I’ll get that soup. Food and rest are what you need.”
He was right—that was all she needed. Then she’d be back to her old self.
She tried to shake off those earlier feelings as she settled more comfortably and watched him exit. Better to focus on the savory smell wafting in from the kitchen. If the aroma was any indication, he was as good a cook as he was a caretaker.
Rufus plastered his front paws onto the mattress. “Hello, boy. I guess I haven’t been very good company the past—” She paused. How long had she slept? Ivy glanced toward the window and frowned at the lengthening shadows. It had obviously been more than an hour or so.
Then her brow furrowed as hazy images of him repeatedly checking in on her floated at the edge of her memory. Had that really happened? Or had she dreamed it?
When he returned a few minutes later carrying a steaming bowl balanced on a tray, she edged up straighter. “How long was I asleep?”
“About six hours.”
“Oh, my goodness. You must think me an awful slugabed.”
“Rest is the best medicine at times like this.”
As he helped her settle the tray onto her lap, she inhaled appreciatively. “Smells good.”
He gave a small smile. “Only because you’re hungry. I don’t usually cook for anyone but myself and I make no claims that it’s more than passable.”
“I’m sure you’re being too hard on yourself.” She picked up the spoon, then frowned when he pulled up a chair. “Aren’t you going to eat something, too?”
“I ate earlier. I’ll get more later.” He settled back in the chair. “I thought I’d keep you company, if that’s okay?”
What was he up to?
Then she took herself to task. She had to stop being so suspicious of menfolk—not everyone was a mean-spirited polecat like Lester Stokes. Mr. Parker was nice and seemed to expect nothing in return. He probably just wanted to make sure she didn’t faint into her bowl while she ate.
She tasted a spoonful, then smiled. “As I suspected, this is a good sight better than merely passable.”
He spread his hands as if to dispute her words but didn’t say anything.
Feeling the need to fill the silence, she asked after her mule. “How’s Jubal doing after that long walk here?”
“He’s had some feed and water, and now he and Seeley are grazing.” He met her gaze squarely. “As for the hoof, I think you were right about the stone bruise. I let him soak it in warm water to try to draw out the infection, but he’s going to need a couple days’ rest, I’m afraid.”
Poor Jubal—she hoped she hadn’t done him permanent harm. But this also meant more delays. Nana Dovie would be worried if she didn’t hear something from her soon. But that wasn’t Mr. Parker’s fault. “It was real nice of you to be looking out for him. And me, too, of course.”
“And how are you feeling now that you’ve had something to eat?”
The way he looked at her one would think he actually cared about her, not just the trouble she was causing. “Much better.” She deposited her spoon in the now empty bowl. “That nap and this meal have fixed me right up.” No need to burden him with her aching head and shaky feeling.
But Mr. Parker didn’t look convinced. “You shouldn’t attempt anything that requires effort today. You need to give yourself time to heal.”
Be that as it may, Ivy certainly didn’t intend to spend what was left of the day in bed.
“Mind if I ask how you came to be out here alone?” he asked.
She took a sip from her glass, trying to decide how much to tell him. She wasn’t much on sharing her personal business with strangers, even kind-hearted ones. “I’ve got business to take care of over in Turnabout. And this shortcut seemed the fastest way to get there.”
“You said you were from somewhere called Nettles Gap? How far away is that?”
“Don’t know how many miles, exactly, but I set out at sunup the day before yesterday.”
He stiffened. “Two days alone on the road.”
It was nice of him to be concerned, but she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself. “I wasn’t really alone,” she said, trying to reassure him. “I had Rufus and Jubal with me. And I took precautions.”
But his frown deepened. “By precautions I assume you mean that getup you were wearing and that knife you pulled out of your pocket.”
He made it sound as if her efforts had been ineffective at best.
“And a dog and mule are hardly adequate escorts for a young lady. Wasn’t your family at all concerned about your safety?”
Ivy blinked. Hadn’t anyone called her a lady in a long time.
But she quickly pushed that thought away. He could talk about her precautions all he wanted, but no one was going to lay blame at Nana Dovie’s door.
“Nana Dovie cares about me something fierce—don’t you be thinking she doesn’t. But she wasn’t in any condition to come with me.” No, sir, she wasn’t about to let anyone speak ill of Nana Dovie, not even someone who’d been as nice as this gent.
But he didn’t seem to take offense. “You mentioned this Nana Dovie before. Who is she?”
“Her name’s Dovie Jacobs, and she’s sort of my mother.”
His brow went up. “Sort of?”
How to explain? “When you get right down to it, Nana Dovie isn’t exactly blood kin. But she’s family just the same. She took me in and raised me when my folks passed on. I was just a babe at the time.”
“Sounds like a special lady.”
Ivy nodded, pleased he’d understood. “And now that she’s getting on in years and needs someone to take care of her, I aim to do my best to return the favor.”
“So what was so important that you had to leave her side and set out alone?”
Ivy stiffened. “You sure do ask a passel of nosey questions.”
Mr. Parker grimaced. “My apologies for prying. I’m afraid I’ve been cursed with a curious mind. I suppose that’s why I became a schoolteacher.”
She leaned back, diverted by this bit of information. “You’re a schoolteacher? I guess that means you have a lot of book learning.” That didn’t surprise her much—he seemed like the educated type.
His lips quirked up at that. “I do like a good book.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Are you making fun of me?”
“Not at all. I wouldn’t dare.”
Not certain how to respond to that, she took another sip from her glass.
This time he broke the silence. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“What question?”
“Why are you traveling to Turnabout?”
He was like a hound on a scent—he just didn’t give up.
“I learned a few days ago that I might have an inheritance waiting there. And I aim to find out, ’cause if I do, I plan to sell whatever it is so Nana Dovie and I can pay off some debts and make some purchases we sorely need.”
“I see.”
It was time for her to ask a few questions of her own. “Are you familiar with Turnabout?”
He nodded. “I’ve lived there two years now.”
