“A dare?”
She met his smile with her own. “You’ll be upended before you start.”
“What do I win if I prove you wrong?”
As pertly, she responded, “What do you want?”
His eyes narrowed, but he could not hide their sapphire fire. Slipping his arm around her waist, he pulled her tight to him. She had to fight herself to keep her eager arms from embracing him. The jacks’ eyes were on her, for every man would be amused to see the camp’s kingbee cook in the arms of a flunkey. The story would be exaggerated all over camp by sunset.
“Don’t you know, honey? I want you.” The naked hunger in his voice flayed her heart open, teasing her to speak of her longings.
Putting her hands on his arm, she eased herself away. “I’d enjoy watching you make a fool of yourself again.”
“So you agree to the terms?”
“Why not?” She laughed to cover the trembling within her as she imagined him claiming his prize. “You aren’t going to be able to stay on that log.”
He unbuttoned his heavy coat and slid it past the suspenders over his plaid shirt. “How can any posturing peacock resist such a challenge?”
“Are you sure your ankle is up to this?”
Adam glanced over his shoulder to see her uneasy expression. Only years of experience kept him from showing his astonishment. Although he smiled roguishly, deepening disquiet panged through him. He told himself not to overreact. If Gypsy had suspected he was lying, she would have denounced him. In her kitchen, rights and wrongs were sharply defined.
Once he had been that innocent. At least, he supposed he had been, although he could not recall. His work might be lucrative and exciting, but it demanded more than he had realized. Being alone as he went from one job to the next and doing the best job he could had lost its enticement. He preferred to think of staying in this isolated camp with Gypsy and tasting sweet passion with her.
“I’ll never know how my ankle will do until I try, will I?” Not giving her a chance to answer, he walked to where Peabody sat on a stump and smoked his pipe.
“Lunch time?” the bull of the woods asked.
“The food’s back there.” Adam hooked a thumb toward the sled as another man fell into the river. When Peabody laughed, slapping his knee, Adam asked, “How about me birling?”
“You?”
“Why not?”
Tapping his pipe against his hand, Peabody chuckled. “Ever done it?”
“Not yet.” Adam rested his foot on the stump. “Figure it’s about time I got my baptism under fire.”
“You’ll get wet—that much is for sure.” Peabody stuck his still smoking pipe in his pocket and motioned toward the water. “C’mon, Adam, m’boy. I’ve been itching to give a greenhorn a dunking.”
“You?”
“Changed your mind?”
Adam grinned. He had a better chance against the bull of the woods than Swede. “Naw,” he drawled in a copy of Gypsy’s Southern accent. “I’d just as soon dunk you as any of your men.”
“You dunk me?” He clapped Adam on the shoulder. “It’s time you learn some humility, greenhorn.”
As the two men walked toward the ice-coated shore, Gypsy’s hands tensed on the bark. It crumbled beneath her fingers as Adam stepped on the log. Even from where she stood, she could see his surprise at how buoyant a log became in the water.
Peabody gave Adam quick instructions as well as the few rules. When Adam nodded while he edged along the log, the crew chief raised his hand to signal the start. Before he could lower it, Adam wobbled.
Gypsy laughed when he dropped with a geyser into the river. Quickly she poured a cup of coffee. Hurrying down to the shore, she watched Peabody offer Adam a hand. The crew chief laughed at something she could not hear, but drew Adam to his feet.
Shaking his soaked hair, Adam waded out. The men laughed as he brushed freezing water from his flannel shirt. Someone dropped a blanket over his shoulders.
“Don’t say I told you so, Gypsy,” he said.
“Why not? Now you know falling off a log is as easy as falling off a log.” She handed him the cup of steaming coffee. When he put his hands over hers on it and drew the tin mug to his lips, she was forced to take a step toward him.
Aware of the sudden quiet around them, she was sure every jack was staring at them. She started to pull away, but coffee sloshed in the cup, threatening to burn through her glove. As he took a slow, appreciative sip, his fingers stroked hers.
Peabody leaped to shore, and someone brought him a cup of coffee. Raising it in a salute, he chuckled. “Got your baptism, Lassiter. If you want lessons, come back out here. You couldn’t beat Gypsy at this point.”
