Wendy Lindstrom

by Kissing in the Dark

  Relax him? Her touch snapped his body to attention. His stomach muscles quivered and his thighs tensed. His heart thudded so hard it vibrated his rib cage. Damn, he was reacting to her stroking hands like a boy experiencing his first romantic moment with a lady.

  Her thumbs traced the sore muscles beneath his shoulder blade, and he willed his body to settle down. She moved her fingers upward along his spine, then pinched lightly across the crest of his shoulder. The tension in his neck melted by degrees as she worked downward to the muscles in his upper arm. He could hear Iris and Aster talking as they worked together in the greenhouse, and Faith’s soft breathing near his ear as she leaned over him. A hint of flowers and mint and almond teased his nose, and he wondered if the nice smell was the oil or Faith. Her touch was innocent and pleasing, but his aroused body leapt at every sweep of her palms over his skin. A man would have to be dead, or completely in love with another woman, not to be aroused by Faith’s stimulating fingers.

  “Lie down, Sheriff.”

  “Do what?” he asked, astonished at her boldness and at his eagerness to do whatever she desired.

  “I’m going to stretch your muscles.” Her soft hands pressed him toward the table. “I can’t do it with you sitting.”

  He yielded to her touch and lay on his back, wanting to see how far she would take this “massage.” The table was several inches wider than his shoulders, but his heels hung off the end.

  She clasped his wrist, but her fingers didn’t come close to encircling it. “Your muscles are so tight they’re restricting your movement.” She cupped her other hand beneath his elbow. “I’m going to lift your arm above your head and exert pressure. Tell me when you can’t bear it.”

  She was going to kill him. He braced for the pain, knowing it was going to hurt like hell, but when she raised his arm, his breath exploded outward through his clenched teeth. “Sweet Jesus!” he hissed. It felt as if she’d driven a spike into his shoulder socket.

  She lowered his arm an inch, which blessedly allowed the pain to ebb. “Your shoulder will get worse if you don’t move it,” she said. “You need to stretch your muscles or they’ll weaken and shrink around the joint. It’s already happening.”

  That flew in the face of his doctor’s orders. “Doc Milton said to rest it.”

  “With all due respect, I disagree with his advice.” She lowered his arm to the table. “If you won’t allow me to stretch the muscles, I can’t fix your shoulder. That means our agreement is off.”

  “How will wrenching on my already sore shoulder help it improve?” After hearing Dahlia’s outlandish tale, and feeling the blinding pain Faith had caused him by raising his arm, he was more than suspect of her healing skills.

  “I had a . . . friend who injured his shoulder and it ended up frozen like yours is getting. His doctor said the only fix was to stretch or tear the muscles to free up the arm, then keep the muscles stretched until they healed, otherwise the arm would remain useless. Your doctor should know that.”

  Well, he obviously didn’t or he wouldn’t have told Duke to rest his shoulder. Doc Milton had doctored his family for as long as Duke could remember. Duke should listen to him, especially since he didn’t want his sore muscles stretched or torn. But he couldn’t. He had to yield to his gut, which insisted he needed to keep an eye on Faith and her aunts. He needed to be here, inside the greenhouse, participating in these massages they were offering. In all fairness, Faith did seem confident in her knowledge, and hardly the type of woman to swindle anyone, but her aunts with their bent for telling tales were another story. And his shoulder wasn’t improving on its own.

  So he would stay, for whatever good it might do him. Without a doubt, Faith and her aunts would behave in his presence, but he would ask one of his friends, someone like Anna Levens who could be trusted to partake of Faith’s services and keep him informed. One negative word from Anna, and he would shut them down at the first sign of wrongdoing.

  He lifted his wrist to Faith’s waiting hand. “All right, Mrs. Wilkins, work your magic.”

  “Are you sure?” she asked. “My friend said the doctor’s treatment was excruciatingly painful.”

  “But it worked?”

  She nodded. “It can take months, though.”

  “Then we’d better get started.”