“You mean this cabin isn’t your home?” A heartbeat later, she realized she should’ve figured that out when he said he was a schoolteacher. He’d need to live in a town where there were actual schools and students, not out in the woods.
“This cabin belongs to friends of mine,” he explained. “They let me borrow it for a few days.”
“Oh.” Her mind made a totally irrelevant connection. “Then this Reggie whose clothes I’m wearing...”
“Is the owner of this place.”
So, Reggie wasn’t his wife, then.
Not that that was important.
“And speaking of that,” he continued, “I still think you should take it easy today. But if you do decide you want to sit out on the porch, you’ll find more of Reggie’s clothing in that chest. Oh, and your saddlebags are on top of the trunk if you need any of your own things.”
“Thank you. But how far away is Turnabout?”
“It’s about a four-hour ride from here.”
She glanced toward the window. How much daylight was left?
As if reading her mind, he gave her a stern look. “Don’t even think about trying to travel today. Even if you were up to it—which I very much doubt—your mule is not. Besides, it’ll be dark in less than three hours.”
She blew a stray tendril of hair off her forehead in frustration. He was right, of course. But that didn’t make it easier to accept.
“I want you to know,” he said, looking decidedly uncomfortable, “that I am an honorable, God-fearing man. You’re perfectly safe in my company and I plan to spend the night outside so you can sleep without worry about your reputation.”
As if that would stop any true gossipmonger’s tongue from wagging if word got out. “I appreciate you trying to do what’s proper and all, but there’s no need for that, considering the circumstances.” It said a good deal about him that he was worried about propriety and her feelings, but if he only knew how unnecessary that really was...
Not that she planned to enlighten him.
“Nevertheless, I feel it’s important that we attend to all the proper social conventions while we’re out here.”
She’d be hanged if she’d let him make her even more beholden to him. “If you’re going to be that muleheaded about it, then I should be the one sleeping outside. After all, your friends loaned this place to you, not me. I’m the intruder here.”
He stiffened as if she’d insulted him. “If you think I’ll allow that, then you must have a very low opinion of me.”
Have mercy, the man could certainly look intimidating when he got up on his high horse. Not that such tactics would work on her. “I just think it’s silly to worry about such things at a time like this. If it makes you feel better, Rufus can sleep in here with me and be my chaperone. Why, I’ll even bar the door.”
He stood. “I think I’ll get a bite to eat. Would you like more soup?”
Did he take her for a simpleton? “Mr. Parker, now you’re the one who’s sidestepping the question. Do I have your word that you’ll sleep under this roof tonight?”
His lips compressed and he was silent for a long moment. Then he nodded.
Ivy leaned back, reassured.
She might not know him well, but she knew in her gut that he was absolutely a man of his word.
* * *
Mitch sat at the table, absently eating his soup. If temperament was any indication, Miss Feagan was definitely regaining her strength. She was quickly turning into one of the most independent-minded, strong-willed, intriguing women he’d ever met.
But there were pros and cons to that. While she might make interesting company, she would also need watching to make certain she didn’t take on more than she could handle.
He’d been pleased to see color back in her cheeks. And her hands had almost been steady as she’d ladled up the soup. So physically it appeared she really was on the mend.
That just left the other issue.
He stood and stepped out onto the porch, frustrated by the situation. He wouldn’t sleep in the house with her, of course. But that was just for his own conscience. If word got out that they’d been here alone overnight, she’d be just as ruined as if he’d spent the night in her room.
He had trouble believing she was as unconcerned by the situation as she would have him think. Perhaps she was just being pragmatic. Or perhaps she wanted to relieve him of any guilt he might be feeling.
Or perhaps it was just that she recognized as much as he did that, other than giving them clear consciences, his sleeping outside wouldn’t do much good if word of their situation got out.
Whatever her reasons, however, he intended to adhere to the proprieties as much as possible. A clear conscience was something to strive for. The promise he’d made was to sleep under the roof, and he would keep his word—the roof covered the porch, as well.
Besides, it wasn’t just her reputation at stake. As a schoolteacher, it was important that he keep his own conduct above reproach.
What a tangle.
There’d been a time when he would have prayed for direction, but that time had long passed. He and God had stopped communicating with each other some time ago. Ever since that tragic night over two years ago.
The night he’d killed his wife and unborn child.
Chapter Four
Thirty minutes after Mr. Parker left her room, Ivy had had enough of lying about in bed. She looked down at Rufus as she threw off the covers and swung her legs over the side of the mattress. “I think exercise and fresh air are just the things to make me feel better.”
But first she had to find her clothes. She glanced around. Where were they? The garments had been muddy and damp. They’d also absorbed wet-dog smell from Rufus. Mr. Parker had probably decided to get the messy things out of the cabin and she couldn’t say she blamed him.
Ignoring Mr. Parker’s suggestion that she help herself to his friend’s clothing, Ivy turned instead to her own bag. As she crossed the room, she was pleased to find she wasn’t nearly as wobbly as she’d been earlier. It took her a bit longer to change than usual, but she did it and carefully placed the borrowed nightdress over the back of the chair.
She wished she had a mirror so she could see how she looked. Then she grimaced—maybe it was better that she didn’t. She likely looked a fright with her hair all a mess and her fingers stained from the berries. She pulled the comb from her saddlebag and tried to remove the worst of the tangles without disturbing the bandage. Then she quickly plaited a loose braid and let it fall down her back. With the bandage around her head, there wasn’t much else to be done with it. Besides, Mr. Parker had already seen it in much worse condition so it wasn’t as if this would shock him further.
Taking a deep breath and giving Rufus a pat, Ivy stepped out of the bedchamber. Her rescuer wasn’t anywhere in sight. She paused a moment to study her surroundings—she hadn’t been in any shape to pay attention when she’d first arrived.
