Liz Ireland (7 page)

How much easier it would have been to keep her head on straight if Roy were older, with unsightly warts. Or if he looked at her with disdain
all
the time instead of only half!

“You’ve been learning a lot lately.” His low voice suddenly sounded as sweet as the liquid bubbling in the boiler pan.

She tucked her shawl around her shoulders, attributing the little shiver that moved through her to the cool nip in the air. “I’m trying.”

He grinned, then leaned down to toss another log into the fire. “Why, I wonder.”

“I don’t like to be useless when there are things to be done.”

“And did you come all the way out to Nebraska to make yourself useful?”

“No,” she answered truthfully. His questions made her uneasy. “I needed to get away…from the past.”

He nodded, then, surprisingly, grinned. “And now our fine New York visitor is learning all about where molasses comes from.”

He had the darnedest way of terrifying her with his suspicions, then reassuring her with that easy grin of his. She couldn’t trust her instincts around him, and yet staying away from him proved impossible. In the mornings, he always seemed to be hovering somewhere near. In the evenings, he was always the first man back from the fields. He watched her like a hawk, but when she smiled at him, his expression would turn gentle.

No matter how much she tried putting the idea out of her mind, Isabel’s words came back to her.
I hoped that you would do for Roy….
Foolish idea. Silly!
Right now the most she could hope for was to be Roy’s housekeeper.

He skimmed foam off the top of the molasses with a wire attached to an old broom handle.

“I’ve enjoyed learning all these new things,” she said truthfully as she watched him. Then she laughed. “It’s you I feel sorry for.”

He raised his golden-brown brows at her inquisitively. “Me, why?”

“Because you’ve had to put up with my failures. In a few short weeks I’ve ironed holes through your clothes, I’ve charred more food on that temperamental iron monster in the kitchen than I care to think about, food you’ve been kind enough to eat anyway, and I’ve angered the cows so with my inept milking skills that you’re lucky Beulah and Lacy don’t declare a worker’s strike.”

Roy laughed. “Don’t go putting ideas into their heads. You spoil them like lapdogs already.”

That was another thing she loved—all the animal life around her. Chickens, hogs, barn cats, mules, horses and milk cows. The industry to keep them all fed and milked and happy was enormous, but enormously enriching. She tried not to develop too much affection for the chickens and hogs, which she knew were doomed to be slaughtered, but Beulah and Lacy she felt free to treat like royalty. “Let me have my fun, Roy. I’ve always wanted a pet.”

He frowned. “You’ve never had a dog?”

He made it sound as if she’d been thoroughly deprived. “No. I was always fond of my father’s horses, of course…”

“You had a stable in the city?”

“Oh yes, a large one.” She didn’t add that she lived above it.

She looked down at the bubbling, darkening mass
for a moment. “There’s no dog here,” she pointed out. “Did you ever have one?”

He nodded sadly. “Pearly. She died a few years ago, and neither Parker nor myself had the heart to find a replacement.”

She was surprised by Roy’s somber tone, and began to wonder whether he hadn’t been the brother most loath to find another dog to take Pearly’s place.
Not a bit of give in him
….his mother had described Roy. But she didn’t find him so unyielding. In fact, she found his attachment to his old animal friend very endearing.

He dipped a wooden spoon into the boiler pan and then held it out in the air to let it cool. He tested it with his finger, then licked the molasses off. “Mmm, nearly done.” He held out the spoon to Ellie. “Want to give it a try?”

She came forward, eager to sample the fruits of the day’s labor. He handed the spoon to her, and she followed his example, licking a little of the sweet still-warm liquid off her index finger. “That’s good!”

He grinned. “You sound surprised.”

“I am. I never expected it would taste so like…molasses.”

“Why? The stuff you’ve been cooking with and pouring on biscuits in the morning was made here last year.”

“Yes, but I wasn’t there to see it start its life as a stalk in a field. You have to admit it’s sort of a miracle.”

Instead of answering her right away, he stared down at her, his eyes doing his speaking for him. There was laughter in them, and tenderness, even. She grinned up at him, and handed his spoon back to him.

Instead of taking it, however, his hand clasped down on her wrist, and he took a step forward. “I
never was a big believer in miracles,” he said, his husky voice raising gooseflesh on her arms. “But since you showed up here, all sorts of amazing ideas keep popping into my head.”

A light brown lock of hair fell over his forehead as he looked down at her, and her mouth went dry as she suddenly realized how handsome he was. And how strong. He was standing close enough for her to gauge fully the power in his work-hardened muscles; he was also close enough for her to smell his particular masculine scent—the same scent he’d left imprinted on the pillows she slept on at night.

