“What question?”
“Why are you traveling to Turnabout?”
He was like a hound on a scent—he just didn’t give up.
“I learned a few days ago that I might have an inheritance waiting there. And I aim to find out, ’cause if I do, I plan to sell whatever it is so Nana Dovie and I can pay off some debts and make some purchases we sorely need.”
“I see.”
It was time for her to ask a few questions of her own. “Are you familiar with Turnabout?”
He nodded. “I’ve lived there two years now.”
“You mean this cabin isn’t your home?” A heartbeat later, she realized she should’ve figured that out when he said he was a schoolteacher. He’d need to live in a town where there were actual schools and students, not out in the woods.
“This cabin belongs to friends of mine,” he explained. “They let me borrow it for a few days.”
“Oh.” Her mind made a totally irrelevant connection. “Then this Reggie whose clothes I’m wearing...”
“Is the owner of this place.”
So, Reggie wasn’t his wife, then.
Not that that was important.
“And speaking of that,” he continued, “I still think you should take it easy today. But if you do decide you want to sit out on the porch, you’ll find more of Reggie’s clothing in that chest. Oh, and your saddlebags are on top of the trunk if you need any of your own things.”
“Thank you. But how far away is Turnabout?”
“It’s about a four-hour ride from here.”
She glanced toward the window. How much daylight was left?
As if reading her mind, he gave her a stern look. “Don’t even think about trying to travel today. Even if you were up to it—which I very much doubt—your mule is not. Besides, it’ll be dark in less than three hours.”
She blew a stray tendril of hair off her forehead in frustration. He was right, of course. But that didn’t make it easier to accept.
“I want you to know,” he said, looking decidedly uncomfortable, “that I am an honorable, God-fearing man. You’re perfectly safe in my company and I plan to spend the night outside so you can sleep without worry about your reputation.”
As if that would stop any true gossipmonger’s tongue from wagging if word got out. “I appreciate you trying to do what’s proper and all, but there’s no need for that, considering the circumstances.” It said a good deal about him that he was worried about propriety and her feelings, but if he only knew how unnecessary that really was...
Not that she planned to enlighten him.
“Nevertheless, I feel it’s important that we attend to all the proper social conventions while we’re out here.”
She’d be hanged if she’d let him make her even more beholden to him. “If you’re going to be that muleheaded about it, then I should be the one sleeping outside. After all, your friends loaned this place to you, not me. I’m the intruder here.”
He stiffened as if she’d insulted him. “If you think I’ll allow that, then you must have a very low opinion of me.”
Have mercy, the man could certainly look intimidating when he got up on his high horse. Not that such tactics would work on her. “I just think it’s silly to worry about such things at a time like this. If it makes you feel better, Rufus can sleep in here with me and be my chaperone. Why, I’ll even bar the door.”
He stood. “I think I’ll get a bite to eat. Would you like more soup?”
Did he take her for a simpleton? “Mr. Parker, now you’re the one who’s sidestepping the question. Do I have your word that you’ll sleep under this roof tonight?”
His lips compressed and he was silent for a long moment. Then he nodded.
Ivy leaned back, reassured.
She might not know him well, but she knew in her gut that he was absolutely a man of his word.
* * *
Mitch sat at the table, absently eating his soup. If temperament was any indication, Miss Feagan was definitely regaining her strength. She was quickly turning into one of the most independent-minded, strong-willed, intriguing women he’d ever met.
But there were pros and cons to that. While she might make interesting company, she would also need watching to make certain she didn’t take on more than she could handle.
He’d been pleased to see color back in her cheeks. And her hands had almost been steady as she’d ladled up the soup. So physically it appeared she really was on the mend.
That just left the other issue.
He stood and stepped out onto the porch, frustrated by the situation. He wouldn’t sleep in the house with her, of course. But that was just for his own conscience. If word got out that they’d been here alone overnight, she’d be just as ruined as if he’d spent the night in her room.
He had trouble believing she was as unconcerned by the situation as she would have him think. Perhaps she was just being pragmatic. Or perhaps she wanted to relieve him of any guilt he might be feeling.
Or perhaps it was just that she recognized as much as he did that, other than giving them clear consciences, his sleeping outside wouldn’t do much good if word of their situation got out.
Whatever her reasons, however, he intended to adhere to the proprieties as much as possible. A clear conscience was something to strive for. The promise he’d made was to sleep under the roof, and he would keep his word—the roof covered the porch, as well.
Besides, it wasn’t just her reputation at stake. As a schoolteacher, it was important that he keep his own conduct above reproach.
What a tangle.
There’d been a time when he would have prayed for direction, but that time had long passed. He and God had stopped communicating with each other some time ago. Ever since that tragic night over two years ago.
The night he’d killed his wife and unborn child.
Chapter Four
Thirty minutes after Mr. Parker left her room, Ivy had had enough of lying about in bed. She looked down at Rufus as she threw off the covers and swung her legs over the side of the mattress. “I think exercise and fresh air are just the things to make me feel better.”
