Anything for You

by Jo Ann Ferguson

  “You remind me of it all the time.”

  “I do? You’re crazy!”

  Shaking his head, he leaned his shoulder against the door. His body ached from long days of working in the kitchen and being near this woman who would have enticed him even if there had been dozens of other women around. After sitting on the bench all night while he kept the fire stoked, he was ready for bed. He would gladly take her with him.

  He almost laughed at that thought. One thing he had learned about Gypsy Elliott this week: She thought about one thing and one thing only—making meals for the jacks working for Glenmark. Too bad he could not be so single-minded. It would help him sleep instead of tossing on that uncomfortable bunk.

  “I’m not crazy.” He swallowed a yawn. “Just honest when I say I think about you in my arms when I see you flitting about like a bee.”

  “Which I can’t do if you don’t move aside. Adam, I have to—”

  He caught her hand in his. When her wide eyes rose from his red plaid shirt to his smile, he shook his head. “No, you don’t have anything to do right now. It’s Sunday, Gypsy. Let’s take a walk and enjoy the sunshine. It’s the first time we’ve seen the sun in a week.”

  “I’d love to, but I have to start supper.”

  “Let Oscar and Per start it.”

  “It’s not fair that—”

  “Gypsy, they’ll be glad to get away from Hank’s bellyaching about his headache.” He rubbed her fingers slowly. When they quivered in his, he bent toward her to whisper, “And I deserve some time off after sitting up all night to tend to the stove and listen to you pace in your room.”

  She drew back. “You must have heard the snow shifting on the roof. I slept well last night.”

  His fingers under her chin tipped her face back toward him. “Why are you lying to me? Even if I hadn’t heard you with my own two ears, those sooty circles under your eyes tell me the truth.”

  As her lips parted, he knew he did not want to hear her excuses. He wanted to kiss her. His hands framed her face, sifting up through her hair as he brought her mouth beneath his.

  Shock stiffened her, but she softened as he delved deep into her mouth, wanting to sample every sweet secret. When his tongue touched hers, she shivered in his arms.

  His hands slipped down her back to draw her even closer as his mouth trailed along her throat, pausing when her pulse leaped like the flames in the stove. Hungrily, his mouth found her lips again. They were even more delicious than he had remembered.

  “No,” Gypsy moaned, pulling away. She could not keep her fingers from trembling as she patted her hair back into its bun.

  “Gypsy—”

  “No. I told you this was impossible.”

  He smiled and ran a single finger along her arm, renewing the swirls of enchantment dancing through her. “I think we both know this is quite possible.”

  She took a deep, steadying breath. “I need to get supper started.”

  “After we go for a walk.”

  “Adam, I—”

  “You need to get out of here.” He grinned. “For a while.”

  She hesitated. “Just a walk?”

  “Just a walk.”

  “Nothing else?”

  “Do you want a promise written in blood?” He laughed shortly. “You can ask your buddy Farley along if you’d like a chaperon.”

  A smile eased the tension across her lips. “I think he’s probably pretty busy with Rose right now.”

  “Is that a yes, then?”

  “If we don’t talk about this.”

  “This?” He pointed to the stove. “Or this?” His finger traced the curve of her lips.

  Fighting the yearning to melt beneath his touch, she whispered, “None of it.”

  “All right.”

  “Just like that?”

  “I can be reasonable. Once in a while.”

  She laughed. The idea of escaping from the kitchen for even an hour was intoxicating. “I have to get my bonnet and coat.”

  He smiled, then gave her a roguish wink. “Allow me, Gypsy. After all, I know you consider me less than a gentleman.”

  “Do you think you should?”

  “Get your coat?” His forehead creased in bafflement.

  “No. Take a walk.” She touched the crutch. “You don’t want to hurt your ankle more.”

  His fingers slid over hers. When she did not pull her hand away, he stroked it. The sweet warmth burst forth again, but not where he touched her. Deep inside.

