Loving Linsey (29 page)

Yes, she should be utterly seething toward the insensitive lout.

Except Daniel had a way about him that made even the unforgivable forgivable. Maybe because she knew that under his brittle exterior beat the heart of a tender, compassionate, lonely man whose smile had the power of a pocketful of charms.

And to her continued shame, he made her feel more alive than she'd ever felt before. She only had to remember the forbidden kiss on Caroline's porch, when his touch had awakened a desire within her that she had never even known existed. Or recall the smoldering way he had looked at her just yesterday in the backyard, as if he were fire
and she the tinder he planned to devour.

Linsey shook away the thoughts jostling against each other in her mind and pushed away from the secretary. Lordy, if she didn't find something to keep her occupied, she'd go daft. It seemed that the harder she tried to elude thoughts of Daniel, the more doggedly they pursued her. She couldn't sleep anymore without seeing him in her dreams, couldn't walk down the street without searching for a glimpse of his broad-shouldered form, couldn't even update her will without his sensuous gaze appearing in her mind.

As if coveting her sister's beau wasn't bad enough, Linsey found herself shouldering the ever-growing strain of eluding St. Peter's call. If there wasn't still so much to do, she thought she'd simply collapse on her bed and let eternal sleep claim her.

But she hadn't completed half the items on her list yet, and knew she'd not rest easy until every last task was accomplished.

Drawing the list from her pocket, she ran her finger down each item.

Marry Addie off to Daniel.

Working on it, though she'd plumb run out of ideas.

Make amends to Daniel.

Working on it, despite his fighting her at every turn.

Go on an adventure.

That she'd done, and from heights she hadn't expected.

Bring a life into the world.

Also done.

Contribute something to the community.

There—
that
she could do. And it might even help to distract her traitorous mind from thoughts of Dr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome.

Returning the folded list to her pocket, Linsey paid a visit to the pantry and brought out several sacks of salt. What better thing to contribute to her neighbors than a bit of good fortune?

Twenty minutes later, Linsey had the salt loaded into an old pull-wagon from the garden shed. She opened a painted parasol above her head, gathered her camel's-hair skirt in one hand, and started for town.

The wagon bumped and rolled behind her. She reached the smithy and waved at Mr. Potter, who looked unusually careworn as he sat on a half-barrel, greasing the hub of a wagon wheel. “Good afternoon, Mr. Potter.”

He returned her greeting with torpid effort. Wiping his hand on a rag, he met her at the door. “What'cha got there, Miss Linsey?”

“Salt—the emblem of wisdom, friendship, prosperity, and protection.” She lifted a sack and presented it to him. “May it keep you safe from ill-will.”

“I don't reckon it could make things worse,” he said, taking the offering.

“Are you troubled today?”

He managed a smile, but his eyes remained dull. “Nothing to concern yourself with, but thank you kindly for asking.”

Knowing there was little she could do to ease whatever burdens the man bore, she continued on her way, stopping at each store to deliver a pillar of good fortune. To her surprise, the smiles she received in return actually began to lift her downtrodden spirits—until she walked out of the Rusty Bucket.

Her heart dropped to her toes at the sight of Daniel and Addie standing side by side at the livery corral. Though they did nothing improper—they weren't even touching—their heads were bent toward each other, and they seemed engaged in private conversation.

Intimate conversation.

Realization struck with the force of a whiplash. It was happening. Daniel and Addie were talking.

Linsey had wanted this. She'd wished for it. Planned it.

She'd just never expected it to hurt. Never counted on the stab of jealousy sliding into her heart at seeing the two of them standing so close to each other.

What was wrong with her? She had no right being jealous of either one of them, no right feeling as if she were dying inside.

But the feeling was there despite her wishes—a bruising of the soul, a battering of the heart. Making her eyes sting and her throat tighten. She wanted to grab Daniel to her, clutch him close and never let him go. At the same time she wanted to keep as far away from him as possible, for he had the power to make her wish for the impossible.

Impossible because he belonged to Addie, and because she had one foot in the grave.

Linsey squared her shoulders, swallowed the lump in her throat, and pasted a smile on her face.

