He slipped his left foot into the boot. His smile disappeared as the oddest feeling came over him. Something wasn’t right. His foot, encased in a heavy wool sock, had become wet, his toes sliding against each other as he wiggled them.
He removed his boot and inspected the sock. Thick, dark-brown syrup coated his sock and plopped to the floor one sticky drop at a time.
Molasses!
He should have been angry, should have raised the roof with the sounds of his displeasure, but none of that happened. As he studied the sock dripping molasses, a rumble of laughter rose from his chest. He couldn’t help it. Vinegar in his coffee, cold baths, now molasses in his boots. What would the feisty, spirited woman think of next?
He almost couldn’t wait to find out.
Exchanging his molasses-covered sock for a fresh pair from the drawer, he finished the last of the coffee Shaelyn had brought him earlier—stone cold but vinegar free—then padded down the stairs in his stocking feet, boots in hand, and sought out the vixen who dared so much.
Remy strolled through the dining room and noticed the table had been set. Warming trays were on the sideboard, one already filled with grits, another with cornbread, a third with small link sausages perfectly browned.
Daniel was the only officer already at the table, uniform clean and pressed, pen in hand, paper spread out before him. He looked up from his correspondence and took a sip of coffee. An eyebrow rose and a grin created dimples in his cheeks as his gaze landed on Remy’s sock-clad feet and the boots in his hand, but he said nothing, simply nodded briefly then went back to his letter, his pen scratching out the words Remy suspected were to his wife.
He pushed open the swinging door between dining room and kitchen quietly and found the object of his search. She stood in profile, wispy tendrils of glossy mahogany hair brushing her flushed cheek. He caught a glimpse of the long, slender column of her throat exposed by the open collar of her blouse and the thrust of her breasts beneath the cotton, which expanded as she breathed. He said nothing, mesmerized by her beauty, and simply watched Shaelyn pour cake batter into round pans then lick the creamy concoction from the spoon.
In an instant, his body responded. Seeing her small, pink tongue against the bowl of the spoon had his belly tightening, his heart rate picking up its pace. Blood surged through his veins, resulting in an almost painful arousal that pushed against the fabric of his trousers.
He shook himself, tamped down the rampant desire shuttling through him, and said, “Good morning.”
Shaelyn jumped, startled, and whirled around, the spoon still in her mouth. A lovely blush stained her face, making her incredible eyes glow as she glanced down at his feet then back up to his face. The blush deepened, rising up from her chest to encompass the soft flesh of her throat.
“Planning to put broken glass in that?”
She swallowed, the muscles in her neck moving. “I wouldn’t waste chocolate like that, Major.”
He took a step closer. Despite the lingering aromas of coffee, grits, and sausage, Shaelyn’s alluring, seductive perfume reached his nose. Remy inhaled and let the scent fill him as he took another step toward her.
She watched him come closer. No fear sparkled in those hypnotizing eyes. Humor? Most certainly, but no anxiety, no panic or fright. The corner of her mouth twitched, as if she tried not to smile, and his heart pounded a little faster in his chest.
My God, she is beautiful!
She didn’t move, although her chest rose and fell with each breath she took. Her mouth parted, her small, pink tongue darting out to lick her lips. If he took one more step, he could sweep her into his arms, press her body close to his, and touch the lips that spread so generously into an innocent smile.
Remy took that step…
Just as Brenna swept into the kitchen, fresh herbs clutched in her hand. Shaelyn’s eyes widened as he gave a guilty start. His face heated beneath her direct stare and he moved away from Shaelyn, who hadn’t moved at all. She still held the spoon in her hand, although now the metal seemed to be misshapen. Had she clutched it so hard she’d bent it?
“May I help you, Major?” Brenna asked. “Did you wish for something special for breakfast this morning?”
“No, ma’am. I was just…I mean…I…” Good God, I’m stammering like a schoolboy!
Brenna raised an eyebrow in question as her gaze drifted to the boots in his hand. “Major, shouldn’t your boots be on your feet?”
“They should, ma’am, however, I seem to have a problem.”