When Gypsy joined the laughter, Adam frowned. His damp finger under her chin brought her face up to his and another silence among the loggers. No doubt the jacks would be agog with gossip tonight.
Quietly he asked, “So you think you could do better?”
“I couldn’t do worse.”
He snorted as he pulled on his heavy coat. “You can say that only because you won’t try it.”
“No?”
Peabody gave her a gold-toothed grin. “Want me to dump him again, Gypsy?”
“How about giving me a chance?”
“Why not? You’re part of the Glenmark Timber Company crew. I always said I’d take on anyone who’s eager to be dumped into the river.”
“I’ll have to do it in stocking feet.” She lifted her skirts to reveal her ankle-high shoes.
“You need calked boots for birling.”
“Whose?” She pointed to his boots with the long spikes. “Yours? Or maybe you want me to borrow Swede’s?”
He grimaced. “Gypsy, I can’t believe we’ve never made you a pair. Even Farley has a pair.” With a wry grin, he added, “Maybe Rose likes to see him in them.”
“Peabody, are you going to keep jawing, or are you going to give me a chance to dunk you?”
Pulling off his coat, he motioned toward the log. “Now?”
“Just a minute.” She squatted to unbutton her shoes. Glancing at the mud frosted with ice, she shrugged aside her qualms. Her feet were already soaked, so she could not get them much wetter by walking to the water’s edge.
She kicked off her shoes and smiled at Adam. Her expression wavered when she saw his fury. She turned away, knowing silence was best. He twisted her to face him.
Ignoring the loggers’ astonishment, he demanded, “What do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m going to show you I can birl better than you did.”
“Don’t be an idiot, Gypsy! That water is cold.”
She wiped away a drop from his soaked hair. “As I don’t intend to go swimming like you did, it’s not something I have to worry about.”
“You’re not going!”
His fingers tightened on her upper arm and he drew her toward him. His wet clothes clung to him like a layer of oil on a skillet. Each ridge, each powerful angle of his body lured her to put aside thoughts of everything else.
She found refuge in anger. “Mr. Lassiter, I can make my own decisions.”
“Not when you’re acting as bullheaded and shortsighted as Farley.” Hoots of laughter met his words. His straight mouth was so rigid, white puckered at the corners. “Aren’t you the same woman who called men posturing peacocks? Are you going to be a posturing peahen?”
She hesitated. He was right, she had to admit.
A jack laughed. “Looks like Lassiter has tamed our Gypsy!”
She jerked her arm out of Adam’s grip. When he reached for her, she slapped his hand away.
He snapped, “Don’t let their goading convince you to do something stupid!”
“Stupid?” Turning her back on him, she strode to where Peabody stood near the edge of the water.
Adam glared at the man who had laughed. Clenching his fists, he considered choking the man, but it was too late. That would not stop Gypsy now. He refused to chase her lik
e a lovesick idiot, especially when she would snarl some snide comment and then do what she wanted.
He watched her balance on the log next to Peabody. His gaze swept along her to settle on her slender legs beneath her kilted skirt, and longing tore through him. When she was in his arms, her soft curves pressed eagerly against him. If she saw him staring like a lad suffering his first crush, she would laugh.
Falling in love under any circumstances was wrong. He should evict her from the dreams which tortured him night after night. There would be other women in other places when the time was more convenient. But he wanted Gypsy Elliott.
Gypsy tried to ignore Adam’s worried gaze. Grasping Peabody’s hand, she let him help her along the log.
“Ouch!” she gasped when water splattered on her feet. “That’s colder than I thought.”
Peabody continued to hold on to her as she adjusted her feet on the log. An oddly gentle tone filled his voice. “Nobody would think less of you, Gypsy, if you decided to quit.”
“Afraid I’ll dump you in front of your crew?”
“Not at all.”
She gripped the log with her toes. As he released her wrist, she heard cheers. Peabody slid to the far end of the log. That he was careful not to bounce it as he had with Adam told her the bull of the woods would treat her differently.
