shingles.
“Aw, Joe, ain’t no secret ’bout it,” Robbie complained, lifting the load up by a rope. He untied the bundle and carried some back to where they were working, walking along the frame. “Likely nagged her husband to death, Mrs. Brock did. Glad my Amelia is biddable. All I hears from her are ‘Yes, Robbie, oh, Robbie, yes, yes, oh yes!’” The young man grinned and laughed at his crude joke.
John dropped the shingle and hammer and rose to his full height. Even tilted on the roof of the cottage, balancing on the frame, he was hard to ignore. He stepped closer to the young man just barely out of adolescence, using his height to maximum intimidation advantage. He spoke softly. “Listen well, boy. I don’t want to hear no disrespect of Mrs. Brock or any other woman, you get me? I’m not keen on ending my retirement on the likes of you.”
Robbie bent his head back to look at John’s serious face. His face paled and he visibly swallowed. “Sorry, mate, I didn’t know she was your woman.”
John shook his head in disgust. “Didn’t your mother teach you no manners?”
“Excuse me, gentlemen!”
Mrs. Brock’s voice interrupted them and they all turned to see her walking across the yard with Timothy and Alan carrying tankards and a tray laden with food. She called up as they moved closer. “It is nearing time for luncheon and I thought you might be hungry.”
John turned back to Robbie and said with a growl, “Would a fishwife or hedgehog do that?” He made his way to the ladder and climbed down, Robbie following him. He met Mrs. Brock as she was nearing the cottage and took the food tray from her. “My thanks. We were just talking about taking a break.”
She gave him a strange look, but he ignored it and set the tray on a nearby log. Joe and Robbie made their way over to the food, but when Robbie reached to take a tankard from Timothy, John pushed him away. “You’re last,” he muttered with a glower. “When we’re done, you can eat. And thank the lady for her consideration in bringing your ungrateful ass food.”
“Yer joking!” the boy exclaimed.
John glared in answer and Robbie shrank down, shuffling away from the tray. He muttered what passed for a thanks.
John took a long drink from his tankard and felt her move to his elbow. “What was that about?” she asked quietly.
He wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “Nothing. Just a boy growing up.”
“You will inform me if there are any problems, correct?”
“Of course.”
Her fingers lightly touched his elbow. John stilled, his senses honing in on the light pressure. He turned his head to look at her, his body following suit when his gaze met her mahogany eyes. They had the strange effect of both calming and exciting him, to be the recipient of her focused attention.
She spoke, keeping her voice at a discreet level, well aware of Joe and Robbie sitting not too far away against the wall of the cottage. “I want to thank you, Mr. Taylor, for seeing to my cottage.”
He felt a surge of pleasure at her thanks, but tried to dismiss her gratitude. “It is part of our arrangement and no bother. I enjoy this type of work. Gets the kinks out and all that.”
“Nevertheless, I appreciate it. This is something I do not have the skills to see to myself and must then depend on others.”
He grinned at the disgruntled look on her face. “Poor Mrs. Brock,” he teased. “Forced to depend on the kindness of others.” She lowered her brow, creating creases along her forehead. She opened her mouth to speak, but he forestalled her by running his thumb along those creases, smoothing them out.
He did not know why he did it. It was more automatic than anything. Under his thumb, her skin was smooth and soft, its creaminess contrasting with his own tanned skin. His eyes narrowed in on where his thumb came in contact with her forehead, focusing in on the spot. He rubbed her forehead a few times before trailing his thumb down to her cheek,
“Aw, Joe, ain’t no secret ’bout it,” Robbie complained, lifting the load up by a rope. He untied the bundle and carried some back to where they were working, walking along the frame. “Likely nagged her husband to death, Mrs. Brock did. Glad my Amelia is biddable. All I hears from her are ‘Yes, Robbie, oh, Robbie, yes, yes, oh yes!’” The young man grinned and laughed at his crude joke.
John dropped the shingle and hammer and rose to his full height. Even tilted on the roof of the cottage, balancing on the frame, he was hard to ignore. He stepped closer to the young man just barely out of adolescence, using his height to maximum intimidation advantage. He spoke softly. “Listen well, boy. I don’t want to hear no disrespect of Mrs. Brock or any other woman, you get me? I’m not keen on ending my retirement on the likes of you.”
Robbie bent his head back to look at John’s serious face. His face paled and he visibly swallowed. “Sorry, mate, I didn’t know she was your woman.”
John shook his head in disgust. “Didn’t your mother teach you no manners?”
“Excuse me, gentlemen!”
Mrs. Brock’s voice interrupted them and they all turned to see her walking across the yard with Timothy and Alan carrying tankards and a tray laden with food. She called up as they moved closer. “It is nearing time for luncheon and I thought you might be hungry.”
John turned back to Robbie and said with a growl, “Would a fishwife or hedgehog do that?” He made his way to the ladder and climbed down, Robbie following him. He met Mrs. Brock as she was nearing the cottage and took the food tray from her. “My thanks. We were just talking about taking a break.”
She gave him a strange look, but he ignored it and set the tray on a nearby log. Joe and Robbie made their way over to the food, but when Robbie reached to take a tankard from Timothy, John pushed him away. “You’re last,” he muttered with a glower. “When we’re done, you can eat. And thank the lady for her consideration in bringing your ungrateful ass food.”
“Yer joking!” the boy exclaimed.
John glared in answer and Robbie shrank down, shuffling away from the tray. He muttered what passed for a thanks.
John took a long drink from his tankard and felt her move to his elbow. “What was that about?” she asked quietly.
He wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “Nothing. Just a boy growing up.”
“You will inform me if there are any problems, correct?”
“Of course.”
Her fingers lightly touched his elbow. John stilled, his senses honing in on the light pressure. He turned his head to look at her, his body following suit when his gaze met her mahogany eyes. They had the strange effect of both calming and exciting him, to be the recipient of her focused attention.
She spoke, keeping her voice at a discreet level, well aware of Joe and Robbie sitting not too far away against the wall of the cottage. “I want to thank you, Mr. Taylor, for seeing to my cottage.”
He felt a surge of pleasure at her thanks, but tried to dismiss her gratitude. “It is part of our arrangement and no bother. I enjoy this type of work. Gets the kinks out and all that.”
“Nevertheless, I appreciate it. This is something I do not have the skills to see to myself and must then depend on others.”
He grinned at the disgruntled look on her face. “Poor Mrs. Brock,” he teased. “Forced to depend on the kindness of others.” She lowered her brow, creating creases along her forehead. She opened her mouth to speak, but he forestalled her by running his thumb along those creases, smoothing them out.
He did not know why he did it. It was more automatic than anything. Under his thumb, her skin was smooth and soft, its creaminess contrasting with his own tanned skin. His eyes narrowed in on where his thumb came in contact with her forehead, focusing in on the spot. He rubbed her forehead a few times before trailing his thumb down to her cheek,
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