The corners of Brenna’s mouth lifted as her gaze went from the boots to his face, then finally settled on her daughter. “And what is the problem?”
“You might want to ask Shae.”
Brenna slowly shook her head. “I’m almost afraid to, Major.” Humor tinged her voice as if she already knew what mischief her daughter had participated in, but to her credit, she did not smile. Her eyes, however, snapped with laughter. “In fact, I don’t think I will. You and Shaelyn will have to work this out yourselves. However you see fit.”
“But Mama—” Shaelyn glared at her mother, but Brenna held up her hand, stopping whatever argument the girl could send her way. “Yes, ma’am,” she muttered, but she didn’t hang her head in contrition or apology. Oh no, not Shaelyn Cavanaugh. She stood tall, her head held high, her eyes glittering.
Remy thought for a moment as he studied her and tried to devise the most devious penalty he could think of. He couldn’t help the thrill that coursed through him when the idea popped into his head. “As punishment,” he said slowly, addressing the young woman whose stare saw directly into his soul, who dared to pour molasses in his boots, who stood so defiantly before him, “you will accompany me while I buy new boots. In fact, you and I will spend the day together, after, of course, you finish your chores.”
Shaelyn gasped and her eyes widened. The blush that seemed to be a permanent fixture on her face darkened as her mouth gaped open. She closed her mouth with an audible click and swallowed hard. She turned toward her mother. “But Mama—”
Brenna held up her hand. “No ‘buts,’ my dear. You brought this on yourself. In truth, I don’t believe the major’s punishment is all that terrible. Certainly no worse than you deserve.” A long sigh escaped her as she turned her attention to Remy. “In the meantime, there might be a pair of shoes in the attic that might fit you, Major.” There was no mistaking the attitude or the expression on her face when she directed her gaze on Shaelyn. “After breakfast, you will accompany the major to the attic and find a pair of shoes that fit him.”
Remy inclined his head toward Brenna then pushed through the swinging door. He stood on the other side as the portal closed and heard Brenna’s reprimand and Shaelyn’s hotly whispered outrage. For some reason, both made him smile, and he looked forward to—at the very least—an interesting day.
Chapter 6
Remorse. Regret.
Both emotions filled Shaelyn. Oh, not for putting molasses in the major’s boots—which she’d truly enjoyed—but because her punishment was to spend the day with him…and it wasn’t as awful as she thought it would be. Or should be.
In fact, to her utter surprise, being in his company like this was quite enjoyable. He seemed a little more relaxed, a little less rigid.
From the cobbler, where measurements for a new pair of boots were taken, to the butcher, where Remy paid an exorbitant price for a roast and a leg of lamb to be delivered to Magnolia House, to the baker, where they bought sugar cinnamon buns, they walked around town. And talked. And laughed. Despite herself.
Oh, and it felt so good to laugh, even if it was with him.
Who would believe the man walking beside her was the same one who’d invaded her home not too long ago? The one who’d nearly thrown her and her mother out on the streets?
Charm seemed to ooze from every pore as he regaled her with stories of his childhood and the mischief he’d often engage in, though he’d never poured molasses into someone’s bo
ots.
And his smile! Good Lord, even the old ladies he bestowed that crooked grin upon giggled like young girls.
“So what happened to that little girl who stole kisses from you?”
Remy shrugged his shoulders. “She grew into a very lovely young woman and married a good friend of mine.”
“Did that break—”
“Shae, is that you?”
Shaelyn jumped as the familiar, honey-sweet voice met her ears. Even before she turned around, she knew who stood behind her and could just imagine the curiosity burning in Millie Hunnicut’s cat green eyes. She stifled the groan building in her throat. Of all the people in Natchez, why did she have to run into Millie? Why now, when her hand rested lightly on the major’s arm? When she’d been having such a good time in his company, laughing at his stories?
Another groan built in her throat as she turned and faced the woman. Her stomach tightened. She knew, before night fell this evening, everyone would know that she had been seen in the company of a man not her father, not her brother, and certainly not James Brooks, the man she had intended to marry. Worse, the man in question was a Union officer.
