by Debra Glass
“A pet?” his mother asked.
At the same time, Aunt Chloe declared, “Not in this house.”
“Told you,” Ransom muttered. The dog whimpered as if to protest on his own behalf.
Sissy’s eyes rounded. “I don’t know about this.”
“I know about it,” Aunt Chloe blurted. “And I ain’t about to clean up after no mongrel dog.”
“That’s the point,” Miss Ryan stated. “It will be Jenny’s job to clean up after him.” She turned to Ransom’s mother. “And the dog will be a great comfort to her at night. He can be trained to assist her.”
“Really?”
“Yes, Mrs. Byrne. I’ve seen trained dogs before. The strides being made in Europe are really quite amazing and—”
“A dog?” Jenny’s hopeful voice rang out from the top of the stairs. “For me?”
Ransom’s breath caught when a hand squeezed his arm. He turned to find Miss Ryan mouthing the word please. In spite of her rigid exterior, she suddenly seemed vulnerable. His stomach tightened and, for several steep seconds, his gaze fixed on her lips. He’d never before noticed how soft they looked. How full.
“Please, Mr. Byrne,” she said aloud this time. She turned to the two protesting women. “Even if the dog proves to be trouble, it will be worth it for Jenny’s sake.”
“I agree,” Ransom said, finally finding his voice. The puppy cradled in his arms, he started up the stairs.
Jenny’s face brightened and she squealed with delight at the sound of the puppy’s whimpers. She thrust her arms out, waiting, and when Ransom transferred the dog to her hands, she gathered the animal close to hug him and breathe in his scent. “Oh, he’s so small!” she exclaimed. “Thank you, Ransom. Thank you, Sissy.”
Ransom chuckled. “This is all Miss Ryan’s doing. Thank her.”
Bottom lip stuck out in a pout, Aunt Chloe tapped the broom on the floor, whirled and stalked away. Ransom made out the words “Yankee girl” and “mongrel dog” as she disappeared.
Gathering her skirts, Miss Ryan rushed up the stairs. “You’ll have to take good care of him.”
“Oh, I will.”
“Or else Aunt Chloe might feed him to the hogs,” Ransom added with a playful lilt in his voice. He turned to Miss Ryan. “By the way, no one’s ever defied Aunt Chloe and gotten away with it.”
“I’m not sure I’m in the clear yet,” she said and smiled.
Ransom stared a little longer than was polite, wondering what she’d look like with her hair loose and flowing and wearing a brightly colored frock. He was so tired of seeing women in black. The war was over, and yet it seemed women wanted to cling to the bitter losses despite every veteran’s longing for some sort of normalcy.
Jenny kissed the puppy, laughing when she was rewarded with a wet lick to the face.
Ransom turned to her and scratched the little dog’s head at the same time Miss Ryan reached to pet him. Their fingers collided before she snatched back her hand, her slightly shocked expression not lost on Ransom.
“What are you going to name him?” he asked Jenny. He tried to concentrate. He really did. But his brain refused to entertain anything except this irritating attraction for a woman who was hardly the type he usually courted.
Admiration. That was it. He admired her for her patience and skill with Jenny. That was it. Nothing more. There never would be anything more.
As for Miss Ryan, she obviously intended to live out her days as an old maid schoolteacher. Why else would she hide what could otherwise be attractive features behind that severe façade?
Ransom held no qualms about who and what he was. His reputation as a philanderer and ladies’ man preceded him wherever he went. When he wished it so, no woman was immune to his charms. He’d simply have to be careful where this teacher was concerned, lest she get the wrong idea.
“I’ll leave you two to your lessons.” Realizing he hadn’t slaked the edge off his lust in a while, he started down the stairs. It’d been too long since he’d had a woman. That’s doubtless why that Yankee woman has me all flustered. Otherwise, he’d never have entertained salacious thoughts about such an irksome creature. He rubbed his jaw, mulling over which widow he intended to pay a visit. That was one good thing that had come out of the war. There were plenty of lonely, willing widows who didn’t wish to remarry, but who did enjoy his company from time to time. A smile played on his lips as he thought of Harriet Bostick. Today would be her lucky day.