  Not wanting it to end, she feared what might happen if she let it continue. She swallowed her gasp of surprise as he drew away. His smile warned her he had guessed what she was thinking.

  “I’ll be able to manage in the snow.” His low voice resonated through her with the power of a falling tree striking the frozen ground. “If you’re looking for an excuse not to go with me, just say so.”

  “I want to go with you. I mean …” She laughed at her girlish shyness. She often spent a rare free hour gossiping with one of the flunkeys or a jack. This would be just the same.

  Wouldn’t it?

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Gypsy tried to tell herself she had not made a mistake. When Adam hobbled across the room to get her coat and her simple straw bonnet with its black grosgrain ribbons, she drew her apron over her head and hung it on the peg by her bedroom door. This walk might give her the chance to learn more about Adam Lassiter and why he was at this camp.

  She reached for her coat, but he smiled and held it up. “Be careful,” she warned when she saw how precariously he was balanced on the crutch.

  “I’m not planning on throwing myself at your feet.”

  “I didn’t think you were.” She slid her arms into the cool wool. As she buttoned her coat, she watched him shrug on his. “You’re doing much better than I thought you would. You’ve never complained.”

  “I’ve complained.”

  Gypsy laughed as he dropped her bonnet on her hair. Adjusting it, she tied the ribbons beneath her chin. “Not about your leg. You’ve only griped about your cast.”

  “The blasted thing crashes against everything until I feel like a clown.” He wagged a finger at her. “Don’t say it.”

  Gypsy smiled as they walked out through the dining room. It was nearly deserted except for a few jacks still reading the magazines Reverend Frisch had brought. She jumped down past the slick spot where the eaves dripped. Turning, she held out her hand to steady Adam.

  “Back away, Gypsy,” he ordered. “If I slip, I’ll send you flying into that snowbank over there.”

  With a laugh, she obeyed. She tensed, but he managed with no trouble. Letting him draw her hand within his arm, she matched his uneven steps. She yearned to put aside her worries and delight in the sunshine, which glittered like glorious diamonds in the snow.

  Shouts sounded from across the camp. When Gypsy waved to the jacks, she heard Adam laugh. “What’s funny?” she asked.

  “You are well loved here.”

  “My cooking is.”

  “No, it’s more than the cooking. They like you.”

  “I like them.”

  “All of them?”

  She smiled as her black boots swept aside the newly fallen snow. They were walking toward the river that slept beneath the ice. “Of course I don’t like all of them. I wish Peabody would order some of them to walk. I avoid anyone I don’t like.”

  “Nice and simple?”

  Gypsy’s smile faltered as they emerged from beneath the trees to stand on the low riverbank. She listened to the thin song of the winter birds, then bent to look at tiny footprints interspersed by a tail print. A muskrat. Standing, she said, “I try to keep peace in my home.”

  “You consider this home?”

  “Why do you question everything I say?”

  “How else can I learn anything?” He grinned and held up his hands when she frowned. “Sorry. I’m just trying to be friendly, Gypsy.”

  “I’ve noticed. But I thought we w
eren’t going to talk about that.”

  He caught her elbow in his hand and the humor vanished from his eyes. “It’s not as if we did anything criminal.”

  “Let’s not start arguing again.” Slowly she pulled away. “I’d like to spend an hour not arguing with you.”

  “Impossible.”

  “If you think that, why—” She paused as she saw his smile. She never could guess when he was teasing her. “If you want to avoid quarreling, you should find something to talk about that won’t cause an argument.”

  He drew even with her as she slowly strolled along the river. “All right. What can we talk about? How about home?”

  “What about home?”

  “Your home, my home, whatever.”

  “I told you. My home is right here.”

  “And mine is here, too.”

  “Really? You live around here?”

  He grinned. “Not exactly right here. I grew up near Ann Arbor. I’ve been to places where the buildings are fancier or the mountains are higher, but Michigan is home.”