“Oh, it is you! I haven’t seen you since…since your father’s funeral.” The young woman rushed forward and kissed the air in the general vicinity of her cheek. “Where have you been keeping yourself?”
“Hello, Millie,” Shae managed, though she wished she was anywhere else—purgatory came to mind—instead of standing on a sidewalk with her fingers still resting on the major’s arm.
“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your…ah…friend?” Honey dripped from her voice, a voice Shaelyn knew Millie practiced in front of a mirror from the time she’d given up short dresses. Never close friends, she and Millie had been thrown together at various barbecues and socials from the time both had been old enough to attend such events. She’d seen, firsthand, the hope growing in a young man’s eyes when Millie played the coquette. Shaelyn’s brother, Ian, had fallen under her spell, only to be thrown over for the next handsome man. At one time, James too had succumbed to those lush lashes batting over beautiful green eyes.
Shaelyn’s teeth clenched together, yet her smile remained in place. Perhaps, if she performed introductions quickly, she could make a fast escape. “Millie Hunnicut, please meet Major Remington Harte.”
“Major, is it? Oh my. And for so young a man.”
Shaelyn rolled her eyes as Millie poured on the charm. She couldn’t help it. And the major made matters worse by taking Millie’s hand in his own and bringing her gloved fingers to his lips to brush a kiss against her knuckles. Millie, eyes almost as wide as her smile, blushed a pretty pink, which Shaelyn thought might be as practiced as her honey-toned voice.
“A pleasure, Miss Hunnicut.”
If she didn’t know better, Millie looked ready to swoon, another maneuver practiced many, many times over the years. A quick pinch to the woman’s arm might stop the fake faint, but she never had the chance. Millie forced her way between her and the major, insinuating her body in such a way that Shaelyn was pushed out of the way.
“I’ve never seen you before, and I know everyone in Natchez. Are you a relative of Shae’s?”
Shaelyn’s jaw clenched a little tighter and her stomach turned. Heat rose to her face, burning her cheeks. She didn’t want Millie to know Magnolia House no longer belonged to the Cavanaughs and she only had a roof over her head because the major had been kind. That would be just the sort of tidbit Millie would need to start spreading the word throughout town, and she needed to stop Remy from saying anything. “It’s been lovely to see you, but the major—”
At the same time, Remy said, “My men and I have been staying at Magnolia House, Miss Hunnicut.”
Too late. Millie knew. The woman turned, a knowing look in her eyes. No sympathy radiated within the depths of green. No kindness either, just a sort of smug satisfaction the Cavanaughs were not immune to hardship.
“I see.” The woman inclined her head to the side, and a smiled played over her lips, as if she couldn’t wait to start gossiping. Which she probably couldn’t.
Shaelyn wanted to hide. Better yet, she wished the earth would simply open up and swallow her whole. She opened her mouth, ready to voice an excuse to be running along, for the longer she stood there, looking at the expression on Millie’s face, the more embarrassed she became. Not only embarrassed, but ashamed, which made her angry, because she shouldn’t be feeling any of those emotions. Many people in Natchez had had their homes taken over by Union forces.
Yes, but not all of them are laughing with the enemy. Laughing! And hanging on every word!
She was saved from making excuses.
“Oh, look at the time!” Millie exclaimed as she glanced at the timepiece pinned to her bodice. She dipped a slight curtsey. “Major, it’s been a pleasure to meet you, but I must be on my way.”
“The pleasure has been all mine, Miss Hunnicut.” He kissed her gloved knuckles one more time then released her hand. “Perhaps we’ll see each other again.”
The words brought more color into Millie’s face, but only succeeded in making Shaelyn mumble beneath her breath. She didn’t miss the warm twinkle in Remy’s eyes as he watched Millie walk away.
Shaelyn watched Millie leave as well and released her breath in a long sigh. Whatever pleasure she’d found in the afternoon dissipated like smoke from a chimney winding its way upward. “We should be getting home as well.”
