He rallied his wits enough to respond. "I take it you think you have something better?"
"Well, for purging parasites, yes." She sounded faintly breathless. "Honey and garlic for the coons, horse chestnuts for the rabbits."
"Horse chestnuts?" he repeated huskily, wishing he'd cleared his throat first.
"They cure worms."
He'd never heard of such a thing. Wormwood was the usual purge of parasites in this part of the country. But before he could question her claim, she added wistfully, "I'm fresh out of black elderberries. Couch grass too. They would have made marvelous preventatives."
He couldn't help but smile. "Are you practicing medicine or tossing a salad?"
She hiked her chin. "We'll just see whose elixirs get lapped up the fastest."
"And which ones have the desired effect."
She averted her gaze, dropping several cloves of garlic into her mortar. As she began to grind, several moments of silence passed between them. Meanwhile, Jamie was struggling to slide back the rusted door on one of the coon cages, and Collie, who'd discovered a hole in the bottom of his pail, was cursing like a muleskinner.
"Michael..." She hesitated, glancing over her shoulder as if to assure herself the boys were out of earshot. "What do you think Gunther will do if he finds out Collie took his animals? Press charges?"
Michael postponed his answer, unscrewing the lid of his magnesium hydroxide, a guaranteed dewormer. In all honesty, he didn't think Gunther would go to the sheriff. Cantankerous loners with questionable business reputations didn't arouse sympathy in judges and juries. The man was more likely to settle the matter himself. It was the "how" of that settling that worried Michael.
"Gunther," he said carefully, "will be hard to appease if he can prove the animals are his."
"But he can't, can he? I mean, coons, rabbits, and hounds are plentiful in this county. They could have come from anywhere, right?"
He glanced into her upturned face, so puckered with worry. He forced a smile. He didn't want her to share the burden of his concern.
"Proving ownership would be difficult," he conceded.
"That's what I thought." She nodded with a touch of asperity, and a flame-colored curl tumbled across her temple. It was a striking complement to the fire kindling in her eyes. "I know it's a terrible thing to say, but I'm glad Collie stole those whelps. Collie told me Gunther shot the mother coon because she tried to defend her babies. And Gunther's been throwing the rabbits—live—into a pit of ravenous dogs to whet his bettors' appetites for the coon-baiting event." Eden shuddered, edging closer, her voice lowering to a fierce whisper. "Berthold Gunther should be shot, or better yet, tossed into a pit with his hounds! What's the matter with Sheriff Truitt, letting that man get away with such cruelty?"
"There's no law in this state against baiting animals," Michael said grimly. "Only a law against stealing them."
"That's ridiculous. Basic human decency should prevail in these cases."
"I couldn't agree with you more. However, the fact remains, if Gunther can prove those animals are his, Collie could be arrested. Truitt's convinced the boy is headed down his father's lawless path. Jamie's got his mother's influence—and his father's money—to protect him. But Collie has nobody."
She was quiet for a moment.
"You care about him, don't you?"
He glanced at Collie. The boy was so busy keeping a wary eye on him that Collie didn't notice he was pouring water on the ground, instead of inside his new pail. A twinge of remorse tweaked Michael's chest. He'd been an orphan too—in deed, if not in fact. After his mother's death, and especially after Gabriel's, he couldn't remember gestures of affection from his father.
"Collie's young," he rallied gruffly. "Wayward. He needs a father. But most of all, he needs a mother. Someone to take the edge off his roughness and give him a good Christian upbringing."
"Have you... ever thought of telling him you care?"
Michael winced inwardly. He'd never been good at speaking his feelings; in fact, his profession frowned upon sentiment. But even if that weren't the case, what good would words accomplish? Collie's resemblance to Rafe didn't stop with his eyes and hair. The boy hated him.
Weeks ago, when Collie's prospects had looked particularly dim, Michael had thought about raising the boy. Collie had always gotten along with Sera, and Michael had hoped she might have enough influence to keep Collie on the straight and narrow. Unfortunately, that was about the same time Michael's illness set in. Without a definitive diagnosis, much less a cure, Michael had decided he couldn't shoulder the responsibility of one more ward. He'd be lucky to find Sera a loving husband before news of his mysterious malady leaked. The last thing Collie needed was to have another parent die on him.