But first she had to find her clothes. She glanced around. Where were they? The garments had been muddy and damp. They’d also absorbed wet-dog smell from Rufus. Mr. Parker had probably decided to get the messy things out of the cabin and she couldn’t say she blamed him.
Ignoring Mr. Parker’s suggestion that she help herself to his friend’s clothing, Ivy turned instead to her own bag. As she crossed the room, she was pleased to find she wasn’t nearly as wobbly as she’d been earlier. It took her a bit longer to change than usual, but she did it and carefully placed the borrowed nightdress over the back of the chair.
She wished she had a mirror so she could see how she looked. Then she grimaced—maybe it was better that she didn’t. She likely looked a fright with her hair all a mess and her fingers stained from the berries. She pulled the comb from her saddlebag and tried to remove the worst of the tangles without disturbing the bandage. Then she quickly plaited a loose braid and let it fall down her back. With the bandage around her head, there wasn’t much else to be done with it. Besides, Mr. Parker had already seen it in much worse condition so it wasn’t as if this would shock him further.
Taking a deep breath and giving Rufus a pat, Ivy stepped out of the bedchamber. Her rescuer wasn’t anywhere in sight. She paused a moment to study her surroundings—she hadn’t been in any shape to pay attention when she’d first arrived.
To her right was a large fireplace. It was clean and tidy with wood stacked nearby. Facing the fireplace was the sofa she’d rested on when she’d first arrived. Thankfully she saw no signs of blood or dirt. There was a cozy little kitchen and a dining table across the room. The curtains at th
e windows and the apron hanging on a peg by the door spoke of a woman’s touch. Off to one side, a ladder led up to a small loft tucked in under the eaves.
On the opposite side of the common room was a curtained-off area. Another bedchamber, perhaps?
Rufus padded out the open front door and she heard him give a friendly woof. A masculine voice returned the greeting. Well, that solved the mystery of Mr. Parker’s whereabouts.
When she stepped outside, she was greeted by the sight of her missing clothing draped over the porch rail. A closer look showed that the pieces weren’t just airing out but were clean.
Had he actually done her laundry? She wasn’t normally missish, but the thought of him doing such a personal thing for her sent the warmth climbing up her neck and into her cheeks.
“Miss Feagan. What are you doing out of bed?”
She started at the sound of his voice. The sight of her clothes and thoughts of what it meant had momentarily made her forget she wasn’t alone.
Mr. Parker sat off to her right in a ladder-backed chair. He had a large pad of paper in his lap, a pencil in his hand and a frown on his face.
She quickly collected herself—his washing her clothes likely meant nothing more than that he liked everything around him to be all neat and tidy.
Besides, the question about what he was doing with that oversize pad of paper was much more interesting.
And a much safer focus for her thoughts.
As soon as Mr. Parker saw her glance at his paper, he closed the pad, set down his pencil and stood. “Are you sure you should be up so soon?”
Was it just worry for her well-being that put the edge in his tone, or was she intruding? Choosing to believe the former, Ivy brushed his concern aside with a wave of her hand. “I’m feeling much better, thank you. And Nana Dovie always says, sunshine and fresh air go a long way toward healing an ailing body.”
Ignoring his frown, she changed the subject. “Thank you for taking care of my clothes—seems I just keep getting deeper into your debt.”
His expression shifted as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I just tossed them in the lake when I went down to wash up earlier. It didn’t take much effort.”
She could tell he’d done more than soak her things—they’d had a good scrubbing. But she let it pass and instead sat in the rocker next to his chair. Then she pointed to his pad of paper. “Please don’t let me stop you from finishing whatever it was you were working on.”
He sat back down. “It’s just some idle sketching—nothing that can’t wait.”
This man was full of surprises. Intrigued, she leaned forward. “Mind if I look?”
He hesitated, then shrugged. “Help yourself.”
She took the tablet and flipped it open. Then her eyes widened. She was looking at a perfect likeness of a hummingbird hovering over a morning glory. It was done all in pencil, but he’d somehow managed to capture the movement of the bird and the early morning dewiness of the flower with simple lines and a bit of shading.
She turned the page and found yet another remarkable work. It was his horse, contentedly grazing near an old wooden fence. A dandelion was bent by a breeze that had teased some of the fluff from the stalk. Again, the level of detail he’d managed to capture with just a pencil was remarkable.
When she turned the page yet again, she found an unfinished drawing. It was the view from the porch. The railings and support post were in the foreground, and beyond that was an open area and then a stand of brush and trees. A quick glance verified that he’d faithfully captured the image of the tree line up ahead.
She turned and found him watching her closely. Was he worried about her opinion? “These drawings are very good.”
Such God-given talent was surely a treasure to be nurtured and shared. He should be displaying them proudly, not trying to hide them away.
This Mr. Parker was definitely a puzzle—one she was coming to wish she had time to figure out.
* * *
Mitch had watched her closely as she studied his work. He rarely showed his sketches to anyone—it was only a hobby, after all, and much too personal to share casually.