To her right was a large fireplace. It was clean and tidy with wood stacked nearby. Facing the fireplace was the sofa she’d rested on when she’d first arrived. Thankfully she saw no signs of blood or dirt. There was a cozy little kitchen and a dining table across the room. The curtains at the windows and the apron hanging on a peg by the door spoke of a woman’s touch. Off to one side, a ladder led up to a small loft tucked in under the eaves.
On the opposite side of the common room was a curtained-off area. Another bedchamber, perhaps?
Rufus padded out the open front door and she heard him give a friendly woof. A masculine voice returned the greeting. Well, that solved the mystery of Mr. Parker’s whereabouts.
When she stepped outside, she was greeted by the sight of her missing clothing draped over the porch rail. A closer look showed that the pieces weren’t just airing out but were clean.
Had he actually done her laundry? She wasn’t normally missish, but the thought of him doing such a personal thing for her sent the warmth climbing up her neck and into her cheeks.
“Miss Feagan. What are you doing out of bed?”
She started at the sound of his voice. The sight of her clothes and thoughts of what it meant had momentarily made her forget she wasn’t alone.
Mr. Parker sat off to her right in a ladder-backed chair. He had a large pad of paper in his lap, a pencil in his hand and a frown on his face.
She quickly collected herself—his washing her clothes likely meant nothing more than that he liked everything around him to be all neat and tidy.
Besides, the question about what he was doing with that oversize pad of paper was much more interesting.
And a much safer focus for her thoughts.
As soon as Mr. Parker saw her glance at his paper, he closed the pad, set down his pencil and stood. “Are you sure you should be up so soon?”
Was it just worry for her well-being that put the edge in his tone, or was she intruding? Choosing to believe the former, Ivy brushed his concern aside with a wave of her hand. “I’m feeling much better, thank you. And Nana Dovie always says, sunshine and fresh air go a long way toward healing an ailing body.”
Ignoring his frown, she changed the subject. “Thank you for taking care of my clothes—seems I just keep getting deeper into your debt.”
His expression shifted as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I just tossed them in the lake when I went down to wash up earlier. It didn’t take much effort.”
She could tell he’d done more than soak her things—they’d had a good scrubbing. But she let it pass and instead sat in the rocker next to his chair. Then she pointed to his pad of paper. “Please don’t let me stop you from finishing whatever it was you were working on.”
He sat back down. “It’s just some idle sketching—nothing that can’t wait.”
This man was full of surprises. Intrigued, she leaned forward. “Mind if I look?”
He hesitated, then shrugged. “Help yourself.”
She took the tablet and flipped it open. Then her eyes widened. She was looking at a perfect likeness of a hummingbird hovering over a morning glory. It was done all in pencil, but he’d somehow managed to capture the movement of the bird and the early morning dewiness of the flower with simple lines and a bit of shading.
She turned the page and found yet another remarkable work. It was his horse, contentedly grazing near an old wooden fence. A dandelion was bent by a breeze that had teased some of the fluff from the stalk. Again, the level of detail he’d managed to capture with just a pencil was remarkable.
When she turned the page yet again, she found an unfinished drawing. It was the view from the porch. The railings and support post were in the foreground, and beyond that was an open area and then a stand of brush and trees. A quick glance verified that he’d faithfully captured the image of the tree line up ahead.
She turned and found him watching her closely. Was he worried about her opinion? “These drawings are very good.”
Such God-given talent was surely a treasure to be nurtured and shared. He should be displaying them proudly, not trying to hide them away.
This Mr. Parker was definitely a puzzle—one she was coming to wish she had time to figure out.
* * *
Mitch had watched her closely as she studied his work. He rarely showed his sketches to anyone—it was only a hobby, after all, and much too personal to share casually.
Not that he cared much what others thought.
But her genuine smile of delight was oddly gratifying. “Thank you. It’s just something I do to pass the time.” He took the sketchbook and set it on the table, then changed the subject. “Are you hungry? There’s more soup on the stove.”
She shook her head, then went right back to the subject of his sketches. “Do you ever draw people?”
Was she hinting that she wanted him to sketch her? “Not often.”
“So you do sometimes,” she pressed. “I’d love to have you sketch Nana Dovie.”
That surprised him. “You might do better to get a photograph. Reggie, the lady who owns this cabin, is a photographer and her work is quite good.”
She wrinkled her nose consideringly. “I think I’d rather a sketch. Photographs seem so stiff.” Then she sighed. “Not that it matters. Nana Dovie would never travel this far for something she’d think was nonsensical.”
She looked around then, obviously done with the subject of his artwork. “Where are Jubal and your horse?”
“Around back.”
“And where does that trail lead?” she asked, waving to her left.
“There’s a small lake about three hundred yards down that way. It’s where the water I’ve been using comes from, and there’s good fishing there, too.”
Her eyes lit up. “Is there a spare fishing pole around here?”
“Several. They’re in the lean-to out back.”
“I’m pretty good with a pole and a hook,” she said with a hopeful glance his way.
“Perhaps tomorrow you can try your luck.”
Her sigh had a note of disappointment, but she grinned. “Luck has nothing to do with it.”
He returned her smile. “I look forward to seeing if the reality matches the boast.”
“Challenge accepted.” Then she stood. “Please, continue with your drawing. I’m going to plop down in that chair over in the sunshine and just enjoy the fresh air for a bit.”
Mitch opened his sketchbook as she settled into her chair. She ruffled the fur on her dog’s neck. When the mutt ran off, she leaned back and watched him, laughing and talking to the animal as if he could understand her.
Mitch tried to lose himself in his drawing again, to transfer the essence of the view before him onto the page. But the sound of Ivy’s laughter, the sight of her blissful enjoyment of her surroundings, was making it surprisingly difficult to do much of anything but look at her.
* * *
Ivy watched Rufus sniff the ground, obviously picking up the scent of some critter or other. It was nice out here—warm but with a breeze to stir her hair. She heard the rat-a-tat-tat of a woodpecker in the distance.