Michael understood that heartache only too well.
A splash sounded behind them. They turned in unison, watching Collie list sideways under the weight of the sloshing pail. His left leg was soaked from his knee to his boot, and he was muttering.
"Here's yer dang water," he growled at Michael, thumping the bucket on the ground. "I suppose you'll be wantin' me to get them rabbits fer you, too."
"If it's not too much trouble," he said dryly.
"It is. But I'll do it anyhow, seein' as how you'll leave quicker that way."
Eden dissolved into laughter as Collie strutted back to the shack. The sound sparkled, like sunbeams dancing across a wind-rippled river. Her humor made his heart yearn. She was more than beautiful, more than desirable. She was alive, possessing an easy, down-to-earth femininity he had always looked for, but never found, in Bonnie.
Despite his rationales, all of which were excellent, he was having a devil of a time ignoring his attraction to Eden. Compared with her cheerfulness, he felt... well, jaded. But under his cracking veneer of weariness kindled a long-forgotten hope. Hope for renewal. Hope for happiness. Eden was like a tonic for his embittered view of the world, and the realization scared him—scared him to the rock-hard bottom of his soul. He hadn't allowed himself to harbor hope, much less dreams of love, for a long time.
He'd liked it better when his only interest in the woman had been carnal.
Like a man wading through quicksand, he forced himself to turn his shoulder, to call to Jamie, to encourage the boy to hurry, hurry with his coons.
"I'm trying, Doc!" Jamie panted, lunging after the eight-pound baby that had somehow unlatched its cage and was now charging playfully around the clearing.
"Head 'im off!" Collie shouted.
But Jamie's foot tangled in a surfaced root. He fell with an audible "oomph," and the masked prankster, making gleeful "whickering" noises, rubbed salt into the wound by dashing over Jamie's knees.
"Get up!" Collie called, abandoning the rabbit cages to lend a hand. "Dang it, he's gonna ran straight fer that—"
The coon scampered up a hickory, and Collie slid to a halt, sputtering an oath about "townie boys."
Michael strode to the tree like a four-star general and ordered the boys to leave the coon alone. Eden didn't dare laugh when Collie ignored him and swung onto the lowest bough. She couldn't resist a smile, though, when Michael, in his gruff, paternal way, fielded Jamie's rapid-fire questions: What if Collie couldn't climb high enough? Did baby coons know how to climb down trees?
Collie proved more crafty than the inexperienced baby, however, and the coon, dangling as impotently from his fist as Stazzie once had, soon found itself locked up again with its masked cohorts. Jamie scolded it liberally.
Collie rolled his eyes. "That coon don't understand a word ye're sayin'."
"Sure it does. It knows its name is Vanderbilt."
"Vanderbilt?" Collie snorted. "What kind of name is that?"
"An important one! And I named his brothers Morgan, Rockefeller, and Harragan," Jamie said, beaming as he pointed at each coon in turn, the biggest one proving to be his namesake.
Collie made a derisive sound. "Didn't you know Harragan's a girl?"
"He i
s not!"
"Is too!"
Eden giggled. The horror on Jamie's face as he looked under Harragan's tail was, well, priceless. Besides, humor seemed the best way to diffuse the tension between the boys, not to mention her and Michael. She'd never dared to hope they'd meet so soon after their kiss; she'd assumed he'd avoid her with even more determination than usual.
Now she wondered if today's chance meeting had really been by chance. Had he lain awake until dawn, as she had, thinking of their sparking? Had he followed her and Collie to this site, hoping to apologize—or better yet, to resume where they'd left off?
She watched him, so composed, so matter-of-fact as he diverted Jamie from the boy's grim new mission, gender identification. Michael produced carrots. He'd stashed the vegetables like cigars inside the breast pocket of his suit coat, and for some reason, this creative camouflaging tickled Eden's heart. Her heart swelled even more to see this mountain of a man cradle a squirming, brown and white bunny against his chest, stroking its ears and murmuring encouragements, as Jamie held the carrot beneath the creature's quivering nose. Eventually Collie, his yearning overcoming his mistrust, uncaged another rabbit and accepted Michael's carrot offering.