“Mr. Byrne,” Miss Ryan called from behind him. He turned and looked up at her. The sun filtering through the window on the landing illuminated her like some sort of dark angel.
“Thank you for your help,” she said before she took Jenny’s arm and started up the stairs.
Chapter Three
Ransom gazed down at the lovely widow below him. Slender arms stretched above her head, she clutched at the sheets, her face contorted in ecstasy. He closed his eyes, concentrating on his own pleasure. His cock plowed into her juicy heat. Her inner muscles gripped him, struggling for a hold as he defied them to pull back and plunge in again.
His chest raked her pebbled nipples and his belly skidded across hers. He drove in then ground his groin against her body. Silky legs spread and alternately entwined with his.
He should be lost in this moment, in her willing body and soft sighs of pleasure. He wasn’t. Images roiled in his head. Cathleen Ryan’s plush lips drawing back to reveal straight white teeth… Black eyes scrutinizing him over the tops of those ridiculous spectacles…
He shook his head and opened his eyes, forcing himself back to the present and the sensual fair-haired woman coming undone beneath him. But the moment was lost. Gone.
And so was his erection.
Harriet’s light brown lashes fluttered open and she gave him a lazy smile as she stroked the line of his jaw. “I hope you derived as much pleasure from this as I did.”
Not today. “Yes,” he muttered before rolling off her.
Kicking free of the sheets, he lay on his back and stared at the green fabric lining the canopy of her tester bed. Clapping a hand over his forehead, he blew out a breath.
“Are you unwell?” Harriet asked, twisting onto her side to burrow her fingers through the sparse hair at his breastbone.
“I’m fine,” he said. “Just…preoccupied.”
“With what, pray tell?” she asked flirtatiously. “I’d like to know what could possibly take precedence over my lavish attentions.” Her fingertips trailed lower.
He resisted mentioning the newcomer to Byrne’s End, her no-fuss hair and clothes, her pushy Boston ways—and the fact that he’d seen his sister smile for the first time in two years.
He stroked her cheek with the back of his finger. It was indeed foolish to be thinking about that bookish Yankee teacher when he had this beautiful creature at his beck and call.
“Horses,” he lied. “My father and Morris are on their way home with the horses.”
“Have you thought about setting up your own farm?” she asked, and Ransom couldn’t escape the winsome but unspoken plea in her voice. Sooner or later, they always wanted more than he was prepared to give—or even capable of giving, for that matter. He needed to let her down easy, to make certain she had no ideas about a future that entailed more than what they already had.
“No. In fact, I’m thinking of traveling. Maybe to Mexico or out West. I want to go somewhere that hasn’t been spoiled by war.”
“Out West?” she asked. “Permanently?”
“Maybe. I don’t know,” he admitted and then looked into her eyes so there’d be no mistaking his point. “I’m not the kind of man who wants any sort of ties, to any place or anyone.”
She lowered her lashes, undoubtedly sorting through her disappointment before she met his gaze again. “Neither am I. Not really.”
He sighed inwardly before rolling out of the bed and pulling on his breeches.
Harriet turned onto her stomach and propped herself on her elbo
ws. “I heard Jenny’s tutor arrived.”
Ransom’s muscles jerked involuntarily. He hesitated but only a moment before he slipped on his shirt. “Yes.”
“What’s she like?” Harriet prodded. “Is she pretty?”
“Not in the least,” he offered, immediately wondering why he’d been so quick to reject the teacher. Without her glasses, she might be…
He shook off the thought. “She’s half-blind herself, but seems to know what she’s doing. She’s already made rather a bad enemy of Aunt Chloe.” He chuckled at the memory of Aunt Chloe’s disgruntled rumblings after Jenny was given the dog.
Harriet’s eyes darkened at the sound of his laugh. “In spite of what you say, I think you like this Yankee teacher,” she teased.
Ransom snorted. “I like what she’s done for Jenny.”
Harriet snickered. “Half-blind or not, the half that can see can surely see you.”