Not that he cared much what others thought.
But her genuine smile of delight was oddly gratifying. “Thank you. It’s just something I do to pass the time.” He took the sketchbook and set it on the table, then changed the subject. “Are you hungry? There’s more soup on the stove.”
She shook her head, then went right back to the subject of his sketches. “Do you ever draw people?”
Was she hinting that she wanted him to sketch her? “Not often.”
“So you do sometimes,” she pressed. “I’d love to have you sketch Nana Dovie.”
That surprised him. “You might do better to get a photograph. Reggie, the lady who owns this cabin, is a photographer and her work is quite good.”
She wrinkled her nose consideringly. “I think I’d rather a sketch. Photographs seem so stiff.” Then she sighed. “Not that it matters. Nana Dovie would never travel this far for something she’d think was nonsensical.”
She looked around then, obviously done with the subject of his artwork. “Where are Jubal and your horse?”
“Around back.”
“And where does that trail lead?” she asked, waving to her left.
“There’s a small lake about three hundred yards down that way. It’s where the water I’ve been using comes from, and there’s good fishing there, too.”
Her eyes lit up. “Is there a spare fishing pole around here?”
“Several. They’re in the lean-to out back.”
“I’m pretty good with a pole and a hook,” she said with a hopeful glance his way.
“Perhaps tomorrow you can try your luck.”
Her sigh had a note of disappointment, but she grinned. “Luck has nothing to do with it.”
He returned her smile. “I look forward to seeing if the reality matches the boast.”
“Challenge accepted.” Then she stood. “Please, continue with your drawing. I’m going to plop down in that chair over in the sunshine and just enjoy the fresh air for a bit.”
Mitch opened his sketchbook as she settled into her chair. She ruffled the fur on her dog’s neck. When the mutt ran off, she leaned back and watched him, laughing and talking to the animal as if he could understand her.
Mitch tried to lose himself in his drawing again, to transfer the essence of the view before him onto the page. But the sound of Ivy’s laughter, the sight of her blissful enjoyment of her surroundings, was making it surprisingly difficult to do much of anything but look at her.
* * *
Ivy watched Rufus sniff the ground, obviously picking up the scent of some critter or other. It was nice out here—warm but with a breeze to stir her hair. She heard the rat-a-tat-tat of a woodpecker in the distance.
The sun slipped out from behind a cloud, and she closed her eyes against the sudden glare. Rufus barked from what seemed like far away, and she wondered if he’d treed a squirrel. She heard buzzing and wondered idly if it was a bee or a deerfly. But it wasn’t really worth the effort to open her eyes to find out.
A moment later, someone cleared his throat right above her, breaking the stillness of the afternoon. Her eyes flew open to focus on Mr. Parker, standing beside her, his sketchbook in hand. Had he finished his drawing already?
Then she noticed the shadows had lengthened and she was no longer in full sunshine. The heat rose in her cheeks as she saw his amused glance. Despite the fact that she’d thought herself well rested, she’d fallen asleep again.
“You must think me a real lazybones.”
He smiled. “You have good reason to rest.” He reached down to help her rise. “Why don’t we head back inside? If you’re not hungry or tired, I can pull out
a checkerboard, if you feel up to a game.”
She took his hand, accepting his assistance. “You’ll soon learn I rarely back down from a challenge.”
With a smile on his face, Mitch let her precede him back into the cabin. The woman was intriguing. She was certainly unpredictable. And seemingly unflappable.
And totally unlike any woman he’d met before.
Shaking off that thought—an exercise he seemed to be doing a lot of lately—he dug out the checkerboard and set it on the table.
As she sat across from him, he raised an eyebrow in challenge. “I assume you know how to play.”
She grinned. “It’s been a while, but I think I remember how it goes.”
Miss Feagan proved to be an aggressive player, approaching the game with more verve than strategy. He won the first two games, though they were by no means runaway victories. Those defeats didn’t seem to dampen her enthusiasm, however. She merely grinned and vowed to get him next time.
He stood. “Before you try again, why don’t we eat?”
She grinned. “I came close to beating you just now. Are you by any chance wanting to fortify yourself before facing me again?”
He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had taken that teasing tone with him. But he found he rather liked it. “I was thinking I needed to give you an opportunity to sharpen your wits so you’d have a fighting chance.”
“Ha!” She put her hands on her hips and glowered melodramatically. “That sounds like a challenge. I demand we play a third game so I can defend my honor as a checker player.”
“After we eat.” He moved toward the stove. “There ought to be just enough soup left for each of us to have a nice bowlful.” She stood, but he waved her back down. “Keep your seat. This won’t take but a minute.”
She ignored him. Naturally. “Don’t be silly.” She crossed to the counter. “The least I can do is set the table. I assume the dishes are kept in here.” She opened the cupboard, then reached inside.
A moment later Mitch saw her sway unsteadily, and he quickly crossed the space between them. “Whoa, there.” He took her elbow and put an arm around her shoulders. “Are you okay?”
Lone Star Heiress Page 4