Eden wished she'd had a way to capture the image forever: the three males standing elbow to elbow, their feuds forgotten, their faces split by lopsided grins, as they watched their bunnies munch breakfast from their hands. She sensed she was seeing a side of Michael the rest of the world rarely saw. His eyes had warmed each time he'd gazed at her, and his voice had grown husky as she'd moved nearer.
She liked to think he was experiencing the same sweet infatuation that she was, but with Michael, it was hard to tell. He was so intense. His secret self swirled with dark, mysterious undercurrents that lured her as irresistibly as the mountain laurels were drawing the honey bees. A woman could spend a lifetime learning to understand Michael Jones.
She wondered a little wistfully if he would ever let down his guard enough for her to try.
The rest of that morning passed in relative peace as the boys cleaned their charges' cages and Eden worked companionably beside Michael, soothing the animals and searching for parasites. The rabbits were adorable, with their gigantic feet and velvet ears, and the puppies were fun, full of roughhousing mischief.
But the coons were Eden's favorites. Harragan proved to be shy and docile, while Vanderbilt, the smallest of the four, was the undisputed rogue. Ebony eyes glittering behind his mask, Vandy tried to steal Michael's watchfob. When Michael foiled that attempt, the unremorseful coon reached a grasping, handlike paw inside of Michael's trouser pocket. This led to much sputtering and blushing on the good doctor's part.
Laughing at their antics, Eden knelt by the tree stump to offer the baby a penny.
Michael watched in undisguised amusement as the coon scampered through the buttercups and dunked his prize in the water bucket.
"That one is going to be a bad influence."
"Honestly, Michael. What a terrible thing to say," she teased.
Finished now with their examinations, there was nothing left for them to do but pack their bags—or play with the babies. She watched her favorite coon rear up and hook his forepaws over the pail's rim. Whiskers twitching, Vandy was presumably sniffing for the coin he'd sunk; however, the appearance of a watery rival distracted him. With a territorial bellow—which from Vandy sounded more like a squeak—the baby swatted at his reflection, spraying water all over himself and Eden. She ducked, laughing.
But Vandy was outraged to see his rival shimmer back into focus. Loosing a baby battle cry, he scrambled into the pail before Michael could grab his ruff. The bucket toppled, water gushed, and Vandy howled, somersaulting nose over tail until he landed at Michael's boots with a soggy thud.
He whickered sheepishly at the wet human looming over him.
"Oh, no you don't," Michael growled as the baby bolted for the nearest tree. Michael swooped, and Vandy squirmed, protesting vociferously as he was thrust into the ignominy of his cage. His black eyes blazed with indignation as he wrapped his forepaws around the bars. He looked every inch like an outlaw in a jail cell.
Eden grinned as Michael squatted, offering her his handkerchief. "It's going to be curtains for you, Doc," she quipped, "the next time Vandy the Varmint gets loose from his cage."
"Much obliged for the warning." The dazzle of perfect teeth and masculine dimples made Eden's heart take a giddy skip. "But that rascal won't be seeing daylight for... at least a coon's age."
She was delighted. He treated her so rarely to his sense of humor that she'd begun to think she brought out the worst in the man. "Admit it. Vandy's your favorite."
"Vandy, eh?"
"Sure. Vandy, Rocky, Morgie, and... Harry."
His brow arched. "You mean Harriet."
She winked. "Only when Jamie's not around."
He chuckled. She was captivated. The dark, brooding facade he favored had magically melted, and she knelt beside a charming, urbane man. A man who, less than twelve hours ago, had kissed her until her head had spun and sparks had showered her nerves like shooting stars. Oh Michael, she pleaded, please don't retreat inside your armor again.
She wondered if he'd heard her thought. As they laughed together, he rocked forward, his head nearly touching hers. He stilled. Her heart tripped. A breathless moment lay suspended between them. She watched his eyes, indigo now with a touch of silver, as they traveled over her hair, which was damp and no doubt wind-tossed; her nose, which was probably freckling in the sun, and her cheeks, which were growing warmer by the second. His expression softened, growing so tender, that when he raised his hand, she hardly dared to breathe.
