Waving a farewell to the inkslinger, she continued toward Farley’s office. She hesitated at the door. If she went back to the cookhouse, she could pretend she had been too busy. She started to step away, but paused as a detonation of coughs cut through her.
The door opened. Farley, as always, looked dapper enough to be working in Detroit. Chiding her for standing in the cold air, he herded her inside. She paid no attention as she fought to regain her steady breathing.
She perched on the very edge of the bench in front of his desk. He balanced on the corner of his desk and clasped his hands around his knee. That, as much as his brusque greeting, warned he was anxious to be done with whatever complaint she had.
“How are things with you, Gypsy?” He chewed on his cigar and tapped it on an ashtray. He frowned when no ash fell from the unlit end. With a glower, as if she were at fault, he struck a match on his boot and puffed on the cigar.
“I’m fine.” She waved the cloud of smoke away and met his scowl with her own.
“And the kitchen?”
“Fine.”
“How’s Lassiter working out now that he’s not hobbling around?”
“Fine.”
Fiercely he clamped his teeth on the cigar and growled, “Then why are you bothering me today?”
“Rose asked me to speak to you.”
His dark eyes widened in amazement. When he rose and began to pace from his desk to the door, a rapid tic pulsed beside his eye. “What did she tell you? As if I don’t know. She wants to leave.”
“Yes.” Standing, she placed a consoling hand on his arm. “Calvin, you’re not the reason she wants to leave.”
“Why should it be me?” he demanded. “Haven’t I given that little whore everything she’s asked for?”
Gypsy ached for him. “She’s scared.”
“Of the wind brushing the pines against the roof!”
“Calvin, you know it’s more than that!” Gripping his wool sleeve, she used the stern voice which worked best in the kitchen. “I swear, if you don’t provide her with transportation back to Saginaw, she’ll walk.”
“She’s that stupid.”
“She’s that scared!” She planted her feet firmly and glared at him. “If you have any affection for her, let her go. Forcing her to stay here is crazy, for a bird will beat itself to death on the bars of its cage.”
“I don’t have to listen to your platitudes.”
“For the love of heaven, let her go. The river drive will be soon, and you can meet her afterward.”
Brushing her hand off his sleeve, he sat. The chair’s loud squeak underlined his furious expression. He pointed his cigar at her. “I don’t know who’s more stupid—Rose, for conjuring up these tales to convince me to make a grand settlement on her before I let her go back to Saginaw to find another lover or you, for believing her. Gypsy, I thought you were smarter than this.”
“I should have known you’d be stupid,” she shot back. “Everything that happens from this point is on your head!”
“Get out of here!”
As she reached for the knob, she was startled to hear Farley call her name in a calmer voice. Without turning, she asked, “What is it?”
He cleared his throat, and she was shocked. He must be standing right behind her. His hand on her elbow turned her to face him. Looking up, she drew away. She found the expression in his eyes disquieting. Calvin Farley should not be staring at her with candid longing. She glanced at his fingers stroking the curve of her elbow, then backed into the door. As it rattled, he stepped toward her. She put her hands up, and he froze.
“Don’t do anything you’ll be sorry for,” she whispered.
“Gypsy, don’t leave.”
“If you mean leave camp, I don’t intend to. I shan’t be forced out by your bombastic orders.”
He reached for her, then stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Is that how you see me? Bombastic?”
“Aren’t you?”
The corner of his mustache tipped up. “It works with everyone but you. Even Rose listens when I bellow.”
“Then listen when she cries out for your help. She isn’t trying to swindle you.”
“Gypsy, you don’t understand.”
“I recognize fear when I see it!”
He put his fingers over hers and stroked them. “She’s using you.”
“Why do you want to keep her here against her will? What will that do but make you miserable?” She withdrew her hand from beneath his with a motion she hoped looked natural. The heat of his gaze seared her as she lifted the latch.
“Just stay out of this, Gypsy.”
“I’d like to, but she insisted you’d listen to me.” With a short laugh, she opened the door. “No one can talk sense to a jackass.”
Farley shouted something, but she shut the door behind her. Since he had insisted Adam work in the kitchen, Farley had been distant. Wrongly she had guessed he was worried about Adam. He was upset over losing Rose.
The scents of lunch and early preparations for dinner greeted Gypsy when she climbed the high step into the kitchen, but offered no comfort. She should not let Rose’s disquiet infect her. Farley’s whore was seeing trouble in shadows.
She snapped terse answers to the flunkeys’ questions as she hung up her coat. Their uneasy voices followed when she went into the larder. Taking down a box of walnuts, she returned to the kitchen and collected the ingredients she needed. Setting them to one side of the table, she checked the rising bread. It would be ready for kneading when she finished mixing the cookies.
Each time a flunkey spoke to her, she answered with a single word or just a nod. She was relieved when they took lunch to the crews on the hill. Peabody’s men were nearly done on their section, but other crews had been sent farther out. She had meant to remind Farley of his promise to set the men closer to camp, but she had forgotten.
Not that it mattered. Farley would have argued about anything.