The sun slipped out from behind a cloud, and she closed her eyes against the sudden glare. Rufus barked from what seemed like far away, and she wondered if he’d treed a squirrel. She heard buzzing and wondered idly if it was a bee or a deerfly. But it wasn’t really worth the effort to open her eyes to find out.
A moment later, someone cleared his throat right above her, breaking the stillness of the afternoon. Her eyes flew open to focus on Mr. Parker, standing beside her, his sketchbook in hand. Had he finished his drawing already?
Then she noticed the shadows had lengthened and she was no longer in full sunshine. The heat rose in her cheeks as she saw his amused glance. Despite the fact that she’d thought herself well rested, she’d fallen asleep again.
“You must think me a real lazybones.”
He smiled. “You have good reason to rest.” He reached down to help her rise. “Why don’t we head back inside? If you’re not hungry or tired, I can pull out a checkerboard, if you feel up to a game.”
She took his hand, accepting his assistance. “You’ll soon learn I rarely back down from a challenge.”
With a smile on his face, Mitch let her precede him back into the cabin. The woman was intriguing. She was certainly unpredictable. And seemingly unflappable.
And totally unlike any woman he’d met before.
Shaking off that thought—an exercise he seemed to be doing a lot of lately—he dug out the checkerboard and set it on the table.
As she sat across from him, he raised an eyebrow in challenge. “I assume you know how to play.”
She grinned. “It’s been a while, but I think I remember how it goes.”
Miss Feagan proved to be an aggressive player, approaching the game with more verve than strategy. He won the first two games, though they were by no means runaway victories. Those defeats didn’t seem to dampen her enthusiasm, however. She merely grinned and vowed to get him next time.
He stood. “Before you try again, why don’t we eat?”
She grinned. “I came close to beating you just now. Are you by any chance wanting to fortify yourself before facing me again?”
He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had taken that teasing tone with him. But he found he rather liked it. “I was thinking I needed to give you an opportunity to sharpen your wits so you’d have a fighting chance.”
“Ha!” She put her hands on her hips and glowered melodramatically. “That sounds like a challenge. I demand we play a third game so I can defend my honor as a checker player.”
“After we eat.” He moved toward the stove. “There ought to be just enough soup left for each of us to have a nice bowlful.” She stood, but he waved her back down. “Keep your seat. This won’t take but a minute.”
She ignored him. Naturally. “Don’t be silly.” She crossed to the counter. “The least I can do is set the table. I assume the dishes are kept in here.” She opened the cupboard, then reached inside.
A moment later Mitch saw her sway unsteadily, and he quickly crossed the space between them. “Whoa, there.” He took her elbow and put an arm around her shoulders. “Are you okay?”
She gave him a shaky smile. “Just got dizzy for a moment.”
“That does it.” He led her firmly back to the table. “I want you to sit here and not get up again until it’s time to turn in.”
“Don’t be silly. It was just—”
“No arguments.” He pointed to the chair. “Sit.”
She stared at him mutinously for another heartbeat. Then she relaxed and gave him a pert grin. “I suppose,” she said, sitting with exaggerated care, “that if you insist on waiting on me, I should just let you.”
His lips quirked at that, and he gave a ceremonious bow. “At your service, m’lady.”
* * *
Ivy propped her elbows on the table and watched as Mr. Parker went back to the stove. He certainly was a puzzle of a man. Big as a grizzly but graceful as a wolf. All prickly and proper when it came to matters of propriety but able to take her teasing with good humor and even give it back to her at times. Able to carry heavy loads—like a fully grown woman—and with those same hands he could draw the most amazing pictures. And for all his stern exterior, she was beginning to believe he was soft as a mossy creek bank on the inside.
Maybe not such a puzzle after all—he was just a good man.
Rufus padded over and she reached down to pat his head. “Hello, boy. Getting restless, are you?” She glanced up at her host. “Has he eaten anything today?”
Mr. Parker turned and frowned down at Rufus. “I gave him a bit of pemmican and some broth earlier.”
She should have known he’d take care of her dog. He ladled the soup into two bowls. “I suppose the mutt can have anything left in the pot when we’ve eaten our fill tonight.”
He carried one of the bowls to the table and set it in front of her with a stern look. “I expect you to eat all of it. You need to keep your strength up.”
Without waiting for her response, he turned to fetch his own bowl.
Normally she’d get her back up at being ordered around, but she found herself smiling instead. He was being outlandishly high-handed, of course. But she also knew she’d scared him with her momentary light-headedness and this was likely how he dealt with it.
A moment later, he rejoined her at the table. As he settled into his seat, she met his gaze expectantly. “Would you like to say grace?”
Mr. Parker stilled and something she couldn’t read flitted across his expression. Was he not a praying man?
But then he bowed his head. “Dear Lord, we thank You for providing this food we are about to partake of, and for the blessings You have bestowed on us this day.” He paused a heartbeat, then added, “We also ask that You restore good health to Miss Feagan.”
“And to Jubal, as well,” Ivy interjected quickly. “Amen.”
Mr. Parker echoed her amen, then picked up his spoon. Before taking a bite, he glanced her way. “Earlier you mentioned you might have an inheritance waiting for you in Turnabout. If you don’t mind my asking, what did you mean by might?”
“Reverend Tomlin got a letter a few days ago that said if Robert Feagan’s daughter was still alive then there was an inheritance waiting for her in Turnabout. And I’m Robert Feagan’s daughter so I just figured I’d head on over to check it out.”
“Just like that?”
She shrugged. “I’ve never been one to let others make decisions for me.” She grinned. “And I’m also not very patient. Nana Dovie says it’s one of my biggest faults.”
“And the letter didn’t give you any other details?”
“No, and I’m more than a tad curious.” Then she realized he might be able to fill in some of the blanks for her. “Do you know a man named Drum Mosley?”
“Only well enough to exchange greetings. He owns a large ranch outside of town. Is he a relative?”
