by Griggs, Winnie; Pleiter, Allie; Hale, Deborah; Nelson, Jessica
She refused to back down. “Hogwash. You’ve bandaged me, bodily lifted me onto your horse, removed my shoes and stockings, practically tucked me in—you even did my laundry, for goodness’ sake. Standing on ceremony at this point is just silly.”
Mitch stiffened and she hid a grin. He probably didn’t get called silly very often.
He accepted the clean plate and rubbed it with extra vigor. “Miss Feagan, we’ll have enough speculation to deal with when we ride into town together from this all-but-forsaken backwoods. Any overfamiliarity we show with each other will just intensify that scrutiny.”
She sighed melodramatically. “I’ve never met such a fusspot before.” She’d deliberately used that word, knowing it would get his back up. And she was right.
She quickly spoke up again before he could protest further. “If you feel that strongly, why don’t we compromise? While we’re alone, we use first names. When we get to town, we get all formal and particular again. After all, I don’t expect to be in Turnabout more than a couple of days.”
He frowned but finally nodded stiffly. “Very well.”
She rewarded him with a broad smile as she handed him another plate. “Good to see you can unbend on occasion.”
That earned her a startled look and then the hint of a sheepish grin.
Five minutes later, Ivy patted Jubal’s side sympathetically as Mitch set the animal’s hoof down and brushed his hands against his pants. Unfortunately, she agreed with his assessment—Jubal was in no shape to make that trip today. She only hoped one more day would improve his condition enough to let them get underway again.
As they strolled back to the front of the cabin, she looked at the trail thoughtfully. “You did say there was a lake out that way, didn’t you?”
He nodded. “Thinking about going fishing?”
She hesitated a moment. He was so straightlaced—would he think her indelicate if she told him what was on her mind?
Then again, he’d likely already figured out she wasn’t a prim and proper miss. And the urge to get clean was almost overwhelming.
She tilted her chin up. “Actually, if you don’t mind, I’d appreciate a chance to take a bath.”
He didn’t so much as blink. “Of course. Gather what you need and I’ll show you the way.”
Relieved that he hadn’t argued with her, she nodded and all but sprinted up the porch steps.
In addition to a change of clothes, she grabbed the borrowed nightdress and the sheets from the bed. Might as well do laundry while she was bathing.
When she stepped outside, she discovered Mitch had towels and a bar of soap. He also had his sketchpad.
That last gave her pause. “Just what is it you aim to do with that?”
“While you’re occupied at the lake, I thought I’d search out a spot to do some sketching.”
Of course. He was probably tired of playing nursemaid to her and was ready for some privacy of his own.
He insisted she hold his arm for steadying support as they walked down the trail. That and the slow pace he set had her rolling her eyes. Even Rufus didn’t stay beside them for long—within a few minutes he’d scampered ahead to explore on his own.
Ivy wasn’t used to being treated as if she were fragile and she’d never cottoned much to being mollycoddled. But she had to admit, at least to herself, that it wasn’t altogether unpleasant to have someone so concerned for her well-being.
In fact, it made her feel special.
When the trail finally opened to reveal the lake, her eyes widened, trying to take everything in at once. Everywhere she looked there was something to delight the eye. The sun glinted across the water like crystals from a chandelier. Colorful dragonflies darted here and there A pair of turtles sunned on a half-submerged log as a hawk skimmed the air high overhead.
She turned and touched his arm. “It’s perfect. And the water looks so inviting—I can’t wait to wade in.”
He glanced at her hand on his sleeve and she quickly removed it, embarrassed by her impulsive gesture.
But his expression didn’t change. “Then I’ll leave you to it. And don’t worry. It’s not deep on this end, and it’s entirely private.” He took a step back. “I’ll be up the trail just a little ways, close enough to hear if you call. Take whatever time you need.”
Ivy watched him until he rounded a turn. Then she began unbraiding her hair. If she had to be stuck somewhere while Jubal healed, this was not a bad place to be.
And the company was quite nice, as well.
In fact, if she weren’t in such a hurry to get back and check on Nana Dovie, she wouldn’t mind the delay at all.
*
Mitch found a comfortable spot and settled on the ground with his back against a tree. He heard her break out in song and smiled at her slightly off-key but enthusiastic rendition of “Shall We Gather at the River?” as he opened his sketchbook.
Even injured, she was the most attack-life-head-on woman he’d ever met. Now that she was feeling better, she was definitely a force to be reckoned with. It was exhausting just being around her.
And strangely exhilarating, as well.
Did she really think him a fusspot? He wasn’t exactly certain what that was, but it definitely didn’t sound flattering. He had to admit, if only to himself, that it had been her name-calling that had made him give in on the subject of using first names. Was he so easily manipulated?
But the smile she’d given him when he capitulated had seemed strangely compelling. It had been quite some time since anyone had looked at him with such unabashed approval.
Shaking off the thought, Mitch took up his pencil and waited for inspiration. Normally he had no trouble finding a subject, but for some reason today was different. He finally settled on the image of the turtles sunning down by the lake.