He said nothing. Did not agree or disagree, but he didn’t move either. Almost as if he couldn’t.
Shaelyn studied him and realized the sparkle in his eye wasn’t from flirting with a beautiful young woman or from watching the gentle sway of her hips as she hurried up the sidewalk, but from extreme and utter agony. His leg, or rather the ugly scar, must be smarting something fierce.
The charming grin when he’d spoken to Millie was replaced by a grimace. His lips pressed together, a white ring forming around his mouth. His hand gripped the silver head of the cane. She glanced at his feet, and the shoes she’d found for him in the attic. He’d said they were a good fit, but now she wondered.
She realized, before Millie had stopped them, their pace had slowed without her noticing, so caught up had she been in his recitation, in the pure delight of laughing aloud. His limp had become more pronounced than when they’d started out earlier and she’d unconsciously matched her stride to his.
He moved, finally. Stumbled, just a bit, not so much anyone would truly notice unless…unless they’d been paying attention, as she did now. She didn’t want to notice these things about him, didn’t want to feel the rush of sympathy coursing through her, making her heart hurt. Or the guilt cascading through her. She’d done this to him by ruining his boots, which, now that she thought on it, must have been specially made for him. She didn’t want to feel these things and yet, she did. She wasn’t so cold and unfeeling she wished him pain. “Would you like to rest? There’s a park not far from here. Or I could go back and get the buggy.”
“It isn’t necessary,” he murmured, but even that short sentence told her he suffered more than he let on.
“Yes, it is. You’re hurting.”
A long sigh escaped him as he slowed his pace even more. Through gritted teeth, he murmured, “Pain is good.”
Though she didn’t want to feel it, she did. Empathy. Compassion. And the realization that she felt these emotions hurt her just as much as his leg hurt him. “You’re a fool, Major. Anyone in their right mind would have rested long before now, would have said something.”
“Shae.”
There was a warning in the way he said her name, but she chose to ignore it. “You wait here. I’m going back for the buggy.”
“We’ll both walk back.”
“Stubborn Yankee mule.” The words exploded from her without thought, without effort. Anger exploded from her, too. With him and with herself. Why should she care? “You really are—”
Dark brows slante
d over his eyes, creating a furrow between them, the warm gray-blue darkening to polished pewter. “What did you say?”
“I called you a stubborn Yankee mule, but maybe I should have said ‘ass’!”
“Madam, you go too far.” His voice harsh, yet strained at the same time, he warned, “I would consider my next words very carefully.”
They were there, right on the tip of her tongue, everything she felt about him and his invasion into her home, the good and the bad, but the expression on his face stopped her from uttering a single one.
With an exasperated sigh, she turned away and started walking up the street. After a few moments, she stopped and waited for him to catch up, though she didn’t look at him, not even when he took her hand, placing her slim fingers once more in the crook of his elbow. Beneath the fabric of his sleeve, she could feel the tension in his hard muscles and wondered what toll walking beside her right now took on him.
The buggy waited exactly where they’d left it, Jezebel’s reins tethered to a metal post in front of the cobbler’s shop, though each step he’d taken seemed to be a struggle. His breathing became more labored, and redness stained his features. From pain? Embarrassment? Exertion? Shaelyn couldn’t tell. And she didn’t ask. Nor did she apologize. She couldn’t. The words were lodged in her chest like a boulder, weighing her down, but even if she uttered them right now, she doubted he would accept.
He didn’t say a word as he helped her into the buggy and limped over to the other side. Perspiration made his face shiny as he climbed in beside her and settled himself with another grimace.
Shaelyn didn’t speak either as he handled the reins, leading Jezebel and the buggy to Magnolia House. “Stubborn Yankee mule,” she murmured more than once, but beneath her breath so he wouldn’t hear. The expression on his face did not invite conversation, nor did it invite insults. By the time they arrived home, sweat soaked through the major’s uniform jacket and his eyes glowed, but not with humor. Indeed, he seemed feverish. And angry. Perhaps frustrated as well.
Mischief and Magnolias Page 7