“I doubt she can see all the way to the old house, because that’s where I’ve moved my things,” Ransom said with a grimace. He sat on the edge of the bed to pull on his boots. A vision of the teacher in his old bed, wearing nothing but her nightgown, with all that black hair stretching across the pillowslip, assailed him and he turned back to Harriet to obliterate the unwanted image.
Harriet’s fingers slid over his thigh. “I just hope she doesn’t turn your head. Losing you to some little ol’ gal out West would be bad enough, but I just don’t think I could stomach being beaten by a Yankee girl.”
Ransom laughed. He stood and bent to kiss her. He’d intended to peck her lips and be off, but she circled his nape and burrowed her fingers into his hair, holding his mouth captive as she staked her claim.
This time, he didn’t fight the scenarios in his head. He gave in, unbuttoned his fly, dragged his quarry to the edge of the bed and impaled her, thrusting roughly…
Imagining breaking through Cathleen Ryan’s hard shell and bending her to his will.
* * * * *
Cleaning up after a rambunctious puppy was more difficult than Cathleen had thought, but the dog’s presence had aided greatly in Jenny’s instruction. At least she was up, out of her room and excited about the prospect of learning.
Cathleen had taught her to count her steps to familiar places and then drilled her on the numbers. Jenny was quick and smart, but easily distracted by the playful dog. Once an hour, she’d practiced traversing the stairs to take the dog outside.
It was late afternoon by the time Cathleen finally dropped into one of the ladder-back rockers on the porch while Jenny sat on the steps, wrestling playfully with the puppy.
Because the sky was overcast, Cathleen slipped off her glasses and put them in her lap. She’d never spent any time to speak of in the country before and she absorbed the sights and sounds appreciatively. Monstrous silver-tinged clouds gave the sky the illusion of expansiveness. The stifling humidity caused perspiration to bead between her breasts and trickle down underneath her stays.
By all accounts, life at Byrne’s End seemed as if it should be slow and lazy. It was anything but. Aunt Chloe and Mrs. Byrne worked tirelessly, beating dust out of rugs, hauling tubs of laundry outside to be starched, boiled and then hung on twin clotheslines stretched parallel between two poles to dry.
Mouthwatering scents wafted up from the wooden outbuilding that served as the kitchen where Sally, the cook, had toiled all day to can produce that had been delivered from the garden. Cathleen had learned the garden serviced several families who lived and worked at Byrne’s End.
She’d had an idea of plantation life from the books she’d read back in Boston. Seeing it in action, however, was an entirely different thing.
Jenny’s head lifted and turned toward the sound of hoofbeats. Cathleen leaned forward in her rocker and squinted at the rider.
“Ransom!” Jenny squealed as Cathleen realized the stunning figure in the saddle could be none other than Mr. Byrne.
The puppy tore free from Jenny and raced toward Byrne as he swung easily down from the saddle. Cathleen pocketed her glasses as she stood.
He patted his red mount on the hindquarters and the beast loped off toward the stable. He scooped up the puppy in midstride and started toward them.
Cathleen didn’t like the way her stomach clenched at the mere sight of him. She cleared her throat. She hated to admit he was a handsome man. She had an agenda. She should be immune to those sparkling eyes and those dimples and that heat radiating from his body. She had better things to do than fall at his feet like the simpering belle she’d seen at the depot.
She had resolved not to marry, not to shackle herself to a man and become his chattel. What would a staid, committed-to-purpose woman such as Mrs. Stanton think of her if she knew what scandalous notions Mr. Byrne aroused?
Cathleen sighed. At least she’d learned one thing about women, if not only about herself. Staying strong and resolute in a world where a handsome smile or flattering word could reduce a woman to a quivering mass of nerves was imperative.
She steeled herself as he approached. “Good evening, Mr. Byrne.”
“Miss Ryan,” he drawled with a polite incline of his head. He avoided her gaze.
All the better.
He eased the puppy back into Jenny’s arms.
He stepped onto the porch, causing it to vibrate. Realizing he intended to sit, Cathleen sank back into her rocker. He took the one next to her. His long legs sprawled, making the normal-sized chair look ridiculously small and making him seem incredibly close. “Is that how it happened for you?” he asked.