Gypsy scooped flour into her mixing bucket. Counting carefully, she was surprised to hear footsteps behind her. Fear iced sweat along her back as her heart hung on a single beat. No one else should be in the cook shack. Her fingers clenched on the galvanized bucket.
When wide hands settled on her shoulders, she shrieked. Familiar laughter brushed the loose strands of hair around her ears.
“Adam!” she cried. Calming herself, she added, “Why didn’t you go with the other flunkeys?”
“I thought you might need someone to talk to before you stamp right through the floorboards.”
“If you’re trying to stay out of the cold, I—”
He twirled her to face him. There was no amusement in his eyes. “What did Farley say?”
“What do you think?”
“He refused to listen.” He laughed. Straddling the bench, he added, “Maybe it’s because the two of you are so much alike.”
“Me and Farley?”
“You both hope if you pretend a problem doesn’t exist, it’ll go away.”
She started to reach past him for the walnuts, but paused when her face was even with his. He glanced from her outstretched fingers to the wooden box. With a smile, he pushed it to her.
She said, “If you aren’t going up to feed the crews, you can—”
“You don’t understand, do you?”
“No, I don’t understand why you find this so blasted amusing.”
“It’s not Rose’s fear you need to be worried about. It’s Farley’s.”
She continued to mix the dough. “What does Farley have to be afraid of?”
“Everyone in camp.” He flung out his hands and grimaced when he struck a sticky mound of bread dough. Wiping his hand, he grasped a handful of flour and dribbled it on the dough. “If she leaves him, he’s afraid every jack will think he wasn’t man enough to keep her happy.”
“That’s absurd.”
“Maybe, but it’s the truth.”
She opened the box of shelled walnuts. Cracking them into
small pieces, she sprinkled them into the bucket. “He’d better be careful. Mr. Glenmark won’t want trouble.” She smiled coldly. “Maybe you should speak to Farley, Adam. He might listen to a man.”
“Not Farley. He’s as stubborn as an ox.”
“Then the two of you should get along famously.”
He grimaced. “I suppose you think that’s a compliment.”
“Compared to what I called him, it was.” Spooning cookies onto a tray, she said, “I thought if I called him a jackass, he might come to his senses. I forgot he doesn’t have any.”
His broad hands caught hers and pulled them toward him, compressing the bread dough beneath them. The dough oozed between her fingers, but she ignored it as he lowered his voice. “Sometimes a man has to put aside love for other obligations, even though it breaks his heart.”
She wanted to demand how he could say such a thing when Rose was so frightened. As she stared into his eyes, thoughts of the other woman vanished like snow dripping from the pine boughs. Gold flecks floated in his eyes’ sea blue depths, burnished by the fire within him. His eyes urged her closer and his fingers continued to hold hers under them as he kneaded the dough. The silken texture softened the strength of his hands, but nothing could lessen the passion searing her.
With a gasp, she drew back. “I have to—”
“Bake those cookies?” he asked, laughter drifting through his words.
She was acting like a fool, but better to be a fool like this than to surrender to yearnings whetted by her dream of him introducing her to ecstasy.
Think about work. That always had worked in the past. She had been able to forget her despair and her wants and everything else in the endless, never-changing tasks.
She lifted the tray of cookies and carried it to the stove. Holding her hand near the heat, she gauged the temperature. Her skin prickled, and she knew it was right for baking the cookies. Sliding the tray into the oven, she closed the door and opened the firebox to add a log.
Silently she stepped aside while Adam pushed the wood onto the fire. When he secured the door, she thanked him quietly. His hand on her arm kept her from walking away.
She whispered, “I should be doing something else.”
He took her hands and lifted them to his lips. When she raised her eyes, he bent to brush her mouth. His arms surrounded her as her fingers toyed with the fine hairs above his collar before dropping beneath it to caress his warm skin.
His mouth found the responsive curve of her ear and whispered in it. She did not understand his words as she shivered with the sweet fire of his breath fanning awake her desire. She had no need for words when their hearts were beating with the same frantic rhythm. Bringing his lips back to hers, she gasped against his mouth when his fingers slipped along her side to settle on her breast.
Slowly, excruciatingly slowly, his fingertip inched along her, loosening the buttons on her blouse and sweeping her skin with a storm of sweet sensation. Her fingers splayed along his back. She wanted to relish the seething heat which burned from her to him and back. When his tongue touched hers at the very second his rough fingertip teased the tip of her breast, she was sure she would explode with the rapture.
He pressed her against the cupboards, holding her with each masculine angle of his body. Boldly, her hands swept along him as she outlined his hips and stroked the firm line of his thighs. With her breath straining against his mouth, she ached with the loneliness she had suffered too long.
With a moan, she drew back. She must remain lonely. Until she was sure she was not the curse that stalked her family, she could not let someone else into her life.
“Gypsy?”
She shook her head. “I need to—”
“Talk to me.” He spun her back to face him before she could walk away. “Rose and Farley—”
She interrupted as he had. “Talking doesn’t seem to help them. I wish I could do something to knock sense into their heads.” She did not want to talk about this when her fingers itched to touch him again.
Business, she told herself. Keep it only business. That had worked with Farley her first winter here. Maybe it would work with Adam, too.
