officer anyway.
Rising, Blake clutched Hayden’s shoulders, his gray eyes pointed and somber. “We will miss you, Hayden. Be safe and God speed.” He released him and sighed heavily.
Thankfully, before Hayden’s eyes grew moist and he embarrassed himself.
“I will pray for you every day, my friend.” James gave a sad smile. “And in particular that you will return to us soon. You always have a home in New Hope.”
Hayden extended his hand to the doctor, but the man drew him into an embrace instead, slapping his back before releasing him and turning away.
Hayden shifted his face from their view. Clearing his throat, he nodded and grunted his thanks to both men before hurrying out the door. He’d never had a home. At least none he remembered with fondness. After his mother had been killed, he’d never had a family either. He’d been a gypsy, a drifter. He should be used to it. Then why was it so hard to leave this silly town?
Brushing aside leaves, Magnolia crept up to two men circling a fire just outside of town. Unable to sleep, she’d left her parents’ hut, thinking some fresh air and listening to anything but her father’s snoring would help settle her nerves. But the distant flicker of flames soon lured her to the outskirts of town. She wouldn’t have ventured any farther except that she could make out Mr. Lewis’s and Thiago’s faces in the firelight. Harmless enough men. And she’d been meaning to speak to Mr. Lewis anyway. The friendly old carpenter, who reminded her of the bumbling overseer on their plantation back home, had a mind that dwarfed the size of his heart. All she had to do was smile and plant a kiss on his bristly cheek and he happily shared whatever spirits he had on his person.
And she sure could use a drink tonight.
So intent on whatever they were doing over the flames, the two men didn’t hear her approach—didn’t hear the leaves rustle or the twig snap beneath her boots. Didn’t even turn until she said, “Whatever are you doing, gentlemen?” The teasing reprimand in her voice sent fear skittering across their faces.
“Oh, mercy me, don’t trouble yourselves. Whatever it is, I won’t tell a soul.” She curled a hand on her hip. “As long as you let me in on it.” Her grin disarmed them, and they both smiled in return.
Mr. Lewis returned his attention to the contraption sitting atop the flames, while Thiago rose to usher her close. “We make rum—Brazilian rum.”
Delight filtered through her. “Oh, I knew I smelled something delicious.” Adjusting her crinoline and multiple petticoats, she lowered herself onto a stump while Mr. Lewis checked a thermometer that was perched inside an iron pot hanging over the fire. Tubes sprang from holes in the container’s sides and ran down to another kettle sitting in a bowl of water off to the side.
The old carpenter looked up, flames flickering over his pudgy face. “It’s a distiller, miss.”
“We distill sugarcane juice,” Thiago added. “Make pinga , or rum. Very good.” His handsome eyes sparkled as he took a seat beside her. Tall, lithe, tanned, with dark features, the interpreter’s exotic looks were not without appeal, though he possessed a boyish impetuousness that prevented a more serious look. Besides, he had no wealth nor prominent position in Brazilian society.
“I should have known you’d be up to mischief, Mr. Lewis.” She teased the old carpenter.
He chuckled. “Well, miss, our drinking supplies are rapidly shrinking. So when Thiago, here, informed me he knew how to make this pinga, so famous here in Brazil, what was a man to do?”He winked.
Thiago’s brow wrinkled. “You will not tell anyone.”
“She won’t.” Mr. Lewis answered with a sly smile. “Not if she wants us to share.”
The fire crackled, shooting sparks into the air as the smell of smoke and night-blooming orchids battled for preeminence.
Magnolia placed a finger over her lips. “On my honor, my lips are sealed.
Rising, Blake clutched Hayden’s shoulders, his gray eyes pointed and somber. “We will miss you, Hayden. Be safe and God speed.” He released him and sighed heavily.
Thankfully, before Hayden’s eyes grew moist and he embarrassed himself.
“I will pray for you every day, my friend.” James gave a sad smile. “And in particular that you will return to us soon. You always have a home in New Hope.”
Hayden extended his hand to the doctor, but the man drew him into an embrace instead, slapping his back before releasing him and turning away.
Hayden shifted his face from their view. Clearing his throat, he nodded and grunted his thanks to both men before hurrying out the door. He’d never had a home. At least none he remembered with fondness. After his mother had been killed, he’d never had a family either. He’d been a gypsy, a drifter. He should be used to it. Then why was it so hard to leave this silly town?
Brushing aside leaves, Magnolia crept up to two men circling a fire just outside of town. Unable to sleep, she’d left her parents’ hut, thinking some fresh air and listening to anything but her father’s snoring would help settle her nerves. But the distant flicker of flames soon lured her to the outskirts of town. She wouldn’t have ventured any farther except that she could make out Mr. Lewis’s and Thiago’s faces in the firelight. Harmless enough men. And she’d been meaning to speak to Mr. Lewis anyway. The friendly old carpenter, who reminded her of the bumbling overseer on their plantation back home, had a mind that dwarfed the size of his heart. All she had to do was smile and plant a kiss on his bristly cheek and he happily shared whatever spirits he had on his person.
And she sure could use a drink tonight.
So intent on whatever they were doing over the flames, the two men didn’t hear her approach—didn’t hear the leaves rustle or the twig snap beneath her boots. Didn’t even turn until she said, “Whatever are you doing, gentlemen?” The teasing reprimand in her voice sent fear skittering across their faces.
“Oh, mercy me, don’t trouble yourselves. Whatever it is, I won’t tell a soul.” She curled a hand on her hip. “As long as you let me in on it.” Her grin disarmed them, and they both smiled in return.
Mr. Lewis returned his attention to the contraption sitting atop the flames, while Thiago rose to usher her close. “We make rum—Brazilian rum.”
Delight filtered through her. “Oh, I knew I smelled something delicious.” Adjusting her crinoline and multiple petticoats, she lowered herself onto a stump while Mr. Lewis checked a thermometer that was perched inside an iron pot hanging over the fire. Tubes sprang from holes in the container’s sides and ran down to another kettle sitting in a bowl of water off to the side.
The old carpenter looked up, flames flickering over his pudgy face. “It’s a distiller, miss.”
“We distill sugarcane juice,” Thiago added. “Make pinga , or rum. Very good.” His handsome eyes sparkled as he took a seat beside her. Tall, lithe, tanned, with dark features, the interpreter’s exotic looks were not without appeal, though he possessed a boyish impetuousness that prevented a more serious look. Besides, he had no wealth nor prominent position in Brazilian society.
“I should have known you’d be up to mischief, Mr. Lewis.” She teased the old carpenter.
He chuckled. “Well, miss, our drinking supplies are rapidly shrinking. So when Thiago, here, informed me he knew how to make this pinga, so famous here in Brazil, what was a man to do?”He winked.
Thiago’s brow wrinkled. “You will not tell anyone.”
“She won’t.” Mr. Lewis answered with a sly smile. “Not if she wants us to share.”
The fire crackled, shooting sparks into the air as the smell of smoke and night-blooming orchids battled for preeminence.
Magnolia placed a finger over her lips. “On my honor, my lips are sealed.
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