Something in his tone made her think he knew more than he was saying. “No. But it seems he knew my father. According to the letter, he’s been holding something in trust on my father’s behalf and if I can prove I’m my father’s child, he’ll turn it over to me, whatever it is.”
“My condolences on the loss of your father.”
She shrugged. “Thanks. But he passed on when I was just a babe, so I didn’t know him.”
“Drum’s expecting you, then?”
“Don’t know about that.”
“You didn’t send a response to his letter?”
“I figured there wasn’t much use since I’d get there at about the same time as a letter.” She grimaced. “Or at least I would have if I hadn’t run into these delays.” She’d had enough of talking about herself. She’d much rather learn more about him. “Tell me something about yourself.”
“Anything specific you’d like to know?”
“Do you have any family?”
“I have two sisters.”
“Older or younger than you?”
“Both are younger.”
She imagined he’d make a fine older brother, always there to look out for his little sisters. “I’ve always wished I was part of a larger family,” she said wistfully. “Don’t get me wrong, I couldn’t ask for a better person than Nana Dovie to raise me, but it always seemed kind of lonesome out in the country with no other young’uns to play with.”
She dipped her spoon back in her bowl. “So, how often do you get to see them?”
“Not often. They’re both happily married. Erica, the elder of the two, married a doctor and they moved to San Francisco. They now have four children—three girls and a boy. Katie, my baby sister, married an Italian concert pianist, of all things, and spends much of her time in Europe. They have three little boys.”
“Oh, my goodness, your family is scattered all over creation. No wonder you don’t see them often.”
“We keep in touch with letters.”
“What about your parents?”
“They’ve both passed on.”
So he was an orphan, too. “I’m sorry.” She hesitated a moment, then plunged in with a more personal question. “And you never married?”
From the way his expression immediately closed off, she knew she’d overstepped. “That was rude—forget I asked. Sometimes I speak before I think.”
“I married once. She, also, has passed away.”
Now she really felt bad. Obviously it still stirred up painful memories. “I’m sorry,” she said again, feeling the words were entirely inadequate.
“I appreciate your sympathy.” He stood. “Looks like you finished your soup. Would you like another serving?”
He obviously wanted to put some distance between them, and she didn’t blame him. “No, thank you—I’m full.” She stood, as well. “I should probably check on Jubal before it gets dark.”.
But he shook his head. “I’ll take care of that. Why don’t you feed Rufus?”
“I appreciate your concern, but I’m perfectly capable of taking care of my own animal.”
“Then take care of your dog.”
She bit her tongue, trying to remember that, despite his bossiness, he meant well. She gave a short nod.
For tonight, she’d hold her peace. But come tomorrow it would be a different story.
* * *
Mitch added a couple of buckets of water to the trough.
He’d felt like a fraud earlier when he’d said grace, especially when he’d looked up afterward to see the soft approval in Ivy Feagan’s eyes.
Though he went to church services regularly and attended meals in friends’ homes, where prayers were offered, it had been a long time since he’d truly prayed himself, much less done so publicly. But he did believe in the Almighty and he’d felt strangely reluctant to refuse her request.
The words had come naturally to him, as if riding a horse again after a long convalescence.
Had God, knowing his heart, been offended by his prayer?
Which, for some reason, brought his thoughts around to that moment when Ivy had asked him if he was married.
It had taken all of his control not to react as the painful memories returned. Sweet-tempered, turn-the-other-cheek Gretchen, the woman he’d vowed to cherish and protect, hadn’t deserved the violent, senseless death that had been her lot. And he may not have actually pulled the trigger, but her death was as much his fault as if he had.
He could never forgive himself for that.
Mitch pushed away those fruitless thoughts and focused on Jubal. He firmly nudged the animal, forcing him to take a few reluctant steps, and studied his gait. It was quickly apparent that the mule would indeed need more time before he could make the trip to Turnabout.
“Sorry you had to make that long walk this morning, but it couldn’t be helped.” He gave the animal a handful of oats and patted his side. “But I’ll make you as comfortable as I can while you recover.”
He dug out another scoop of grain and turned to Seeley. “Here you go.” He stroked the animal’s nose. “You didn’t think I’d forgotten about you, did you?”
As he tended to the animals, his thoughts drifted back to Miss Feagan’s mention of that possible inheritance. The conversation had raised as many questions as it had answered. If her father had been dead for all these years, then why was she just now hearing about her inheritance?
And it was even stranger that Drum Mosley was involved. The man had a reputation as a penny-pincher. Mitch couldn’t picture him voluntarily giving away any of his holdings. Then again, he vaguely remembered hearing that Drum had taken to his sickbed recently. Perhaps the rancher was getting his affairs in order.
Whatever the case, it was none of his business. As soon as he could get her to Turnabout, his involvement in her affairs would be over.
He picked up the water bucket and headed back to the cabin, ignoring the little voice inside him that whispered his involvement in Miss Feagan’s affairs was actually just beginning.
When Mitch returned to the cabin, the dishes had been cleaned and put away, and the checkerboard set up for another game.
“I see you’ve been busy,” he said with what he considered commendable restraint. He should have known she wouldn’t take it easy.
She waved toward the game board. “Didn’t want anything standing in the way of my getting my revenge.”
“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather turn in? I wouldn’t want you to suffer yet a third defeat.”
“That does it. Sit yourself down and prepare to eat those words.”
And to his surprise, she actually won.
Mitch found himself smiling as she crowed about her victory. Then he started collecting the checkers. “I believe I’d better quit while I’m ahead. And dusk settled in while we weren’t looking, so it’s time to call it a night. It’s been a long day and we both could use some rest.”
She grimaced. “All I’ve done today is rest.”
But since she followed that statement with a broad yawn, he had no compunction in insisting. “Is there anything you need before you retire?” he asked as he stood.
Miss Feagan shook her head. “I’ll be fine, thank you. Good night.” She crossed the room then paused and eyed him suspiciously. “You do remember you promised not to sleep outside, don’t you?”