Just as she was about to chide him for the unwanted gallantry, the familiar tightness filled her chest. Wanting to hold her hand against her breastbone, she nodded to Peabody. She could not back down now.
He grinned as his calked boots rotated the log. She matched him step for step. Shouts of encouragement came from shore. She thought only of Peabody and the log. Watching his eyes, she was prepared when he sped the log until she was running to maintain the pace set by his longer legs.
She was sure the length of wood had gained life beneath her feet as her breath rasped in her ears. She fought to maintain her footing and breathe.
With one arm out to balance herself, she pressed her hand to her mouth as coughs ripped out of her. The log slowed. Voices made no sense through the cacophony of her coughing. An abrupt motion toppled her backward. Her scream clogged in her ravaged throat.
Hard arms caught her before the icy river could. Gasping, she leaned her head against a muscular shoulder. She closed her eyes as she realized Adam held her. He would not drop her. Her thoughts coiled in a dozen different directions as she kept her hand against her chest. The pain resurrected the dark hours when she had feared she would not live. Then, as now, Adam had saved her.
When anxious voices surrounded her, she opened her eyes to a tapestry of arms in brightly colored shirtsleeves reaching out toward her. The arms around her tensed, and she heard Adam’s taut voice ordering, “Get back so I can get out of this ice water.”
She seized his shirt with feeble fingers when he lurched up the steep bank. A heavy blanket was thrown over Adam’s shoulders, nearly smothering her before someone tucked the scratchy wool around her. She saw Peabody’s concern on his wind-etched face. She wanted to assure him she was fine, that she had had fun, but her throat burned as if scoured by a saw blade.
“You’d make a great jack, Gypsy, if you were yourself,” the crew chief said with a wobbly smile. “Next time, a rematch with no quarter allowed.”
“Peabody,” growled Adam, his voice echoing beneath her ear, “she doesn’t need you to egg her on.”
Gypsy did not argue that she could speak for herself. Remaining quiet was the only way to quell the coughs caught like frozen fire beneath her breastbone. Huddling in the blanket, she sat in the sled as the jacks took their lunch off the back. Even on the way back to the camp, she said nothing.
When Adam stopped the sled before the cookhouse, she started to slide along the seat. His arm around her shoulders halted her. He scooped her off the seat, ignoring the curious glances as he carried her into the kitchen past the other flunkeys.
He kicked open her bedroom door and set her on her feet.
“Go to bed, Gypsy.”
“I can …” Her raspy retort ended in more coughs.
“Get in bed, or I’ll put you in your nightdress myself.”
Heat raced along her face as the flunkeys chuckled. If she protested, Adam would do exactly as he vowed. She shivered as she imagined his fingers on her, resurrecting the ecstasy she had found in her dreams.
Whirling away, she tripped on the blanket. Her dignity was as tattered as the wool. When she heard more laughter, she was tempted to snarl an answer. She halted herself, knowing Adam would remind her that she had enjoyed his mortification earlier. She took satisfaction in slamming the door.
She threw the blanket on the chair and undressed. She was interrupted by another spasm of coughs. With her hand on the footboard, she leaned her head against the cool iron. She slipped to the mattress when her knees refused to hold her.
At a knock, she struggled to pull her nightgown over her head and button its high collar under her chin. She rested back against her pillows just as the door opened. When she saw Adam was wearing dry clothes, she was astounded he could change so quickly. He carried a tray. Except for his missing cast, it could have been the horrible days when she had been confined to bed. She took a serrated breath and tried to hide how weak she was.
“Here.” He shoved a cup of steaming tea directly beneath her nose. When her fingers quivered, he grumbled another curse before pouring some of the tea back into the pot. “I don’t need you spilling this. We’ve had enough of your stupidity today.”
She argued in a hoarse whisper, “I, at least, knew what I was doing instead of making an ass of myself by diving into the water before the log took its first roll.”
He grinned. “You have me there, Gypsy. Where did you learn to birl?”
“Old Vic gave me lessons last winter.” When he regarded her with confusion, she explained, “You’ve met Old Vic. He works in the carpenter shop.”