And as she strolled toward the couple, she prayed no one could see that her heart was breaking.

The time had come to put their plan into motion.

Several lengthy conversations about Linsey's superstitions had finally resulted in a strategy.

Armed with Linsey's list of last wishes, Daniel eyed the horse penned in the livery corral, then checked his timepiece. “I thought you said she was on her way,” he remarked to Addie.

“She should be, any minute. She's making her way around the horseshoe, delivering salt to all the neighbors.” Addie, too, checked her timepiece. “Where is Bryce? I asked him to meet us at half past one . . . oh, there he is now.”

The towheaded boy raced up to them, a tight grip on the scraggly black cat clawing its way up his chest in a bid for freedom. “I found Patches, Doc Jr . . .”

“Good job, Bryce.”

Addie knelt in front of the boy. “Now remember, hold on to her until I give you the cue, then set the cat loose. She'll run for her babies. Got it?”

“Got it.” The boy smiled, his excitement of being included as bright as a sunbeam.

“If you do your job,” Addie went on, “I've got
a brand-new volume of
Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea
with your name on it. Deal?”

He grinned, proudly displaying two missing front teeth. “Deal.”

Bryce scampered off to hide on the other side of the corral while Daniel and Addie resumed their wait for Linsey.

“I should probably feel guilty for involving a child in this scheme,” Addie confessed with a sideways glance.

“If this convinces Linsey that she won't die, then everyone will benefit . . . you, me”—Daniel jabbed a finger in Bryce's direction—“and even that boy there.”

They finally spotted Linsey strolling down the boardwalk, pulling the cart behind her. Once again Daniel found his lungs swelling, his heart expanding, his damnable desire for her escalating, the closer she got.

“Linsey.”

“Daniel.”

As always, her voice reminded him of warm sunshine and balmy winds.

“We have a surprise for you, sister,” Addie exclaimed, pulling Linsey close to the corral fence. “See?”

“A horse?”

“Yes! Daniel has decided to help us complete your wish list. You said you've always wanted to learn how to ride, so he agreed to loan us his horse and give you a lesson. Isn't that grand?”

She looked at him, suspicion darkening her eyes. “You are going to help me complete my wish list?”

He gave her a crooked smile. “Consider it a peace offering.” Not giving her a chance to question him further, he cupped her elbow and guided her to the black. Addie strolled along behind them, her hands folded demurely at her waist. “First, you have to look into its eyes and introduce yourself,” he instructed Linsey.

She gave him a skeptical look. “Introduce myself?”

“You wouldn't want a stranger sitting on you, would you?”

Her brows pulled together. “I see your point.” She took in a breath, and cheerily said, “Hello, horse. I'm Linsey.” To Daniel, she said, “I feel silly.”

He decided not to tell her that she looked silly, too. “You get used to each other this way.”

She nodded, then turned back to the black. “You sure are a pretty girl.”

“I think he'd take offense to that. He's a gelding, not a mare.”

“Oh!” She dropped a curtsey. “I beg your pardon, sir.”

The horse gave a soft whinny and tossed his head.

Daniel bit the inside of his cheek to keep from chuckling. “Hold out your hand. Let him get used to your scent.”

She followed his instructions, grimacing when the horse snuffled against her palm and left it moist.

“That's great, you're doing great. Rub his neck now.”

With her confidence building, she ran her palms down the twitching muscles of the gelding's neck, along his heaving sides, all the while whispering sweet nothings to him.

Lucky beast
, Daniel thought. A swift image of having those same sweet hands stroking him, caressing him, sent a spear of fire shooting straight to his groin.

“That's enough,” he said, his voice gruffer than he'd intended—but a man could only take so much. “Time to get in the saddle.”

“Are you sure he won't throw me?”

“He won't throw you. He's gentle as a babe.” Daniel bent at the waist and laced his fingers together. “Put your left foot in my hands, and on the count of three, I'll give you a boost. Swing your right leg over his back, hear?”

“I hear.”