  Faith had half-hoped the sheriff would take his questions and suspicions and his too-male body and leave her greenhouse. He’d been imposing with his shirt on, but when he’d exposed his broad, muscled torso, her stomach had done a crazy dip that left her breathless.

  Her breathing was still so shallow she felt lightheaded. But now that she had an opportunity to win the sheriff’s support, she couldn’t back down. She had to show some of the same starch and wit her aunts displayed. Dahlia had been brilliant to say they were here to serve the ladies in town. That was a perfectly reputable way to earn an income. The ladies would receive great pleasure from spending their husbands’ money, and as long as Faith could bear touching the sheriff’s bare body, she would eventually get his muscles stretched and his shoulder healed. Then he would have to give them his public approval.

  “Have you changed your mind about treating me?” he asked.

  “I was giving you a chance to run.”

  “And miss out on such excruciating . . . pleasure?”

  Her puff of laughter surprised her as much as his humor had. “I’m amazed, Sheriff. You’re capable of making a joke.”

  “And you’re capable of laughing.” His lips lifted in a half-smile. “You have a nice laugh, Mrs. Wilkins.”

  “And you have a pleasing sense of humor,” she replied, but her bravado failed her and she lowered her lashes. Her aunts would have made the statement while looking him in the eye, but he was too handsome, and too overwhelming up close, and she was unskilled at flirting.

  She slipped her fingers around his manly wrist and felt his hard pulse and warm skin beneath her fingertips. When he turned his palm up and clasped her hand, she flinched, then flushed because she was acting like a skittish, naive girl.

  “We’ve started off on the wrong foot, Mrs. Wilkins. Maybe we can start over?”

  “I don’t intend to make this more painful just because you judged me unfairly”

  His laugh echoed in the stone room. “I hadn’t thought of that,” he said, his eyes filled with warmth. “Just don’t forget I’m the one with the badge and the gun.”

  Lo! The man had been handsome when scowling, but when he laughed, he was spectacular. Full, smiling lips set perfectly in his strong, sturdy face, and his warm, sparkling eyes looked at her in a way that made her stomach go light and fluttery

  “I was joking.” He winked, and her heart kicked so hard she feared he could hear it thump against her chest. “How about starting over. Can we do that?”

  She’d rather run for the hills before he broke her heart. No woman could look in this man’s eyes and not fall in love. To save herself, she swung her attention to his shoulder. “If you’ll put aside your suspicions and judge me by my actions.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “Then brace yourself, Sheriff, because you’re not going to like what I’m going to do to you.”

  His scowl and grunts conveyed his pain. Sweat beaded his forehead as she bent his arm at the elbow and rotated his forearm away from his body. After stretching the deltoid and triceps muscles, she straightened his arm and slowly pushed upward, forcing his tight, unwilling muscles to stretch or tear— whatever it took to free the arm. “You’ll need to do this twice a day,” she said, holding his arm in a forced stretch. “And you need to force it a little further each time you do it.”

  “I’d rather shoot myself,” he said, his teeth clamped, his jaw muscles bulging.

  “Only a minute more.” She held his arm steady, then lowered it a half inch at a time, pausing each time he puffed out a pain-filled breath.

  “Gads! It’s worse bringing my arm back down.”

  “That’s because your
muscles are contracting after a hard stretch.”

  “I’m tempted to yield to Dr. Milton’s advice.”

  “You’re free to do as you wish, but that’s what got you into this situation.” She lowered his arm to rest on the table beside him. “If I were you, I’d arrest him for giving bad advice that’s causing you pain and suffering.”

  He rubbed his injured shoulder. “I certainly have grounds to press charges.”

  “Sit up and let me rub some balm into your shoulder.”

  He swung his long legs over the edge of the table and hung his head as if he’d just engaged in an exhausting battle. “I’ll never be able to stretch like this on my own.”

  “You’ll have to. Coming here once a day won’t be enough.”

  “Then I’m afraid you’re going to be seeing me twice a day, Mrs. Wilkins, because I need this shoulder fixed.”

  She suspected he simply wanted to do more snooping, but she kept her thoughts to herself and smoothed the balm over his shoulder. She massaged gently, wanting to relax his muscles and ease the tension in his neck and shoulders.