Forty-five minutes later, Mitch looked up to see Ivy approaching. Her still-damp hair was loosely braided and she carried a load of wet laundry. The smile on her face reflected satisfaction and her eyes sparkled.
Her pleasure was infectious.
Closing his sketchbook, he stood and moved to meet her.
“Sorry I took so long,” she said, “but the water felt absolutely wonderful and I didn’t want to get out.” She nodded toward his sketchbook. “Did you get any drawing done?”
“I did.” He set his pad and pencil down. “Here, let’s swap. I’ll take those wet things from you and you take my sketch pad.”
To his surprise, she didn’t argue, but merely said thank you as she surrendered her load of soggy laundry.
Then he discovered why. As soon as she retrieved his pad, she opened it and studied the image inside. “It’s beautiful. You have such a wonderful God-given talent.”
Ivy certainly had a way about her.
“I see why you like coming here,” she said, interrupting his thoughts. “It’s such a marvelous place.”
“It’s only my second visit, but I’m enjoying this visit more than the first.” He was definitely enjoying the company more than he had that first time.
She gave him a questioning look. Then her gaze sharpened. “Aren’t those blackberries?”
Mitch followed the line of her gaze. “What do you know, a few end-of-season stragglers.”
She was already moving toward the brambly vines, and before he could so much as blink, she had popped one in her mouth. She closed her eyes and tilted her chin up. “Mmm.”
He watched, captivated by her expression of pure bliss. He couldn’t have moved if his boots were on fire.
She opened her eyes again.
“You should try some of these. They’re really good.” Then she looked contrite. “Oh, your hands are full. Allow me.”
She plucked a couple of berries and held them up to him. Without a word, he opened his mouth. Their eyes locked and she froze with her hand inches from his lips. Her eyes widened and her breath hitched. They were so close, he could count the freckles on her nose if he tried. He knew he should step back, b
ut for the life of him he couldn’t do it. But closer, oh, yes, he could move closer with very little effort.
Then Rufus returned and Ivy took a step back.
Mitch silently berated himself. The temptation to kiss her had caught him unawares, surprising him with its swift intensity. But that was no excuse. He should have had tighter control of himself. What would have happened if Rufus hadn’t interrupted them?
He’d assured her he was an honorable man, that she had nothing to fear from him. Did she still believe it?
Did he?
His earlier thoughts about enjoying her company had come back to haunt him. For the first time since Gretchen’s death he’d let his guard down enough to take pleasure in a woman’s company. And look what had happened.
What was it about Ivy that she could get under his skin so easily?
Then he focused on her again.
Her cheeks were a becoming shade of pink, her expression reflected confusion. He felt a cad for having done that to her.
She turned to greet her dog, giving them both an opportunity to gather their composure.
He knew offering an apology would only make matters worse. His best course of action was to get things back on an easy, comfortable footing.
He cleared his throat. “What do you say we try out those cane poles? I’ve a hankering for some fried fish for lunch.”
“That sounds like fun.” She stood. “I seem to recall I’m supposed to show you how it’s done.”
He was relieved to see she’d already recovered some of her spirit. “Is that a challenge?”
“Yes, sir, I do believe it is.”
*
Ivy arranged the wet laundry on the porch railings. As soon as they’d made it back to the cabin, Mitch had disappeared around back to fetch the poles.
She wasn’t sure what had happened back there, but she was fairly certain it had been her fault. And she’d hate to think she’d done anything to make him think less of her. What on earth had she been thinking, offering to feed him those berries?
Mitch reappeared carrying a pair of cane poles and leading his horse.
She nodded toward Seeley. “Are you going somewhere?”
“Since we’re headed to the lake, I thought I’d refill the water barrel.”
She frowned. “You use your horse for that?”
“Yep.”
Puzzled, she watched as he maneuvered Seeley so the animal was backed up to the barrel. She moved closer and discovered the barrel sat on a low wooden platform outfitted with wheels. “How clever.”
“Reggie’s husband built it. It has a harness so you can hitch a horse for easy transport.”
She nodded appreciatively. “That would definitely save lots of time and effort hauling buckets of water.”
“That’s the idea.” Mitch started fitting his horse with the special harness. “I figure, once I fill it, Seeley can graze until we’re done fishing.”
He had the horse hitched in short order and then they retraced their steps to the lake.
“If I help you fill the barrel,” she offered, “it’ll get done in half the time.”
“No need—I’ve got the job in hand and it won’t take long.”
She knew he was mollycoddling her again, but before she could protest he picked up the small spade he’d brought along.
“I’ll dig some worms for you so you can start fishing while I fill the barrel.”
“No need,” she said, mimicking him, “I’ve got that job well in hand.”
That nudged his brow up a notch. “You plan to collect your own worms?”
“Of course.” It wasn’t as if she’d had anyone around to do it for her back home.
“And bait your own hooks?”
He seemed even more surprised at that. She supposed it wasn’t the most ladylike of tasks. But she refused to apologize for it. “It’s like threading a needle.”
That teased a grin from him. “I suppose that’s one way of looking at it.”