Ellie’s pulse sped. She caught a glint in his eyes that she hadn’t seen a man look at her with since Percy Sternhagen.

That thought, and the realization that Roy’s gaze had strayed to her lips, made her mouth drop open with a gasp. Surely he wouldn’t try to kiss her here, out in the open, where anyone could see them. Oh, dear! She didn’t even want attentions of that nature—especially from a man she was hoping might be her employer someday soon!

A muffled cry of alarm escaped her lips and she jumped backward, dropping the wooden spoon into the dirt between them.

“Oh, no!” she said. “I’m so clumsy. I’ll just run in and get another one—”

He held her fast for a moment. “Wait, Ellie.”

She shook her head. “I’ll be back in just a moment!”

“Hang the spoon—”

She finally managed to tug away and fled inside, praying that by the time she had to go back out, clearer heads would prevail.

F
or the rest of the molasses-making, clearer heads did prevail. And even for a day beyond. All the while, Ellie grappled with the problem of trying to impress Roy and ingratiate herself to him without appearing to flirt with him. She had heard that the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach, and she was attempting that method, hoping that in this case his heart would eventually be sympathetic to the plight of a woman who needed to support a child.

Parker, she was fairly certain, would be agreeable to hiring her. Kind-hearted Ike, if he’d had a say in the matter, would have hired her himself weeks ago. But Roy…she still wasn’t sure of him.

She’d gone out of her way to be nice to him, but keep him at a respectful distance. She’d never known a man who could put such foolish desires in her head with just a touch or a look, but there was something about Roy that made her forget her better judgment. And her better judgment told her that the last thing she needed was to succumb again to the charms of a man with the power to use her and toss her aside.

She turned, and as if conjured by her own fantasies, Roy appeared in the kitchen’s doorway. She nearly
dropped a sheet of cookies she’d been preparing to put in the oven.

“Are you all right?” she asked, fearing his foot might still be bothering him, or worse, that he had reinjured it.

“Of course.”

Then why was he here? It was early afternoon yet. Besides, he looked uncomfortable. He held his hands awkwardly behind his back.

“Are you sure nothing’s wrong?”

He stepped forward, a peculiar grin on his lips. “I wanted to be alone with you when I gave you your present.”

She tossed her cookie sheet in the oven and wiped her hands on her apron. Present? So that’s what this was all about. She suddenly felt giddy with anticipation. “What—?”

Just then, she heard a plaintive mewing and her heart fairly stopped in disbelief. Seeing that his surprise had been spoiled, that the cat was out of the bag, so to speak, Roy brought his hand forward.

Cupped in Roy’s enormous palm was a tiny orange tabby kitten with round golden eyes. The little ball of fuzz blinked up at her and released a loud meow. Involuntarily, Ellie let out a high-pitched squeal of delight and ran forward to pet it. “Oh, Roy, how sweet! Where did you find it?”

“It belongs to the barn cat. She has several kits, but this is the only friendly one. The rest are skittery, like her.”

Ellie grinned as he handed the little ball of fur over to her. The kitten immediately began to climb her dress up to her shoulder. She laughed. “She wants to be a parrot!”

“Maybe you should call her Polly.”

She shook her head, but a few springy red curls
captured the kitten’s attention and he began to bat at her hair. “You aren’t really giving her to me, are you?” No one had ever done anything so thoughtful, so foolish. She couldn’t have a cat. She didn’t even have a home! And yet when she looked into those golden trusting eyes, she felt a fierce possessiveness for the little creature in her care.

And when she looked into Roy’s warm blue eyes, their delight in her pleasure so baldly evident, she felt her legs go limp beneath her. She lowered to the floor to play with the kitten.

He chuckled. “You said you’d never had a pet. I had to remedy that.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you. But where will I keep it?”

“How about right here?”

She looked up at him sharply and felt her pulse begin to race. Sending the kitten scampering after a leaf Roy had brought in on his boots, Ellie stood and turned her attention back to the cookies. To her work. “If I don’t watch out, these cookies will burn. I keep losing my concentration….”

He walked over to inspect the ones she’d just removed from the oven. “Oatmeal. My favorite.”

“I know.” The words came out, and she felt as if her face were on fire. “I mean…that’s what Ike told me.”

Roy grinned knowingly. “Lately, it’s been hard for me to concentrate on my work, too. I keep getting sidetracked by my own thoughts.”