  “I know. It’s home for me, too.”

  He paused, curiosity on his face. “That amazes me.”

  “Why?”

  “Every time you open your mouth, you remind everyone you’re from the South. Why do you stay here?”

  She stuffed her hands into her pockets, smiling. “This is home for me now. I like it better than the hot, sticky summers in Mississippi.”

  “Where do you spend your summers now?”

  Flinging out a hand in a pose she had seen in Harper’s Bazar, she said, “Why, Mr. Lassiter, I summer in Saratoga.”

  “And rub elbows with the rich?”

  “Why not?”

  “If you don’t want to tell me the truth, I guess it’s none of my business.”

  “I didn’t mean it that way.” Uneasily she looked at the frozen river. A tight band encased her chest, centering around her heart. Other people had asked the same questions, and she had managed to laugh the answers aside. She should have guessed Adam would not be distracted as easily.

  “How did you mean it?”

  “As a joke.”

  He took her hand and brought her to face him. A wry grin was visible beneath his frosted mustache. “That I knew. I just wondered why you never answer a question about anything beyond the cookhouse.”

  “Maybe because there’s nothing exciting about my life beyond the cookhouse.”

  “No flirtations? No lovers?”

  She laughed. “Can you imagine an adoring swain who would allow his lady fair to disappear into the north woods for months with a hundred brawny lumberjacks?”

  “How about your folks? What do they think of your job?”

  Gypsy fought to keep her face from revealing her grief. She knew she had failed when he drew her down to sit on a fallen tree.

  “I’m sorry,” he said quietly as he slanted his crutch across another tree. “That was the wrong question, wasn’t it?”

  “No, it’s all right,” she whispered. “My parents died a few years ago. It still hurts to think about that.”

  “A few years ago? About the time you came here?”

  “I had no reason not to come here when Mr. Glenmark offered me a job.”

  “No brothers or sisters?”

  “One sister.” She stared down at her skirt and brushed flakes of snow from it. “She’s happily married, and I didn’t want to be the spinster who’s just in everyone’s way.” This was not going at all as she had hoped. Instead of satisfying her curiosity about him, she was answering his questions. Raising her chin, she said, “I have a respectable position. Undoubtedly it would be different if I worked at the Porcelain Feather Saloon.”

  “Undoubtedly.”

  Before he could continue, Gypsy asked, “And where do you go when you’re away from Michigan?”

  “Besides Saratoga?” He sent a stone skidding across the ice. When it slid to a stop near the middle of the frozen river, he said, “Different places. Wherever my work takes me. I like to see different parts of the country.”

  “What place did you like best?” She had to keep the conversation going. Maybe he would divulge more about himself.

  He leaned his arm behind her. Even though the waning sunlight added to the chill, the mere brush of his sleeve against the back of her coat sent fiery delight along her. She did not move as he raised his other hand and swept it across the sky as if building a scene from his imagination.

  “San Francisco,” he answered. “I loved the hills and the sea and the bay and all the excitement of a city coming to life.” His fingertip brushed her cheek, bringing her face toward his. “You’d love it there, too, Gypsy. Instead of staying up day and night to cook for these jacks, you could be dancing and gambling and playing host to the city’s rich.”

  “Not my idea of fun.” She wanted to lower her eyes, but she could not keep from staring at his lips as he spoke.

  “But it’s a lot like Saratoga.” His hand glided up her back, and his mustache brushed her mouth when he leaned toward her to whisper, “We could have fun there together.”

  With a soft groan, she turned away before he could tempt her with another soul-sapping kiss. She was finding out nothing but how much she wanted to be in his arms. She clasped her hands in her lap and fought to keep her voice even as she asked, “Which place did you like least?”

  His smile faded. “South to fight in the war.”

