her inside tightened. “Yes.”
He pushed open the door with his foot. In his hand he carried a tray, which held a steaming bowlof broth and a mug filled with coffee. “It’s good to see that you’re up.”
Memories of last night were jumbled at best. She remembered the keeper’s strong embrace and his soothing voice, but she’d not remembered what a truly attractive man he was.
His face looked chiseled from granite. His rich, black hair was dark as Satan’s and hung past his collar. This morning he’d brushed it back and tied it with a strip of rope. His clear gray eyes made her skin tingle each time he looked her.
Rachel was suddenly aware that her waist-length hair was in a terrible tangle. She must look like one of those wild Amazonian women from the old fables. If only she could muster the strength of a warrior woman. She felt frightened and scared. “I only just woke up. I’ve slept the morning away.”
He set the tray on the table. “More like the day and the next night away. It’s Thursday morning.”
A wave of panic washed over Rachel. “Thursday!” Already her head was spinning. Dear Lord, Peter had returned to Washington. “You should have woken me up.”
“You needed the sleep.”
Fists clenched at her sides, she started to pace. “You should have woken me.”
Ben lifted an eyebrow. “Why is this a problem? Do you have to be somewhere?”
She needed to run! To be as far from Washington as she could get.
But Rachel didn’t say that. She kept her feelings hidden—another talent Peter had taught her. Fear, anger, happiness could be used against her.
Inwardly, she was a mess, but she managed to calm the rigid muscles in her back and smile. “No, it’s just that I have friends waiting for me. I don’t want them to worry.”
Ben stared at her. “There’s a telegraph office on the mainland. When Timothy goes for supplies in a day or two, I could ask him to send a telegram.”
“That won’t be necessary. As soon as I get to the mainland, I can take care of it myself. I don’t—”
He held up his hand, interrupting her. “I know. You don’t want to cause me any more trouble.”
She heard the sarcasm in his voice. “Why is that so hard for you to believe?”
He studied her a long moment, then shook his head. To her surprise he said, “Save your stories and eat your broth. It’s going to get cold, and Ida and Callie were adamant that it be warm when you ate it.”
Grateful for the reprieve, she dropped her gaze to the broth. She hated lying to him, but survival outweighed feelings.
She moved to the table and sat down. The rich smell of the beef broth teased her nose. Her stomach grumbled, signaling that she was hungrier than she realized. She took a taste. It was delicious.
Aware that his dark gaze hadn’t left her, she felt compelled to make conversation. “Ida has outdone herself, Mr. Mitchell,” she said.
He shrugged, but there was pride in his eyes. “She’s one of the best cooks on the outer banks.”
“I’ve no doubt she is.” She’d not intended to eat the entire bowl but before she realized it the broth was gone.
“There’s more if you want it,” he said.
Her stomach rumbled. Peter had strictly regulated what she ate. Though she could eat as much as she wanted now, she had trouble allowing herself more. “No, I’m fine.”
Ben muttered an oath. “You’re half starved, yet you won’t eat more.” Without another word, he snatched up her empty bowl and strode out of the room. His purposeful steps echoed in the house.
Rachel rose, unsure of what she’d done to make him so angry. Fear knotted her stomach, yet she faced the door and waited for his return. She’d promised herself after she’d fled her home four days ago that she’d not cower anymore. She fisted her trembling fingers.
He reappeared minutes later with another bowl of soup and set it on the table. “Sit and eat. You’re nothing but skin and bones.”
She glanced down at her
He pushed open the door with his foot. In his hand he carried a tray, which held a steaming bowlof broth and a mug filled with coffee. “It’s good to see that you’re up.”
Memories of last night were jumbled at best. She remembered the keeper’s strong embrace and his soothing voice, but she’d not remembered what a truly attractive man he was.
His face looked chiseled from granite. His rich, black hair was dark as Satan’s and hung past his collar. This morning he’d brushed it back and tied it with a strip of rope. His clear gray eyes made her skin tingle each time he looked her.
Rachel was suddenly aware that her waist-length hair was in a terrible tangle. She must look like one of those wild Amazonian women from the old fables. If only she could muster the strength of a warrior woman. She felt frightened and scared. “I only just woke up. I’ve slept the morning away.”
He set the tray on the table. “More like the day and the next night away. It’s Thursday morning.”
A wave of panic washed over Rachel. “Thursday!” Already her head was spinning. Dear Lord, Peter had returned to Washington. “You should have woken me up.”
“You needed the sleep.”
Fists clenched at her sides, she started to pace. “You should have woken me.”
Ben lifted an eyebrow. “Why is this a problem? Do you have to be somewhere?”
She needed to run! To be as far from Washington as she could get.
But Rachel didn’t say that. She kept her feelings hidden—another talent Peter had taught her. Fear, anger, happiness could be used against her.
Inwardly, she was a mess, but she managed to calm the rigid muscles in her back and smile. “No, it’s just that I have friends waiting for me. I don’t want them to worry.”
Ben stared at her. “There’s a telegraph office on the mainland. When Timothy goes for supplies in a day or two, I could ask him to send a telegram.”
“That won’t be necessary. As soon as I get to the mainland, I can take care of it myself. I don’t—”
He held up his hand, interrupting her. “I know. You don’t want to cause me any more trouble.”
She heard the sarcasm in his voice. “Why is that so hard for you to believe?”
He studied her a long moment, then shook his head. To her surprise he said, “Save your stories and eat your broth. It’s going to get cold, and Ida and Callie were adamant that it be warm when you ate it.”
Grateful for the reprieve, she dropped her gaze to the broth. She hated lying to him, but survival outweighed feelings.
She moved to the table and sat down. The rich smell of the beef broth teased her nose. Her stomach grumbled, signaling that she was hungrier than she realized. She took a taste. It was delicious.
Aware that his dark gaze hadn’t left her, she felt compelled to make conversation. “Ida has outdone herself, Mr. Mitchell,” she said.
He shrugged, but there was pride in his eyes. “She’s one of the best cooks on the outer banks.”
“I’ve no doubt she is.” She’d not intended to eat the entire bowl but before she realized it the broth was gone.
“There’s more if you want it,” he said.
Her stomach rumbled. Peter had strictly regulated what she ate. Though she could eat as much as she wanted now, she had trouble allowing herself more. “No, I’m fine.”
Ben muttered an oath. “You’re half starved, yet you won’t eat more.” Without another word, he snatched up her empty bowl and strode out of the room. His purposeful steps echoed in the house.
Rachel rose, unsure of what she’d done to make him so angry. Fear knotted her stomach, yet she faced the door and waited for his return. She’d promised herself after she’d fled her home four days ago that she’d not cower anymore. She fisted her trembling fingers.
He reappeared minutes later with another bowl of soup and set it on the table. “Sit and eat. You’re nothing but skin and bones.”
She glanced down at her
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