At first her mouth felt too dry to speak. This close, his physique was very impressive, and the smell of work and the outdoors penetrated the cozy baking aroma in the air. “I often catch myself daydreaming,” she said, a little haltingly. “I don’t suppose there’s any harm in it.”

His brows raised high on his forehead. “Isn’t there?” He grabbed her hand, sending a bolt of lightning through her. “What if what you’re dreaming about is kissing a woman you’ve no right to be thinking about?”

Her heart beat as quickly as a bird’s as he gripped her arm and reeled her in toward him. In the surprise of the moment, she didn’t think to resist; her own daydreams had been so focused on a moment such as this, both dreading it and dreaming about it, that she could hardly wait to feel the pressure of his lips against hers, to have his arms wrapped around her.

“Ellie, I know you’re grieving…”

She blinked up at him. Grieving? He was so close she could feel the warmth emanating from his chest; they were just a hair away from an embrace, which is all her cloudy thoughts could concentrate on.

“Say any word and I’ll stop this right now.” The raw, husky whisper of his voice sent a shiver through her.

She wasn’t certain whether he pulled her toward him or she simply sagged into his arms, but within a hair of a second the desired moment of her daydreams was being fulfilled. Roy’s lips met hers, sending a wave of warmth through her. For an instant, she was terrified when she felt his bulk pressing against her and the strength of his arms, his chest, his legs’ pressure against hers. The man was all brawn. And yet his lips, his hands, were gentle. He coaxed her lips with his tongue, seeking entrance.

As she opened her mouth to him, she felt as if her whole body came alive. She shimmied closer and snaked her arms around his neck, itself a mass of corded flesh. His thick bristly looking hair felt surprisingly soft as she threaded her fingers through it, pulling him closer to her. She was shocked at her own
boldness, and at the force of this mere kiss. In a book it would have taken place on a stormswept sea, or the rocky moors, or in a dark moonlit setting, the air thick with the scent of night-blooming flowers. They were standing in the middle of a kitchen, the domestic air scented with nothing more romantic than baking cookies, and yet Roy’s kiss transported her to all of those exotic places.

His large strong hands managed to both hold her fast and caress tenderly—her arms, her back, her hips. Her breath came faster, her head spinning with the sensations he stirred in her, and she suddenly recognized the heat building in her.

Desire. It swirled inside her, tempting and taunting, an old enemy she longed to embrace.
But this was different,
her mind told her, dismissing all the qualms she’d had for the past weeks. What she’d experienced with Percy Sternhagen was rushed and ugly; paradoxically, the best thing to come out of her encounter with him was the child within her. That baby might have driven her from her old life, but it had brought her here. To Paradise. To Roy.

His hand, which had been nestled on her hip, moved around slowly, and the very core of her womanhood seemed to turn liquid. She moaned, then felt his hand stop and massage her just below the waist of her dress. Just where her tummy protruded most.

The baby gave a little kick beneath his touch and she gasped, pulling back from him, but another arm against her back pinned her to him. She looked up into blue eyes burning so darkly she thought she could hardly bear it.

“You know,” she said, wishing suddenly that he would stop, that he wouldn’t touch her there. Her face was flaming, she was sure of that. She felt she was going to die of embarrassment.

“I’ve known for some time,” he said, his voice still low, still husky.

Still seductive. She fought against a shiver moving through her and forced herself to meet his eye. “Ike and Parker?”

His lips turned down in a frown. “They know too.”

She couldn’t believe it! All of these weeks—probably from the very first—they’d known and hadn’t let on. Confused, she twisted to free herself; Roy held her arm.

“What’s wrong, Ellie? Don’t you enjoy this?”

All her runaway emotions froze inside her. A shudder seemed to wrack her body as memories of Percy came back to her.
He’d
wanted to know if she’d enjoyed it, too; she hadn’t, but she’d pretended to because she fancied herself in love with him. It didn’t matter. He’d still cast her off like so much rubbish.

Now she was far from Percy, yet she still felt like an upstairs maid. Is that how Roy saw her? A thing to be enjoyed? Or maybe he thought her supposed lofty position would free him from any obligation. She’d always heard that widows were easy targets for male attentions. Instead of the flattery Percy had used, maybe Roy thought he could seduce her with little furry creatures.

But it didn’t matter. She didn’t have time to discern whether Roy’s kisses were real expressions of affection or simply male play. Her attraction to Roy had nothing to do with her need to provide for her baby. If she was tossed out on her ear again…

Where could she go next?

She wrenched away from him. “I’m sorry—I can’t—”

She shook her head, wanting to believe the darkness
in his eyes was genuine caring for her, not just the annoyance of having his desires thwarted.