  She bit back her gasp as pain tightened his face. Pressing her hand over her stomach, which twisted like a branch in a high wind, she realized if she had met Adam Lassiter then, he would have been one of the enemy. She easily could imagine him in a kepi cap only a few shades darker than his deep blue eyes. Whether he had worn the shoulder straps of an officer or the stripes of an enlisted man, he had been a Yankee.

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” he continued.

  She nodded, for once eager to agree with him. She did not want to talk about that horrible time when hunger and death had stalked the street in front of her house.

  She whispered, “Now it’s my turn to apologize.”

  “Nothing to apologize for.” He pushed himself to his feet. Draping one arm over the crutch, he jammed his hands into his pockets. “You weren’t shooting at us.” A sudden smile tore the anguish from his face. “After working for you this week, I know you’d never let a man die so quickly and easily.”

  She shivered and lowered her eyes. At his laugh, she looked up to discover his grin.

  He tapped her nose as he asked, “Cold?”

  “Not very.”

  “You’re shivering. Someone step on your grave?”

  With a gasp of horror, she stood. He caught her arm, holding her easily even though he was balanced on his crutch.

  “Let me go!” she cried.

  “Whoa! What’s wrong with you?”

  “How could you say something like that?”

  “Something like what?” His raven brows dipped toward each other. “What’s wrong with you? All I said was—”

  “Don’t say it again!”

  He swayed as she tried to pull away, but refused to release her. “It’s just a saying my grandmother used to use. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “I know. It’s just all this talk of the war and dying and … I’m sorry, Adam.”

  “Me, too.” He gave her a lopsided grin. “At least we aren’t arguing.”

  “I think I’d rather argue with you.”

  “Are those our only choices?” His fingers stroked hers as his sapphire eyes glowed.

  She frowned. “What do you mean?”

  Chuckling, he said, “You may be satisfied with just those two choices, but I’m not.”

  She could have walked away before his lips brushed her cheek. As slow as he was with the crutch, he would be unable to catch her. But she did not pull away. She wanted a moment more of his bewitching gaze holding her in an invisible embrace.

  When a smile tilted one corner of
his ragged mustache, her pulse throbbed through her at the speed of her rapid breath. She gasped when his hand settled on her waist. The slightest pressure from his fingers leaned her toward him.

  As she touched the firm breadth of his shoulder, she was sure lightning had riveted her. Fire raced along her skin, setting every inch of her ablaze. He tugged her more tightly to him. His mustache was cold against her face, but his lips scorched her mouth. Like his words, his kiss teased her. As his tongue savored the shadowed secrets of her mouth, her arms slipped around his neck. She let the strength of his arm cradle her.

  A soft moan escaped her lips as his mouth pressed against the pulse on her neck. When he spoke, the caress of his words sent a tremor to her very toes.

  “Can you be satisfied with less than this, honey?”

  Her fingers curled on his strong back as she whispered, “This is crazy.”

  “Yes, it is.” He etched her skin with the sparks of his kisses, following the ribbons of her bonnet to the very center of her throat. Decorating her chin with the same luscious flame, he murmured against her lips, “It’s crazy to think I could be satisfied with just this.”

  He silenced her question with his mouth over hers. Demanding, his lips pressed into hers as he leaned her back against his arm, his fingers tangling in her hair and loosening it. The strands drifted across his hand.

  With a frayed gasp, she pulled away. She jabbed her hair back under her bonnet and stared up at him in dismay. “We can’t—I mean, we shouldn’t—”

  He smiled as he brushed her cheek with a crooked finger. “Probably not.”

  “I don’t know you very well.”

  “You could know me very, very well.”

  She shook her head, trying to free herself from the web of his silken voice and his touch as dangerous as a spider’s venom. “I told you, I don’t—”

  “Sleep with any of the jacks.” Adam chuckled when that appealing blush slapped her cheeks again. She could speak so plainly about anything but her own passions. “I heard you the first time you said that.”

  “I never said that.”

  “No, you were much more ladylike.”

  “One of us has to have good manners.” She gathered her coat more closely to her as she stepped back.