  “I can’t believe those are the same hands that were torturing me only a moment ago,” he said.

  She smiled and worked the pads of her thumbs into his sore muscles. ‘Let that be a warning not to cross me.”

  He laughed, and the linen slipped down his arm. A deep valley cut down the center of his back, with hard ridges rising up on either side of his spine. Sinew and muscle shifted beneath her kneading fingers. His skin was warm and smooth, and suddenly it was no longer the sheriff’s back she was treating; she was touching the body of a strong, handsome man who could joke and laugh and look at her with warmth in his eyes.

  Faith’s stomach tingled with awareness, and she jerked her hands away as if his skin scalded her fingertips.

  “You’ve successfully survived your first treatment, Sheriff,” she said.

  He stood and faced her. The linen hung at his waist, and her gaze riveted on his broad chest. Curly dark hair swept over bulging muscle that bunched and flexed as he reached for his shirt. He slipped it over his sore left arm, then his right, then shrugged it into place.

  “What time would you like me to come by this evening?” He tugged the linen from his waist and tossed it on the table. “I can’t stretch without your help,” he reminded her.

  She picked up the towel and scrubbed the balm and oils off her hands. “Nine o’clock would be best for me, if it’s not too late for you. I like to put Cora to bed myself, and I’d rather do this when she’s not here.”

  “I have plenty of chores to keep me busy until then, so nine o’clock is fine—unless I’m needed somewhere. A sheriff is never officially unavailable. If I’m not here by quarter after, I won’t be coming.”

  “All right.” She fiddled with the linen to divert her eyes while he buttoned his shirt. The sight of him should not leave her as breathless as an innocent girl; she was far from innocent. She and Iris had massaged men’s bare torsos at the brothel, but not one of them was as handsome or intriguing as the sheriff. She had quickly culled out the nasty, groping men, and gained a small group of regular and somewhat respectful customers. That’s how she’d met Jarvis Powell, and though he’d paid her a small fortune, he’d left her soul impoverished.

  Still, Faith hadn’t worked as a prostitute. She’d lived out back in a one-room, one-bed shack with Adam and Cora. Faith’s mother had lived there, too, but spent most of her time sleeping, or in the brothel earning money. And except for buying books and plants, Faith had saved every dime she earned, vowing to help her mother escape the place and buy their dream house with a porch and a rose garden.

  But her mother’s death had left Faith to pursue that dream alone. Now it seemed the only way she could give Adam and Cora a comfortable home was to use the skills she learned at the brothel. So here she was, this time treating women—and one man—who would appreciate her skill, but not understand the value of it.

  She could accept that, if she had to. What she couldn’t accept was her natural but foolish attraction to the sheriff. He was too smart, too curious about her business and her past. A man like him would dig until he got to the truth. And when he found it, she was afraid he would evict her and her family from his town faster than she could open her mouth to beg for mercy.

  Chapter 8

  “Why are we going to church?” Cora asked, as Faith stopped in the sun-washed Common.

  Adam flicked his fingers across the top of her head. “Because we want people to like us.”

  Faith exchanged a glance with her aunts, who had altered their old dresses to appear respectful enough for church. They had even donned bonnets, but their usually vivacious faces were pinched with discomfort. Faith suspected it had been years since any of them set foot in a church. She had been herself once, and it was the worst moment of her life. But Adam was right. If they didn’t attend church, they would be ostracized from the community.

  It sure seemed like every person in Fredonia was gathered in town this morning. The streets surrounding the Common were lined with carriages and nickering horses. Large families gathered and greeted friends as each made their way inside one of the three churches near the twin parks. Faith eyed the brick buildings with their arched windows and tall spires, and had no idea which church to enter.

  “Look, Mama!” Cora pointed. “There’s the sheriff!”

  There he was indeed, his tall, broad-shouldered body clothed in a well-cut black suit that enhanced his dark good looks.

