Anything for You by Jo Ann Ferguson Page A

camp would think of calling the blacksmith anything but an iron burner. The clerk was an inkslinger. The itinerant preacher who made his way here every other week was a sky pilot. She liked that term. It fit Reverend Frisch.
    The silver-haired minister wore his backward collar beneath a mackinaw shirt. He never acted as if it was unusual to use a dining room table for an altar while he offered communion out of a cracker box. With his cheeks above his thick beard rosy with the cold, his strong hands emphasized every word coming from his generous heart.
    â€œIs he always this long-winded?”
    Glancing at Adam, who sat beside her, she almost laughed. He had to sit sideways so his left foot did not stick between the legs of the man in front of him, and he could not move.
    She whispered, “He’s almost done.”
    â€œI hope so.” His grin lessened the edge on his complaint.
    Gypsy tried to listen to Reverend Frisch, but could not keep her thoughts from straying. In the past few days, Adam had relented in their battle of words. She could not relax, though. She feared she was becoming too obvious in her attempts to avoid any motion that might graze her fingers against his.
    Her hands clenched in her lap. She might have been able to handle her own silliness, except for Farley’s suspicions. They were more trouble than Adam. She looked at Farley, who was sitting alone on the opposite side of the room. Some residual conscience kept him from bringing his mistress to church. She found that hypocrisy ludicrous, because Reverend Frisch knew all about Rose Quinlan.
    When she put her hand up to hide a yawn, Gypsy heard Adam’s muffled laughter. The sky pilot glanced in their direction. Meeting Reverend Frisch’s dark eyes, she hoped he would not guess she was thinking of anything but his sermon.
    The service came to a quick close when his words were interrupted by a loud snore. The sleepy logger was routed awake to laughter and a hurried benediction. As the men rose, the makeshift church dissolved back into the dining room.
    â€œFool should have come back from the Porcelain Feather earlier,” mumbled Adam as he reached for his crutch.
    â€œMaybe he didn’t have your self-restraint.”
    He grinned when he stood to look down at her from his height, which was impressive even when he leaned on his crutch. “As you may recall, Miss Elliott, I had no chance to go gallivanting off for a few drinks and a pleasant armful. I had the stove watch last night.”
    â€œIt was your turn.”
    â€œTrue.” He chuckled. “I’m not complaining, although I had hoped for some company last evening.”
    â€œThere will be other Saturday nights when you can go to the Porcelain—”
    â€œ Your company, Gypsy.” When his fingers slipped over hers on the table top, a flame erupted up her arm. He caressed her hand gently as his sapphire gaze enticed her. “How about sharing a cup of coffee with me tonight after the kitchen’s clean?”
    â€œI do have the stove watch tonight.” She blinked and drew away, startled by the longing in her voice.
    He caught her elbow to keep her near. “Is that a yes or a no?”
    â€œI—” She wished someone would interrupt. How could the room be so crowded and yet no one intruded?
    â€œIf you don’t want my company, you need only say so.” His grin became self-deprecatory. “I don’t make it a practice to force myself on pretty redheads. I can be reasonable.”
    â€œCan you?”
    â€œWhen necessary. So do you want me to stay for that cup of coffee tonight?”
    No words formed on her lips when he stroked her sleeve, the crisp muslin heating beneath his touch. Each touch lured her closer. As she stared up at the invitation in his eyes, a rush of unfamiliar sensations flooded her with pleasure.
    â€œGood afternoon, Gypsy.”
    Farley’s voice released her from the sweet tangle of dreams