Unable to think clearly, she blinked. “How what happened?”
“Your senses. Were you able to hear better when you lost your sight?”
“Oh,” she remarked, feeling stupid. “Yes. But it’s not so much better as it is more.”
“How so?”
The scent of lemon verbena wafted on the warm breeze. Cathleen absorbed the knowledge that he’d been in the company of a female who’d obviously bathed in the stuff. A shard of jealousy pierced her but she refused to give in to the unwelcome emotion. “When deprived of sight, the ears will begin to notice distinctions that would have otherwise gone unobserved.”
“Are you saying I have lazy ears?”
“That’s precisely what I’m saying.”
A smile played at one corner of his mouth and then those twin dimples deepened, sending heat into Cathleen’s cheeks. The back of her neck flamed. She averted her gaze and began to rock.
“Does that hold true for touch as well?” Laced with an almost husky edge, his voice dropped in timbre.
Her eyes flicked to his and she realized he was toying with her. And yet she couldn’t do anything but answer truthfully. “Touch most of all.” She cleared her throat.
This time, it was his turn to look away.
Cathleen tried to steer the conversation back toward something less intimate. “In a short time, I’ll begin to teach Jenny braille.”
“Will it be difficult for her to learn?”
“It won’t be nearly as hard for her as it would be for you, Mr. Byrne. It’s practically impossible for a sighted person to learn to read braille by touch.”
“Well then,” he said. “I’ll be happy to see Jenny reading again. She so loved her books.”
An uncomfortable silence ensued until Byrne eyed her skirts. Cathleen drew her feet back to hide the scuffed toes of her boots.
“Might I ask you a personal question, Miss Ryan?”
Dread pervaded her. “Of course.”
“For whom do you mourn?”
The question came as a surprise, especially from him. A scant two years ago this man had been her brother’s enemy, and though it had been South Carolinians who’d put a bullet in her brother, the animosity of the times remained the same. “My…my brother.”
“A brother.” Was that relief or something else that crossed Byrne’s handsome features? He cleared his throat. “Was he killed in the war?”
“
Yes, at Fort Wagner.”
“I am sorry for your loss,” he said and stared across the lawn in thought. “In what unit did he serve?”
“The 54th Massachusetts.” The 54th was renowned for its heroism on the beaches of South Carolina, but mostly known because it had been one of the first regiments made up of black soldiers.
Mr. Byrne’s eyes indicated no surprise. “He was an officer?”
“Indeed, he was,” Cathleen said proudly. “He was appointed by the governor himself.”
“That regiment’s officers came from prominent abolitionist families, did it not?”
Cathleen nodded. “Yes. Our family was hardly prominent, but Arthur and I did vehemently support the movement.” A bolt of righteousness blazed through her veins as she awaited confrontation. Doubtless, he would chide her or tell her she’d been wrong—even though the South had been unquestionably defeated.
But instead of raising a defense, he merely pursed his lips and nodded. His chair creaked as he rocked. After several minutes, he muttered, “Too many good men died in that war.”
He rose and inclined his head, “Miss Ryan, I will see you at supper.”
“Yes,” she said as he bounded down the steps, stopped to ruffle Jenny’s hair then trekked toward the stable.
Jenny laughed when she’d given her brother time to get out of earshot. Wrinkling her nose, she turned in Cathleen’s direction. “Ransom smells like the Widow Bostick.”
* * * * *
Mr. Byrne did not return to the house for supper. In fact, Cathleen ate supper alone in her room because the elder Mr. Byrne and little Charles’ father, Morris Hunt, had returned with no less than five armed riders and a herd of horses.
By no means was Cathleen an expert on horses, but the animals she’d viewed from the window rippled with muscles. Some looked half-wild as they snorted and stomped, obviously wishing to run faster than their wagon train permitted.
Announcing their arrival, Charles had fled through the house as hard as his little bare feet would carry him, and all the family, including Jenny, had rushed out to meet the returning family members.
