what that bad?”
“Your trip into Spanish Fort.”
“My trip into … I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do.”
“I most certainly do not! I thoroughly enjoyed my afternoon in town.”
Kurt shook his dark head, placed a flattened palm on his naked belly, and allowed the tips of his lean tanned fingers to languidly slip down inside the low-riding waistband of his faded blue trousers. “You needn’t pretend with me, Mrs. Courtney.”
Guiltily realizing that her eyes had followed the slow, seductive movement of his hand as it slid toward his trousers, Helen jerked her head up, glared at him, and said, “You’re absolutely right, Captain! There is no need.”
“Then stop it,” he softly commanded. “The townspeople were unkind to you. Because of me. I can see it in your eyes. I’m sorry.”
Helen opened her mouth to deny it, closed it without speaking. Suddenly desperate to have him out of her sight, Helen rudely attempted to push Kurt out of her way. Her hands flattened on his hair-covered chest, she immediately found her wrists encircled with his imprisoning fingers.
For a long second they stood looking warily at each other, their gazes locked, Helen’s hands trapped on his chest. The feel, the texture of crisp curly hair and smooth heated flesh beneath was so strange, so frightening to her sensitive fingertips.
For Kurt it was every bit as strange, every bit as frightening to have a pair of soft feminine hands resting warmly against the naked flesh of his bare chest. Her palms pressed warmly over each flat brown nipple, he felt his chest involuntarily expand against her covering hands, his belly tighten responsively.
Each waited for the other to make a move.
The spell was broken by the sound of Jolly Grubbs’s rumbling voice shouting a loud, cheery hello.
Kurt and Helen sprang apart as if they’d been caught in some deviant act.
Her face red with anger, frustration, and embarrassment, Helen called to the approaching white-haired gentleman. “Hello, Jolly. How are you this afternoon?”
“No great complaints,” came the shouted reply as Jolly walked toward them, fanning himself with a battered, big-brimmed straw hat.
Helen smiled in Jolly’s direction, then turned to Kurt and snapped, “See to Duke and put away the wagon!” She whirled away, but looked back and hissed beneath her breath, “And for heaven’s sake, Captain, button up your clothes!”
Jolly Grubbs had purposely waited the five days between Tuesday and Saturday before paying a visit to the old Burke farm. He figured he’d give the Yankee captain and his boy a chance to get settled in. And Helen a chance to get used to having the pair around before he came over to check on them.
Once there, he encountered three people who were noticeably ill at ease with one another. Helen was not herself. She had always been a lively, outgoing young woman, full of tomfoolery. Warm and friendly in the extreme. Now she seemed unusually anxious and strangely self-conscious, almost stiff. She went to great lengths to avoid any eye contact with the Yankee captain.
Captain Kurt Northway was polite, genuinely respectful, as perfectly behaved a gentleman as a son of the South. But he appeared to be tightly coiled, as if he were consciously holding himself in check. Despite the seemingly relaxed attitude of Northway’s body, Jolly sensed a deep, underlying edginess, a watch-spring tension.
And the boy?
Well, little Charlie Northway was totally unreachable. The child was locked up within himself, unwilling to share his feelings with anyone. Fear, distrust, and sadness shone from the child’s big brown eyes. Was present in the downturned curve of the babyish lips, the frequent sagging of his small chin on his narrow chest.
Jolly invited himself to stay for supper and promptly accepted his invitation.
Knowing that Helen most likely didn’t allow the Yankee or his son inside the house, he further suggested—in Kurt’s
“Your trip into Spanish Fort.”
“My trip into … I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do.”
“I most certainly do not! I thoroughly enjoyed my afternoon in town.”
Kurt shook his dark head, placed a flattened palm on his naked belly, and allowed the tips of his lean tanned fingers to languidly slip down inside the low-riding waistband of his faded blue trousers. “You needn’t pretend with me, Mrs. Courtney.”
Guiltily realizing that her eyes had followed the slow, seductive movement of his hand as it slid toward his trousers, Helen jerked her head up, glared at him, and said, “You’re absolutely right, Captain! There is no need.”
“Then stop it,” he softly commanded. “The townspeople were unkind to you. Because of me. I can see it in your eyes. I’m sorry.”
Helen opened her mouth to deny it, closed it without speaking. Suddenly desperate to have him out of her sight, Helen rudely attempted to push Kurt out of her way. Her hands flattened on his hair-covered chest, she immediately found her wrists encircled with his imprisoning fingers.
For a long second they stood looking warily at each other, their gazes locked, Helen’s hands trapped on his chest. The feel, the texture of crisp curly hair and smooth heated flesh beneath was so strange, so frightening to her sensitive fingertips.
For Kurt it was every bit as strange, every bit as frightening to have a pair of soft feminine hands resting warmly against the naked flesh of his bare chest. Her palms pressed warmly over each flat brown nipple, he felt his chest involuntarily expand against her covering hands, his belly tighten responsively.
Each waited for the other to make a move.
The spell was broken by the sound of Jolly Grubbs’s rumbling voice shouting a loud, cheery hello.
Kurt and Helen sprang apart as if they’d been caught in some deviant act.
Her face red with anger, frustration, and embarrassment, Helen called to the approaching white-haired gentleman. “Hello, Jolly. How are you this afternoon?”
“No great complaints,” came the shouted reply as Jolly walked toward them, fanning himself with a battered, big-brimmed straw hat.
Helen smiled in Jolly’s direction, then turned to Kurt and snapped, “See to Duke and put away the wagon!” She whirled away, but looked back and hissed beneath her breath, “And for heaven’s sake, Captain, button up your clothes!”
Jolly Grubbs had purposely waited the five days between Tuesday and Saturday before paying a visit to the old Burke farm. He figured he’d give the Yankee captain and his boy a chance to get settled in. And Helen a chance to get used to having the pair around before he came over to check on them.
Once there, he encountered three people who were noticeably ill at ease with one another. Helen was not herself. She had always been a lively, outgoing young woman, full of tomfoolery. Warm and friendly in the extreme. Now she seemed unusually anxious and strangely self-conscious, almost stiff. She went to great lengths to avoid any eye contact with the Yankee captain.
Captain Kurt Northway was polite, genuinely respectful, as perfectly behaved a gentleman as a son of the South. But he appeared to be tightly coiled, as if he were consciously holding himself in check. Despite the seemingly relaxed attitude of Northway’s body, Jolly sensed a deep, underlying edginess, a watch-spring tension.
And the boy?
Well, little Charlie Northway was totally unreachable. The child was locked up within himself, unwilling to share his feelings with anyone. Fear, distrust, and sadness shone from the child’s big brown eyes. Was present in the downturned curve of the babyish lips, the frequent sagging of his small chin on his narrow chest.
Jolly invited himself to stay for supper and promptly accepted his invitation.
Knowing that Helen most likely didn’t allow the Yankee or his son inside the house, he further suggested—in Kurt’s
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