He’d hoped she wouldn’t bring that up again. But maybe it was best that she knew his plans so she could speak honestly if questions came up later. “What I promised was to sleep under this roof. I’m going to drag the mattress from the other bed out to the porch. It’s a nice night and I’ll be quite comfortable.” He raised a hand to stop the protest already forming on her lips. “My mind is made up.”
She crossed her arms, glaring at him, frustration etched on her face. “It just doesn’t seem right.”
“Still, the decision is mine so you’ll just have to accept it.”
She glared a moment longer, then lifted her hands in surrender. “Have it your way.”
As she turned to her room, he called out, “Take Rufus with you.”
Just before she closed her door, Mitch thought he heard her mutter something that contained the phrase “more stubborn than Jubal.”
He grinned as he wrestled the unwieldy mattress out the front door. She certainly wasn’t bashful about speaking her mind. But at least she was smart enough to know when arguments were useless.
His smile faded as he stretched out on the mattress and stared out at the stars. If he was being entirely honest with himself, despite his desire for solitude, he hadn’t really minded her presence here today. Which was troubling.
Because he had to hold himself apart. He couldn’t risk hurting someone else the way he’d hurt Gretchen.
Chapter Five
As Ivy settled into bed, she marveled at how the day had turned out to be so different from what she’d imagined when she woke this morning. She’d been worried about Jubal’s hoof and whether or not she’d be able to stretch her provisions if they were delayed much longer. And now, here she was, a roof over her head and a warm, dry bed to sleep in, plenty of provisions to carry her through and a proper place to let Jubal rest and heal.
And befriending Mr. Parker was an unexpected blessing for sure. Even though he was something of a stiff-necked gent at times, his concern for both her physical well-being and her reputation was touching. She no longer found his size intimidating—rather it was comforting to know that so much strength was tempered by restraint and kindness.
And as much as she considered herself independent, knowing there would be someone in Turnabout she could turn to if the need arose was also very comforting.
Lord, despite these unexpected delays, You’ve sure been kind to me. Of all the folks who could have happened across me out here, You sent the most honorable man I’ve ever met. Thank You for that grace.
Amen.
* * *
By the time Ivy rose the next morning she could hear Mr. Parker moving around in the kitchen. The smell of coffee brewing had her rushing through her morning ablutions to join him.
When she opened the door, he looked up with a smile. “You’re just in time for breakfast.”
“Smells mighty good.”
He shrugged. “It’s nothing fancy—just hardtack biscuits and strawberry preserves. But I softened the biscuits in the skillet with a little bacon grease.”
“Apologies not necessary—it sounds like just the thing.”
He gave her a searching look. “How are you feeling today?”
“Much more myself, thanks.” She refused to let him mollycoddle her today. “The smell of coffee was sure nice to wake up to.”
“It’s ready if you want to help yourself. The cups are on that shelf next to the window.”
She crossed the room and reached for the cups. “Want me to pour you some, too?”
He nodded as he set the dish of warm biscuits on the table. “Thank you.”
Ivy carefully carried the nearly full cups to the table and took her seat. He seemed cheerful and rested today—maybe sleeping on the porch hadn’t bothered him as much as she’d feared. “I hope the mosquitoes didn’t pester you too much last night.”
“I managed to sleep through it.”
His dry tone made her wonder if he was downplaying the amount of aggravation he’d experienced.
After they said the blessing, she slathered some jelly on her biscuit. “I should be up to that four-hour ride to Turnabout today.”
He gave no outward reaction, but she could tell he had reservations. Not surprising—did the man ever do anything spontaneously? But she would’ve thought he’d be glad to get rid of her by now.
Mr. Parker took a sip of coffee before responding. “I checked on Jubal when I got the wood for the stove this morning. He needs at least one more day’s rest before he undertakes that long trip.”
She tried to rein in her disappointment. “Of course I don’t want to push him if he’s not ready. I’ll take a look at him after breakfast and decide.”
His left brow rose. “Does this matter in Turnabout require your immediate attention?”
She waved dismissively. “That’s not it. This inheritance thing has waited more than twenty years so another day or two won’t make much difference.” She rubbed her cheek. “But Nana Dovie’s going to worry if she doesn’t hear from me soon. I promised to send her a telegram when I got to Turnabout so she’d know I’d arrived safely.”
He nodded. “I see.” Then he studied her a moment longer. “This Nana Dovie means a great deal to you. I can hear it in your voice when you speak of her.”
Ivy nodded. “She’s the only family I have,” she said simply.
“And how will she react to not having heard from you yet?”
“Nana Dovie’s not one to panic easily,” she said. “We discussed this trip before I left, and much as I’d hoped to make the trip in two days, we both knew it might take longer. But if she doesn’t hear from me by tomorrow, she’ll fear the worst.” Ivy hated the idea of putting the only mother she’d ever known through such needless worry.
“Don’t worry—we’ll send word as soon as we’re able.”
Ivy found it interesting that he’d said “we” and not “you.”
“There’s something else. Nana Dovie doesn’t leave the farm, ever, so she’ll have to wait until the reverend pays a visit to send an inquiry.”
She saw the flicker of speculation in his eyes at her statement, but he didn’t press. She was coming to appreciate his tact.
He stood and carried his dishes to the counter. “Then it’s best we plan to leave first thing in the morning.”
It wasn’t ideal, but perhaps Nana Dovie wouldn’t start imagining the worst before then. She followed him to the counter with her own dishes. “So you think Jubal will be ready for the trip by then?”
“We’ll get to town tomorrow, one way or the other.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Why don’t we wait and see what tomorrow brings?”
Was he being deliberately evasive?
Before she could ask for an explanation, he changed the subject. “Now, Miss Feagan, do you prefer to wash or dry?”
She grabbed a dishrag. “Wash.” She dunked a plate in the basin, which already contained fresh water. “And don’t you think, all things considered, there’s no need for you to continue to refer to me as Miss Feagan? The name’s Ivy.”