“I must go,” she said, spinning on her heel. Then, feeling foolish, awkward, and ashamed, she turned back to him. She wanted to ask him never to take her into his arms again, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, she blurted out, “Please make sure the cookies don’t burn!”

Followed by her furry new dependent, she ran out to the chicken house to catch her breath and wonder just why she always wound up living around men she cared for, but shouldn’t.

The woman was making him forget the McMillan bachelor credo.

That fact alone was frightening. That Ellie reacted to his kiss much as a lady might react to finding a fuzzy black tarantula in her teacup only added to his chagrin.

Roy walked gingerly down the windy Paradise sidewalk, his footsteps taking him almost instinctively toward the Lalapalooza. Never mind that it was ten o’clock in the morning and he had no thirst for anything stronger than hot coffee. Never mind that it was too early for any of his cronies to be there and up for a companionable card game. Just breathing the heavy air of stale cigar smoke and spilled whiskey was sure to snap him out of the odd mood that had been plaguing him lately. Also, there was a pretty young thing working there, Flouncy, who had a figure certain to make him forget all about Mrs. Eleanor Fitzsimmons.

He nearly laughed. In fact, he gave himself permission to go ahead and whoop real good. He, Roy McMillan, chasing after an unwilling pregnant widow? Wooing her with cuddly kittens and stolen kisses in the kitchen? The notion was preposterous!

Let Parker have her, and good luck to him. As he always said, women were nothing but trouble. If he needed any evidence of how troublesome they were, he need go no further than the Paradise hotel, where his mother was staying. She hadn’t belonged in Paradise, but his father had married her anyway—and look what had happened! She’d run out on them. Who was to say Ellie wasn’t cut from the very same fickle cloth?

As if beckoned by the very word
cloth,
a bright bolt of fabric caught his eye. It was in the front window of Trilby’s Mercantile, and he gravitated toward it as if drawn by a magnet. The heavy wool was woven in a colorful plaid of green and blue; the brightness caught his eye, and he couldn’t help thinking how beautiful Eleanor’s hair would look against it—maybe done up in a scarf or a hat. Her scarf was such a drab gray, it depressed him just to think about it.

His footsteps turned toward the mercantile’s entrance, and when the bell jangled his arrival, he suddenly felt an excitement upon entering the establishment that he hadn’t felt since he was a boy buying sticky peppermint candy. His eyes feasted on the store’s contents as if they’d never seen the place before—so many different things, so much to buy! He headed toward the bolts of cloth only to be sidetracked by ribbons. Ellie didn’t have any pretty hair ribbons.

And then there were also a few ready-made items, like stockings, that Ellie could surely use. She would need some warm stockings for the fierce winter ahead, and maybe a sturdier pair of boots, too. Trilby also had a pair of green velvet slippers that might come in handy for her, too….

Though he stood transfixed by the slippers, something stirred in the corner of his eye. He suddenly felt
the strange sensation he’d experienced once when he’d looked up from working in a wheat field and seen a tornado bearing down on him; only this was no tornado, but Clara Trilby flying at him in a whirlwind of blond curls and frilly dress and heavy sobs. Too late, he stepped back. Clara launched herself at him and landed on his chest with a force that nearly knocked the stuffing out of him.

“Oh, Roy, oh, Roy!” she cried. “Isn’t it just terrible? Isn’t it simply tragic?”

He gasped for air. For a moment he thought he was wheezing; but that was Clara. Tears rolled down her cheeks and she could barely take in an even breath, she was so upset.

“What are you talking about?” he asked.

“That woman who’s got her hooks into Parker!”

Roy froze—or he would have if Clara’s sobs hadn’t been shaking him. Good heavens, Clara Trilby was annoying! He’d almost forgotten how much he disliked her, and now she was clinging to him like a slug on a rain barrel. “Ellie?”

The name brought a fresh wail from his slug. “Oh, that awful woman! What on earth could Parker see in her? She’s so
old!
”

Roy was so confused he could barely take it all in. “She’s twenty.”

Clara looked up at him with distrustful blue eyes, her lips in a pout. “Well, she looks older from a distance. And she’s a widow!” Clara stomped her foot. “Why would Parker want a widow when he could have…well, someone young and unspoiled?”

Roy bit his lip to keep from barking out a laugh.
Young
Clara might be;
unspoiled,
however, was not the word he would have picked to describe her. In fact, she might be the single most pampered woman in Nebraska. Of course she might have used the word
unspoiled
in reference to her state of pristine virginity; he couldn’t speak to that issue, thank heavens.