Just as she placed her hand on his shoulder and her foot in his hands, a sudden flash darted across the corral. The horse backstepped; the hooves of his white-stockinged hind legs sank into a patch of mud.

“Oh, Lordy, what was that?” Linsey cried in alarm.

“What was what?” Addie asked with mock innocence.

“That thing that ran in front of me—it looked like a cat.”

“I wouldn't worry about it,” Daniel brushed aside her concern. “Are you ready? One, two—”

“No, it's a bad sign when a cat dashes across your path.” She withdrew her foot and backed
up a pace. “Thank you for the offer of a lesson, but another time.”

“I thought you wanted to complete your list.”

She eyed the horse. “I do, but—”

“Linsey, you may not get another chance,” Addie urged her. “Would it make you feel better if Daniel went up with you?”

Daniel shot a startled look at Addie. “Hold on there—”

“You'll take her up on the horse, won't you, Daniel?”

Daniel's gaze flicked from Addie to Linsey, to the horse, then back to Linsey. This wasn't part of the plan. He knew damn well what would happen if he put Linsey in the saddle in front of him. She'd drive him crazy, teasing him with the scent of her hair, the warmth of her skin, the softness of her body.

But he didn't see any way out of it. This had been his idea, after all. And he did have a point to prove.

With a sigh of resignation, Daniel cupped Linsey's foot in his hands and gave her a boost. Once she found her seat in the saddle, he mounted up behind her and wrapped his arms around her.

She squirmed a bit, then held herself stiffly. Her hands gripped the horn so tightly her knuckles turned white.

“You have to relax,” Daniel told her.

“If I do, I'll fall off.”

“If you don't, he'll sense your fear and toss you off.”

“But . . .”

“I won't let anything happen to you, Linsey.”

As if his words had the power to calm her, he watched her muscles gradually loosen. “That's it,” he encouraged. “Now find your center.”

“My center what?”

“In the saddle.”

She scooted backward an inch or so. Daniel tensed as her bottom pushed into the cradle of his thighs; the horse sidestepped. With a gentle pat to his withers and a calm tone, he soothed the animal. If only someone could soothe him as easily.

He tried to ignore the heat pulsing in his loins, the dizzying sensation of all this soft female flesh between his thighs and against his chest. “Touch—” Daniel cleared his throat. “Touch your heels to his belly.”

The black obeyed her command. The motion tossed Linsey back against his chest, then bounding forward again.

Daniel closed his eyes and moaned. How the hell did he get himself into these situations?

He rode with her around the corral, instructing her, until his control reached the point of snapping. Then he gave a gentle pull on the reins. “That's enough. I think you're ready to go it alone.”

“Alone?” she croaked, regarding him with panicked eyes. An instinct to protect her, to keep her safe and sheltered, rose up inside Daniel. But more, he wanted her to feel the
same sense of immortality he'd felt when she'd trusted him to deliver her friend's baby. “You can do it, Linsey. You can do anything you put your mind to.”

Her smile was slow to unfurl. It blossomed like a summer rose, innocent and fragile, and then, reaching full bloom, so glorious that it stole Daniel's breath. The scent of her, the sight of her lips, ripe and moist, beckoned him closer, tempting, tormenting.

In two seconds flat he'd slid out of the saddle and was striding to the corral fence where Addie sat up top with her heels hooked over a board. He leaned against the fence and crossed his arms. If he'd thought watching Linsey ride would be easier on his system than actually being in the saddle with her, he realized his mistake the instant she put her heels to the horse and set it in motion.

Damn, she was beautiful. Glossy curls bouncing against her back, breasts rising and falling in a tormenting rhythm. . . .

“She's doing it, Daniel!”

Addie's voice tore him from the fantasy beginning to unfold. And as he forced himself to see Linsey the way Addie saw her, he couldn't help but smile; couldn't curb the glow of satisfaction. He'd helped her. He'd suffered for it, but he'd helped her, and it was worth it to watch her hair flow in the wind, her smile shone brighter than a noonday sun. She'd caught on quickly, as she did everything, and from the brilliance of that smile, she loved the sense of power over a beast bigger than herself. The horse. The fear.