“Oh.”
The snarl was stubborn, and Connor was as anxious as Birdie not to pull Miss Sophie’s hair. “Almost got it,” he muttered. “Two more seconds.” Her pretty hair was soft and slippery and it smelled of roses. Or was that the sun-warmed linen of her dress?
“There are scissors in the rectory,” she said, speaking to the ground. “Tommy Wooten, are you here? Would you go and ask—”
“Out of the question. I’d sooner cut off my hand than a single strand of this beautiful hair.” And if that wasn’t the most fatuous thing he’d ever said in his life, he wanted to know what was.
She sent him a twinkling, sideways glance, and he saw the color of her eyes. Blue. Definitely blue. “Actually, I was thinking you might cut off the button.”
“Ah, the button. A much better idea.”
“Shall I go, Miss Sophie?” asked a reedy voice behind Connor’s shoulder.
“Yes, Tommy.”
“No, Tommy,” Connor corrected as the last strand in the tangle finally came loose. “Miss Sophie is free.”
She sat back on her heels and smiled, first at him, then at the children gathered around; some of them were clapping, as if a performance had just concluded. Her laughing face was flushed, her hair awry—and she was so stunningly lovely, he felt blinded, hindered, too dazzled to take it in. He remembered to take off his hat, but before he could speak—and say what?—she turned away to give Birdie a strong, reassuring hug.
“Did it hurt?” the little girl asked her, patting her cheek worriedly.
“No, not one bit.”
She heaved a great sigh of relief. “Look, Miss Sophie, here’s what I was giving you.” She held out one bent daisy, the stem wilted, the white petals smashed.
Sophie drew in her breath. “Oh, lovely,” she declared, holding the flower to her nose and sniffing deeply. “Thank you, Birdie.” The child blushed with pleasure. Then she was off, anxious to tell her friends about her adventure.
Now that the drama was over, the other children began to wander away, too. Connor was still on his knees beside the teacher. “Thank you,” she said in her musical voice.
He said, “It was very much my pleasure.” They both looked away, then back. He put out his hand. She hesitated for a second, then took it, and he helped her to her feet.
Patricia Gaffney is a New York Times bestselling author and six-time RITA nominee for her historical romances and winner of the Romance Writers of America Golden Heart Award. She worked as a high school English teacher and a court reporter before pursuing a full-time career as a novelist. She lives in southern Pennsylvania with her husband.
Patricia Gaffney - [Wyckerley 02] Page 36