Ironic laughter burned in her throat. Did she really believe that?
“You can’t do anything else,” Adam said, and she knew he hadn’t guessed what she was thinking. “After all, you risked your job for a woman you despise.”
Folding her arms in front of her, she whispered, “I do hate Rose. I hate that she’s wasting her life trying to cuddle up with Farley.”
He sat and settled his feet on the crosspieces on the table legs. Reaching out, he drew her down on his knees and leaned her head against his shoulder. “I like you cuddling up with me, honey. Maybe Rose and Farley feel the same about each other.”
“I think he loves her. I don’t think she loves him.”
“He’s convenient for her.”
She sniffed in derision. “She’s taking him for everything she can get.”
“And that makes you angry?”
Letting her fingers enjoy his firmly muscled chest, she murmured, “Despite what you may think, Calvin Farley is my friend.”
“I realized that from the first.”
“You did?” She tilted her head back so she could see the smile partially hidden by his mustache. “What else did you guess then?”
“Some things.”
“What things?”
“Nothing that matters.” His fingers stroked her cheek. “Gypsy, Farley’s a big boy. If he wants to pay for Rose’s questionable charms, that’s his choice. You have to give a man room to explore his foolishness.”
“And what are you foolish about?”
“Don’t you know?” His husky laugh twisted through her. “You, honey. You fill my day’s dreams and my night’s fantasies.”
His mouth spun her into a vortex of craving as he held her between his hard body and the demand of his lips. Her fingers splayed along his chest, caressing the scratchy wool of his shirt. When his lips sought rapture along her neck, her breath rumbled in her ears with the speed of her pulse.
She opened her eyes to his naked yearning. Desperately she wanted to beg him to kiss her, to probe every inch of her with his fingertips, to satisfy the ache deep within her. She tasted the luscious flavor of his lips and sampled the silken moistness within his mouth, offering him the fervent enticement she could not resist.
Suddenly his hands tightened on her. When she gasped with astonishment, he set her on her feet. She took a deep breath to ask what was wrong.
As smoke filled her senses, she grabbed the cloth to open the oven door. She backed away from the smoke before pulling out the charred cookies. With a grimace, she tossed the tray onto the table and waved away the thick cloud.
“Looks delicious, Gypsy.”
Slapping his fingers aside, she admonished, “Don’t burn yourself just to prove you’re a blockhead.”
He caught her by the shoulders and captured her lips beneath his in a fiery kiss. He released her and grinned as she swayed.
“I’ve shown you what a blockhead I am,” he whispered, “to chance setting my heart on fire when I touch you.”
“Go smoulder somewhere else while I try to keep my mind on baking cookies.”
“I never thought anything would keep you from noticing smoke coming out of the stove.”
The back of her hand stroked his whiskery cheek. “Nothing or no one has before.”
Tilting his head so he could tease her palm with the tip of his tongue, he chuckled. “I’ll have to remind you of this when you lambast me for not paying attention to my work.”
“I’m sure you will.” She pulled the spoon from the bucket of cookie dough. “If the jacks are going to have cookies tonight, I need to get these baked.”
He picked up the cooled tray. “I’ll feed these to the critters.”
As he went out into the snowstorm, he was whistling. She smiled as she hummed the same tune. Maybe the worst was over.
For the first time, she dared to believe that.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Cheers greeted Gypsy and Adam as they drove toward the clearing where the jacks were working. Seeing Adam’s bafflement, she motioned toward the river and urged the oxen forward at a slow, steady pace. “Peabody’s crew is celebrating clearing this hill.”
“They could have knocked down the timber with that roar.”
“It’s been a long winter.”
Adam assisted her down and offered his arm. With a smile, she put her fingers on the crook of his elbow. They walked toward the river as if they were strolling along a city street. Gypsy closed her eyes and imagined them wandering along the elegant streets of Saratoga during the day. At night, they would luxuriate amid velvet and silk while her dreams came to life.
Her steps faltered, and Adam asked, “Something wrong?”
The cold wind slapped her face, a cruel reminder that dreams must stay just dreams. Mumbling something, she hurried to a stack of logs which would be rolled into the river as soon as the ice broke. The jacks greeted them with enthusiasm.
Adam’s eyes widened as he looked at the river where the ice had been chipped away. “What are they doing?”
“Birling.” She no longer was surprised he did not know the simplest aspects of life in the logging camp. “Log rolling. They’re trying to knock each other off the log. It’s not easy.”
He smiled when one man slipped off with a splash into the icy water. “Not easy? I could do that.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she retorted with a laugh as the huge logger pulled the other man out of the water. “You wouldn’t have a chance. Swede Kjelson is the best birler in the north woods.”
He leaned on one of the logs jutting out of the stack. “I wasn’t intending to challenge Swede. I know my limits. What I said is I think I can do that.”
“Most greenhorns don’t have any idea how difficult it is.”
“You sound as if you’ve tried it.”
Laughing, she shifted her feet to keep them from freezing. “Maybe, but I, fortunately, am guided by intelligence rather than male pride. I don’t need to prove that I’m better than anyone else in the camp. I’ll leave the peacock posturing to you.”
Anything for You Page 17