Predictably, he raised a brow. “All things considered, I think it best we stick to the formalities.”
She refused to back down. “Hogwash. You’ve bandaged me, bodily lifted me onto your horse, removed my shoes and stockings, practically tucked me in—you even did my laundry, for goodness’ sake. Standing on ceremony at this point is just silly.”
Mitch stiffened and she hid a grin. He probably didn’t get called silly very often.
He accepted the clean plate and rubbed it with extra vigor. “Miss Feagan, we’ll have enough speculation to deal with when we ride into town together from this all-but-forsaken backwoods. Any overfamiliarity we show with each other will just intensify that scrutiny.”
She sighed melodramatically. “I’ve never met such a fusspot before.” She’d deliberately used that word, knowing it would get his back up. And she was right.
She quickly spoke up again before he could protest further. “If you feel that strongly, why don’t we compromise? While we’re alone, we use first names. When we get to town, we get all formal and particular again. After all, I don’t expect to be in Turnabout more than a couple of days.”
He frowned but finally nodded stiffly. “Very well.”
She rewarded him with a broad smile as she handed him another plate. “Good to see you can unbend on occasion.”
That earned her a startled look and then the hint of a sheepish grin.
Five minutes later, Ivy patted Jubal’s side sympathetically as Mitch set the animal’s hoof down and brushed his hands against his pants. Unfortunately, she agreed with his assessment—Jubal was in no shape to make that trip today. She only hoped one more day would improve his condition enough to let them get underway again.
As they strolled back to the front of the cabin, she looked at the trail thoughtfully. “You did say there was a lake out that way, didn’t you?”
He nodded. “Thinking about going fishing?”
She hesitated a moment. He was so straightlaced—would he think her indelicate if she told him what was on her mind?
Then again, he’d likely already figured out she wasn’t a prim and proper miss. And the urge to get clean was almost overwhelming.
She tilted her chin up. “Actually, if you don’t mind, I’d appreciate a chance to take a bath.”
He didn’t so much as blink. “Of course. Gather what you need and I’ll show you the way.”
Relieved that he hadn’t argued with her, she nodded and all but sprinted up the porch steps.
In addition to a change of clothes, she grabbed the borrowed nightdress and the sheets from the bed. Might as well do laundry while she was bathing.
When she stepped outside, she discovered Mitch had towels and a bar of soap. He also had his sketchpad.
That last gave her pause. “Just what is it you aim to do with that?”
“While you’re occupied at the lake, I thought I’d search out a spot to do some sketching.”
Of course. He was probably tired of playing nursemaid to her and was ready for some privacy of his own.
He insisted she hold his arm for steadying support as they walked down the trail. That and the slow pace he set had her rolling her eyes. Even Rufus didn’t stay beside them for long—within a few minutes he’d scampered ahead to explore on his own.
Ivy wasn’t used to being treated as if she were fragile and she’d never cottoned much to being mollycoddled. But she had to admit, at least to herself, that it wasn’t altogether unpleasant to have someone so concerned for her well-being.
In fact, it made her feel special.
When the trail finally opened to reveal the lake, her eyes widened, trying to take everything in at once. Everywhere she looked there was something to delight the eye. The sun glinted across the water like crystals from a chandelier. Colorful dragonflies darted here and there A pair of turtles sunned on a half-submerged log as a hawk skimmed the air high overhead.
She turned and touched his arm. “It’s perfect. And the water looks so inviting—I can’t wait to wade in.”
He glanced at her hand on his sleeve and she quickly removed it, embarrassed by her impulsive gesture.
But his expression didn’t change. “Then I’ll leave you to it. And don’t worry. It’s not deep on this end, and it’s entirely private.” He took a step back. “I’ll be up the trail just a little ways, close enough to hear if you call. Take whatever time you need.”
Ivy watched him until he rounded a turn. Then she began unbraiding her hair. If she had to be stuck somewhere while Jubal healed, this was not a bad place to be.
And the company was quite nice, as well.
In fact, if she weren’t in such a hurry to get back and check on Nana Dovie, she wouldn’t mind the delay at all.
* * *
Mitch found a comfortable spot and settled on the ground with his back against a tree. He heard her break out in song and smiled at her slightly off-key but enthusiastic rendition of “Shall We Gather at the River?” as he opened his sketchbook.
Even injured, she was the most attack-life-head-on woman he’d ever met. Now that she was feeling better, she was definitely a force to be reckoned with. It was exhausting just being around her.
And strangely exhilarating, as well.
Did she really think him a fusspot? He wasn’t exactly certain what that was, but it definitely didn’t sound flattering. He had to admit, if only to himself, that it had been her name-calling that had made him give in on the subject of using first names. Was he so easily manipulated?
But the smile she’d given him when he capitulated had seemed strangely compelling. It had been quite some time since anyone had looked at him with such unabashed approval.
Shaking off the thought, Mitch took up his pencil and waited for inspiration. Normally he had no trouble finding a subject, but for some reason today was different. He finally settled on the image of the turtles sunning down by the lake.
Forty-five minutes later, Mitch looked up to see Ivy approaching. Her still-damp hair was loosely braided and she carried a load of wet laundry. The smile on her face reflected satisfaction and her eyes sparkled.
Her pleasure was infectious.
Closing his sketchbook, he stood and moved to meet her.
“Sorry I took so long,” she said, “but the water felt absolutely wonderful and I didn’t want to get out.” She nodded toward his sketchbook. “Did you get any drawing done?”
“I did.” He set his pad and pencil down. “Here, let’s swap. I’ll take those wet things from you and you take my sketch pad.”
To his surprise, she didn’t argue, but merely said thank you as she surrendered her load of soggy laundry.
Then he discovered why. As soon as she retrieved his pad, she opened it and studied the image inside. “It’s beautiful. You have such a wonderful God-given talent.”
Ivy certainly had a way about her.