She watched surreptitiously as he scooped water with the pail and dumped it into the barrel. His very broad, solid back was to her. She didn’t figure there was much as could stand against a man with a back like that. Especially one with as good a heart as Mitch seemed to have.
That combination of strength and heart was mighty attractive in a man. A woman would be lucky to have a man like Mitch looking out for her.
For a heartbeat she recalled that moment on the trail, how the light in his eyes had deepened as he’d stared at her and everything else had seemed to fall away. Then she gave her head a shake and quickly turned to bait her hook.
As she dropped her line in the water, she noticed a slight tremble in her hands.
*
As they cleaned their catch at the water’s edge, Ivy argued that her five fish to his three clearly indicated she was the better fisherman. He insisted it was more about the quality of the catch and his three easily outweighed her five.
Ivy enjoyed their spirited discussion—it was the kind comfortable friends would have. And she hadn’t had a friend like that in a long time, thanks to the outcast status Lester Stokes had foisted on her.
When they arrived back at the cabin, Ivy left Mitch to tend to Seeley while she went inside with the fish. Poking around in the kitchen, she found cornmeal, salt and a small crock with bacon grease. She also found a jar of pickled tomatoes—just the thing to go with pan-fried fish.
By the time she had all the fixings for their meal gathered up, Mitch had returned. “Thanks again for taking care of the animals,” she said.
He merely nodded. For a schoolteacher he certainly wasn’t talkative. Was he this way in his classroom, too?
Then he waved toward the stove. “I can do the cooking,” he said. “You’ve had an active morning for someone still recuperating.” His serious expression lightened as he gave a lopsided smile. “I’m not much of a cook, but I do know how to fry fish.”
She shook her head. “It’s your turn to sample my cooking.”
He didn’t argue further, but she felt him watching while she worked. As she added cornmeal and seasoning to the fish, she asked, “You said you’re a schoolteacher—is drawing one of the things you teach your students?”
“No.”
It was like squeezing tears from a rock to get him to elaborate on anything. “Why? I reckon there’s some who’d enjoy those lessons more than reading and ’rithmetic.”
“But reading and arithmetic, along with geography, history and literature, are the more important things for them to learn.”
“You know all those subjects?” she asked.
“I know something about all of them. What I don’t know I find in the books I teach from.”
She glanced over her shoulder. “So you draw, fish, rescue injured travelers and have a lot of book learning. That’s quite a list of talents.”
He gave that crooked smile again. “You make it sound more impressive than it is. I have faults enough to offset those talents, believe me.”
She turned the fish in the skillet. Was he just being modest or did he think so little of himself? “Have you always lived in Turnabout?”
“No, I moved there about two years ago.”
“Where did you live before that?”
“Pennsylvania, near Philadelphia.” His tone implied the topic was off-limits.
Which, naturally, piqued her curiosity. She decided to see if coming at it sideways would make him more forthcoming.
“Philadelphia—that’s over on the East Coast, isn’t it? Seems like that’s a far piece from here.”
Some of the tension she’d heard in his voice eased. “About fourteen hundred miles.”
She looked at him over her shoulder. “Oh, my stars, you traveled all that way? Whatever for?” She couldn’t even imagine such a distance, or why someone would cross it to come here.
But his expression had closed off again. “I was ready for a change, and moving all the way to Texas seemed like a good start.”
>
It appeared she’d gotten too close to whatever it was he didn’t want to talk about. Time to drop the subject—she owed him that courtesy at least. Did it have something to do with his deceased wife? Had grief put that bleak shadow in his expression? Or was it something more? She was human enough to be curious.
Very curious.
*
Mitch didn’t want to think about his life back in Philadelphia, much less discuss it. He’d rather forget that period of his life.
As if he ever could.
“How are those fish coming along?” he asked.
“Just about done.”
He crossed the room to get the dishes and set a couple of plates in easy reach for her. Then he filled a pair of glasses from the jug of water he’d brought inside. In short order they were seated and ready to dig into their meal. “This is quite good,” he said after taking his first bite.
Her cheeks pinkened in pleasure. “Glad you like it. Nana Dovie used to do most of the cooking at our place. Lately, though, she’s been insisting I do more of it.”
He saw the slight furrow of her brow. “And that worries you?”
“It’s as if she’s trying to prepare me for life without her.”
“Perhaps she’s merely preparing you for when you marry and have a kitchen of your own to manage.”
Her expression closed off. What nerve had he struck? Didn’t she dream of marriage the way other females did?
She made a noncommittal sound and focused on eating. Then she pointed her fork at him. “Have you always liked to draw?”
“I suppose.”
“Did you take lessons?”
“No, just trial and error.”
“Were you a schoolteacher back in Philadelphia?”
She certainly wasn’t shy with her questions. “For a time. Then I bought a farm and worked that for a while.” Which brought him back to memories he didn’t want to relive.
He speared another bite of fish and changed the subject. “When you’re not traveling long distances to claim an unspecified inheritance, what do you enjoy doing?”
“Working in the garden,” she said without hesitation. “And I’m good at it, if I do say so myself. Nana Dovie says I have the greenest thumb she ever did see.”