"A souvenir from Vandy, I suspect," he murmured, his thumb brushing a dab of mud off her chin.
"Thank you," she whispered.
His inky fringe of lashes lowered. Her pulse skyrocketed. It pounded so hard, she could hear nothing of the birds, the wind, the boys. There was only Michael and the singing in her blood as his head moved closer and his breath grazed her lips.
"Eden." His voice throbbed around her, as deep and rich as the fertile earth. "I—"
A bucket clanged beside them.
"Are you two gonna start smacking lips again?" Jamie demanded.
Michael reared back, his face crimson. Eden blinked, slightly dazed. She hadn't heard the boys' approach. Jamie, his coonskin cap draping his left ear, looked as repulsed by the kissing idea as he had when Michael had tried to explain what worms could do to a dog's heart.
Collie, his muscles quivering like a wildcat ready to defend its young, halted beside her. Eden wasn't sure whether it was Collie's narrowed stare or sheer embarrassment that made Michael climb so hastily to his feet. All she knew was a crushing disappointment, because whatever he had meant to say, whatever he had meant to do, were lost to her now.
"Did you finish watering the animals, Jamie?" Michael demanded, sweeping up his instruments with an economy that made Eden wince.
The boy nodded, growing contrite before that blazing blue glare.
"Good." Michael checked his pocket watch and muttered something that wasn't meant for children's ears. "Jamie, you'd better ride to the town marker with me before your mother hires a posse to bring you home." He jerked his head in the direction of the trees. "Fetch Brutus."
Eden's brow furrowed. Brutus?
A half-formed memory niggled at her mind. As Jamie scurried off, she started to rise, her thoughts chasing dim, elusive specters. Unfortunately, her inattention made her catch her heel in her petticoat.
Even more unfortunately, Collie was the one who grabbed her arm before she pitched headfirst over the stump.
Michael, as distant as Mars, closed his bag with a sharp snick. "Collie, I trust you can see Miss Eden home?"
"I brought her here, didn't I?" the boy growled.
"My point exactly."
Michael gave her a curt nod. She felt like Alice must have felt when she'd shrunk to six inches in size.
<
br /> "Michael, wait—"
She bit her lip. The gaze that met her own proved as dispassionate as... well, a physician's. She struggled with the frustration that welled inside her.
"You were going to say something," she reminded him.
Those placid, blue pools never wavered.
"Right before Jamie interrupted," she prompted huskily.
An alpine spring couldn't have been any cooler. "I don't recall."
She choked. She wished he'd slapped her. A slap wouldn't have stung half as much as his words.
"Please, Michael. Don't go back to being—"
"It's better this way."
Why, damn you?
Tears threatened faster than she could blink them back. He was walking away. He was leaving her, his message unmistakable. What more could she say? What dared she say, with Collie standing like a guard dog at her side?
She stomped her foot. She hated the tear that slipped past her lashes, but she couldn't stop it any more than she could stop the maelstrom of yearning, the girlish hopes and fantasies that churned through her chest, unleashed after these eight long years. Finally, she'd put two and two together. Finally, she'd remembered the importance of Brutus. The man who'd saved her life that night in Whiskey Bend—the unarmed hero who'd bluffed his way past Black Bart—had ridden a black gelding named Brutus.
Collie scowled like a gargoyle after Michael. The boy must have noticed her damp cheek, because his expression grew even more dire. He shook his head.
"I told you he ain't worth it," he muttered.
But Collie was wrong. Just as Sera had been. Just as she had been, Eden realized, recalling her romantic dreams of a mighty champion, a dashing gallant who'd return some moon-dappled midnight to love her and cherish her and carry her off on his black charger.
Michael wasn't ever going to be that gallant.
He wasn't even going to love her.
The knowledge pounded her with the force of a battering ram. Shaken, she was certain she'd heard something crack.
No doubt that sound had been her breaking heart.
Chapter 7
His Wicked Dream (Velvet Lies, Book 2) Page 14