“I see why you like coming here,” she said, interrupting his thoughts. “It’s such a marvelous place.”
“It’s only my second visit, but I’m enjoying this visit more than the first.” He was definitely enjoying the company more than he had that first time.
She gave him a questioning look. Then her gaze sharpened. “Aren’t those blackberries?”
Mitch followed the line of her gaze. “What do you know, a few end-of-season stragglers.”
She was already moving toward the brambly vines, and before he could so much as blink, she had popped one in her mouth. She closed her eyes and tilted her chin up. “Mmm.”
He watched, captivated by her expression of pure bliss. He couldn’t have moved if his boots were on fire.
She opened her eyes again.
“You should try some of these. They’re really good.” Then she looked contrite. “Oh, your hands are full. Allow me.”
She plucked a couple of berries and held them up to him. Without a word, he opened his mouth. Their eyes locked and she froze with her hand inches from his lips. Her eyes widened and her breath hitched. They were so close, he could count the freckles on her nose if he tried. He knew he should step back, but for the life of him he couldn’t do it. But closer, oh, yes, he could move closer with very little effort.
Then Rufus returned and Ivy took a step back.
Mitch silently berated himself. The temptation to kiss her had caught him unawares, surprising him with its swift intensity. But that was no excuse. He should have had tighter control of himself. What would have happened if Rufus hadn’t interrupted them?
He’d assured her he was an honorable man, that she had nothing to fear from him. Did she still believe it?
Did he?
His earlier thoughts about enjoying her company had come back to haunt him. For the first time since Gretchen’s death he’d let his guard down enough to take pleasure in a woman’s company. And look what had happened.
What was it about Ivy that she could get under his skin so easily?
Then he focused on her again.
Her cheeks were a becoming shade of pink, her expression reflected confusion. He felt a cad for having done that to her.
She turned to greet her dog, giving them both an opportunity to gather their composure.
He knew offering an apology would only make matters worse. His best course of action was to get things back on an easy, comfortable footing.
He cleared his throat. “What do you say we try out those cane poles? I’ve a hankering for some fried fish for lunch.”
“That sounds like fun.” She stood. “I seem to recall I’m supposed to show you how it’s done.”
He was relieved to see she’d already recovered some of her spirit. “Is that a challenge?”
“Yes, sir, I do believe it is.”
* * *
Ivy arranged the wet laundry on the porch railings. As soon as they’d made it back to the cabin, Mitch had disappeared around back to fetch the poles.
She wasn’t sure what had happened back there, but she was fairly certain it had been her fault. And she’d hate to think she’d done anything to make him think less of her. What on earth had she been thinking, offering to feed him those berries?
Mitch reappeared carrying a pair of cane poles and leading his horse.
She nodded toward Seeley. “Are you going somewhere?”
“Since we’re headed to the lake, I thought I’d refill the water barrel.”
She frowned. “You use your horse for that?”
“Yep.”
Puzzled, she watched as he maneuvered Seeley so the animal was backed up to the barrel. She moved closer and discovered the barrel sat on a low wooden platform outfitted with wheels. “How clever.”
“Reggie’s husband built it. It has a harness so you can hitch a horse for easy transport.”
She nodded appreciatively. “That would definitely save lots of time and effort hauling buckets of water.”
“That’s the idea.” Mitch started fitting his horse with the special harness. “I figure, once I fill it, Seeley can graze until we’re done fishing.”
He had the horse hitched in short order and then they retraced their steps to the lake.
“If I help you fill the barrel,” she offered, “it’ll get done in half the time.”
“No need—I’ve got the job in hand and it won’t take long.”
She knew he was mollycoddling her again, but before she could protest he picked up the small spade he’d brought along.
“I’ll dig some worms for you so you can start fishing while I fill the barrel.”
“No need,” she said, mimicking him, “I’ve got that job well in hand.”
That nudged his brow up a notch. “You plan to collect your own worms?”
“Of course.” It wasn’t as if she’d had anyone around to do it for her back home.
“And bait your own hooks?”
He seemed even more surprised at that. She supposed it wasn’t the most ladylike of tasks. But she refused to apologize for it. “It’s like threading a needle.”
That teased a grin from him. “I suppose that’s one way of looking at it.”
She watched surreptitiously as he scooped water with the pail and dumped it into the barrel. His very broad, solid back was to her. She didn’t figure there was much as could stand against a man with a back like that. Especially one with as good a heart as Mitch seemed to have.
That combination of strength and heart was mighty attractive in a man. A woman would be lucky to have a man like Mitch looking out for her.
For a heartbeat she recalled that moment on the trail, how the light in his eyes had deepened as he’d stared at her and everything else had seemed to fall away. Then she gave her head a shake and quickly turned to bait her hook.
As she dropped her line in the water, she noticed a slight tremble in her hands.
* * *
As they cleaned their catch at the water’s edge, Ivy argued that her five fish to his three clearly indicated she was the better fisherman. He insisted it was more about the quality of the catch and his three easily outweighed her five.
Ivy enjoyed their spirited discussion—it was the kind comfortable friends would have. And she hadn’t had a friend like that in a long time, thanks to the outcast status Lester Stokes had foisted on her.
When they arrived back at the cabin, Ivy left Mitch to tend to Seeley while she went inside with the fish. Poking around in the kitchen, she found cornmeal, salt and a small crock with bacon grease. She also found a jar of pickled tomatoes—just the thing to go with pan-fried fish.
By the time she had all the fixings for their meal gathered up, Mitch had returned. “Thanks again for taking care of the animals,” she said.
He merely nodded. For a schoolteacher he certainly wasn’t talkative. Was he this way in his classroom, too?
Then he waved toward the stove. “I can do the cooking,” he said. “You’ve had an active morning for someone still recuperating.” His serious expression lightened as he gave a lopsided smile. “I’m not much of a cook, but I do know how to fry fish.”
She shook her head. “It’s your turn to sample my cooking.”
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