“That old coot is a log birler?”
She started to laugh, but the cough halted her. Sipping on the tea he had sweetened with honey, she whispered, “He was a champion in his time, or so he tells me. With all the tall tales in the north woods, I never quite believe anything anyone tells me.”
“Even when someone tells you to be sensible?”
Taking the piece of cake he offered her, she smiled. “I didn’t plan on going in the water.”
“You didn’t.”
“I guess I have you to thank for that.”
“I—” Adam turned at another knock. “I told them you weren’t to be disturbed.”
“Don’t be so hard on the flunkeys, Adam.”
“Why not? They’re hard on you. Why can’t they let you rest for five minutes before they bother you?” He stormed to the door.
Gypsy smiled as she hugged her drawn-up knees. She never expected her dashing knight would be dressed in a flannel shirt and denims which clung to his lean body. When he reached for the door’s latch, she admired his hands, which could steal her mind from her with a fevered caress. She sat straighter when she saw who stood in the doorway.
Farley pushed into the room. His anger became shock when Adam grasped his arm. “Get out of my way, Lassiter!”
“Let him in, Adam,” Gypsy said as she brushed crumbs off the blanket.
“Just a few minutes,” Adam said grudgingly. “She’s pushed herself too much, Farley.”
The camp manager crossed the floor, his boots resounding hollowly. He tossed her forgotten shoes on her lap. “What did you think you were doing? Do you think the jacks will put up with swill so you can play games in the river?”
“It would be very difficult to get another kingbee cook now, wouldn’t it?” Folding her arms over her chest, she laughed. “Your compassion is overwhelming, Farley.”
“Why should I care if you want to break your neck? You don’t listen to a thing anyone else says.”
“I listened carefully when I learned to birl.”
“Who taught you that?”
<
br /> “You can’t believe I’d tell you.” When he started to protest, she added, “If you don’t know, Farley, you can’t write to Mr. Glenmark to explain why you sacked one of his loggers.”
His lips tilted in a smile. “Aren’t you ever going to let me win an argument?”
“You won when you sent Adam to work here.”
“So I did.”
Gypsy saw Farley’s troubled expression before it was masked. The camp manager wished he had lost that battle. Was he suspicious of Adam for the same reason she was? Did Farley know of Adam’s late-night wanderings? That was ridiculous. Farley had been busy with Rose the night of the murder. He had not seen Adam.
There had to be another reason, and that scared her.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“Coming to the ’urrah, Gypsy?” Bert asked as he hammered the top on an empty molasses barrel.
“Make sure that’s tight. I don’t want hungry critters camping behind the cookhouse.” When he grimaced at the warning she repeated every time a flunkey carried out an empty barrel, she laughed. “I haven’t decided. It’s been quite a while since the jacks have had to entertain themselves on a Saturday night.”
He chuckled. “I ’ope it’ll be a party instead of a dirge. The lads miss Nissa’s gals. Sure to be moaning aplenty tonight.”
“Is Stretch Helsen’s hand well enough to play the fiddle?”
Bert nodded, his beard bouncing with enthusiasm. “Frostbite’s nearly gone. Didn’t lose a joint, either. Says ’e’s going to play tonight, if Old Vic will bring ’is mouth organ.”
“If there’s any liquor at the hurrah, Old Vic won’t stay sober long enough to toot more than a few notes.”
“Liquor? You know Farley’s rules, Gypsy.”
She laughed. “I know how easily those rules will be forgotten if the jacks want to drown their loneliness.”
He hefted the barrel effortlessly. “So I’ll see you there.”
“Maybe.” Gypsy closed the door and shivered. Leaving her cozy cookhouse on such a blustery night would be silly. After the berating Farley had given her—rightly, she had to admit—she should make it an early night and a late breakfast.
She pulled out the recipe book, which was splotched with stains. With less food in the larder at the end of each day, she must be more imaginative. She paged through the book and smiled as each page resurrected memories until she could smell her family’s fragrant kitchen. That stove had been smaller than the monster here, but it had been just as black and had gleamed with the same chrome accents.
Anything for You Page 18