  Last night he hadn’t shown up for his shoulder treatment. Faith didn’t know if his job had called him away, or if he’d changed his mind about having her restore his shoulder. Whatever his reason for not visiting, she didn’t want to discover the answer in front of his family or his admiring lady friends.

  Several young women were twirling their parasols, vying for his attention, but he only nodded pleasantly and strode toward the church. How could he be so unaffected by those pretty women? Even from where she was standing, Faith could see that some of them were lovely. Was the man immune to a woman’s charms?

  “It could benefit us to go to the same church the Grayson family attends,” Iris said, her cheeks flushed from all the stares she was receiving. Tansy, Aster, and Dahlia nodded in agreement.

  They were right, but Faith waited for the sheriff to enter the church before she led them across the Common and followed him inside.

  After being in the bright morning sunshine, she found the interior of the church depressingly dim. The building smelled of musty books and beeswax and a cloying mix of colognes. Why worship God in a dark building when he’d given them this beautiful morning to enjoy? Why not stand in the fresh air beneath the maple trees in the Common to sing praises?

  Faith stood at the back of the church, scanning the full pews, wondering where they would sit. Would they be asked to leave if there wasn’t room for them?

  “Good morning, Mrs. Wilkins.”

  The sheriff’s voice startled her, and she glanced up into his warm brown eyes. A flock of flutter-birds took flight inside her stomach. Her mother had told her when she was a small child that her stomach was a world of its own, complete with sky and sea and tiny flutter-birds that were upset by any nervous shift in the wind; and Faith had believed it for the longest time. Even now she couldn’t shake the appropriate image of birds beating their wings in her stomach, because that was exactly how it felt.

  “Good morning, Sheriff Grayson!” Cora said brightly.

  Faith laid her fingers over the child’s mouth. “Hush, sweetie.”

  “Good morning,” he whispered, then reached up and pulled the cap off Adam’s head, revealing Adam’s new haircut. “No hats in church,” he said.

  “Yes, sir,” Adam agreed quietly, then tucked his brown cap under his arm.

  The sheriff looked less threatening without his gun, but he was too handsome and far more dangerous to her heart in his suit and tie. He gestured with his chin. “My mother i
s making room in her pew for you ladies.”

  Faith looked over a sea of people to where Nancy Grayson waved her glove-encased hand at them. The sheriff escorted them to her pew, but didn’t sit with them. He guided Adam to the back of the church to stand with a large group of men, three of whom shared a remarkable resemblance to the sheriff.

  “Those are my sons,” Nancy whispered, stepping aside so Faith could enter the pew.

  Faith lifted Cora onto her hip then stepped in behind Iris. As she sat, she nodded to Evelyn and Claire and another woman about their age with hair the color of a burnished chestnut.

  “That’s my daughter-in-law Amelia,” Nancy whispered, settling beside Faith. “She married my son Kyle, who’s in back with Duke.”

  Faith looked toward the sheriff and the men beside him. There was no doubt those four tall, handsome men were brothers. She turned to greet Amelia, and received a warm smile in return. Amelia was as pretty as Evelyn and Claire, but the three women were as different in looks as each season. Amelia was autumn at its peak color, with her brown eyes and gorgeous hair of reds, golds, and browns. Evelyn’s sable hair was black as a winter night, and her gemstone eyes sparkled like holiday ornaments. Blond-haired, blue-eyed Claire reminded Faith of a summer field of wheat under an endless blue sky.

  Nancy Grayson was no season at all. She was mother earth, and this family drew their sustenance from her.

  “This is my granddaughter Rebecca.” Nancy slipped her arm around a cute, dark-haired girl about Adam’s age. “She’s Radford and Evelyn’s oldest.”

  The girl nodded politely, but a blast from a pipe organ buried her soft greeting. The sound filled the church and vibrated in Faith’s chest. The congregation surged to its feet en masse. Faith and her aunts hurried to follow suit.

  Cora put her hands over her ears. “What’s that noise?”

  Faith lifted the child onto her hip. “It’s an organ,” she whispered quickly, hoping no one realized Cora didn’t recognize the sound. Faith had only heard it once herself, but she would never forget that powerful blast that had swept the breath from her.