entertain." Tetch winked and walked off.
Bailey leaned over and whispered in Con's ear. "Lila's probably hoping for a bigger pecker."
Con didn't laugh. He chugged down his beer instead and ordered another.
"Hey, what's the matter? Is this really about a woman?" Bailey asked.
Con sighed. "A woman came to me with a very interesting proposal, Bailey. But I couldn't take her up on it. Not today." He took a sip of his second beer. "And as Tetch said, she's a pretty little thing. But, hell, I don't even think she likes me; although, she did imply she respected me." He grunted.
Bailey was giving him a quizzical look, but Con didn't care to elaborate. Fayth unsettled him. In one meal she’d upset the careful plan he’d been concocting these past months to woo her. There must have been a reason she selected him. Would a woman propose to a man she felt no affinity for? He raised his glass and downed the rest of his beer.
Fayth sat at her sewing machine, her feet pumping the treadle in time to her stitching. She had sewn with a fury these past two days. Usually the sight of a needle piercing cloth, of perfectly straight seams stretching before her, calmed her and gave her a sense of satisfaction.
She pumped and watched the needle—in and out. In and out.
The motion of the ever-pounding needle, usually so soothing, made her muscles tense and her frustration build. She felt tight and wound up, as if her body longed for something. And she had a pretty good idea what. As if it longed for Con O’Neill.
She watched the needle, pumping furiously as thoughts came to her. She stopped, backed the needle out, flipped the half-finished pair of pants around and backstitched around the fly.
Proposing to Captain O'Neill had been sheer lunacy.
Her feet moved against the treadle with renewed intensity. She burned with embarrassment every time she thought about it. When would the memory fade?
That he had done her a backhanded favor was small comfort. She had come home, had a good cry, and consulted her list of bachelors, looking for another suitable choice. Then, with resignation, she had used her perfectly sharpened sewing scissors to clip the list into pieces too small to reconstruct. No other man on the list was half as suitable as Captain O'Neill. No other choice half as reasonable. The idea was perfect idiocy from the beginning. His refusal merely brought to light her distorted logic. What had caused her temporary lapse of good judgment? Mere desperation? Loneliness?
I should write him a thank-you note. Would he find it as darkly amusing as I do?
She might well have written it, too, but his rebuff had awakened more than her powers of discernment. The physical pull she felt toward him frightened her. He walked into her daydreams unbidden, playing the role of lover. Responses and longings, urges suppressed long ago, flooded back, and with them, memories of Drew, and anger and shame.
Technically, she reminded herself, she was still a virgin. But she had given Drew everything but entry. They were engaged. They had lived in the same house. With such temptation it was miraculous she had kept anything from him at all.
Bare chests. Warm nakedness. Cuddling, stroking, fondling, tingling release. She couldn't congratulate herself on her piety, because what they had done was so very close to sex. Was so very intimate and familiar that even remembering brought a hot flush to her cheeks.
And it wouldn't have mattered if the accident hadn't happened; just a few days more and she would have been his wife. Maybe she should have gone ahead with the marriage as Drew had pressed her to. In retrospect, how she had opened herself up to scandal seemed clear. Maybe because of her indecision, or maybe because Drew was convinced he could change her mind, he hadn't moved out until nearly a week after her parents had died. If they had married, the scandal would have been prevented.
After the funerals, she wanted to
Bailey leaned over and whispered in Con's ear. "Lila's probably hoping for a bigger pecker."
Con didn't laugh. He chugged down his beer instead and ordered another.
"Hey, what's the matter? Is this really about a woman?" Bailey asked.
Con sighed. "A woman came to me with a very interesting proposal, Bailey. But I couldn't take her up on it. Not today." He took a sip of his second beer. "And as Tetch said, she's a pretty little thing. But, hell, I don't even think she likes me; although, she did imply she respected me." He grunted.
Bailey was giving him a quizzical look, but Con didn't care to elaborate. Fayth unsettled him. In one meal she’d upset the careful plan he’d been concocting these past months to woo her. There must have been a reason she selected him. Would a woman propose to a man she felt no affinity for? He raised his glass and downed the rest of his beer.
Fayth sat at her sewing machine, her feet pumping the treadle in time to her stitching. She had sewn with a fury these past two days. Usually the sight of a needle piercing cloth, of perfectly straight seams stretching before her, calmed her and gave her a sense of satisfaction.
She pumped and watched the needle—in and out. In and out.
The motion of the ever-pounding needle, usually so soothing, made her muscles tense and her frustration build. She felt tight and wound up, as if her body longed for something. And she had a pretty good idea what. As if it longed for Con O’Neill.
She watched the needle, pumping furiously as thoughts came to her. She stopped, backed the needle out, flipped the half-finished pair of pants around and backstitched around the fly.
Proposing to Captain O'Neill had been sheer lunacy.
Her feet moved against the treadle with renewed intensity. She burned with embarrassment every time she thought about it. When would the memory fade?
That he had done her a backhanded favor was small comfort. She had come home, had a good cry, and consulted her list of bachelors, looking for another suitable choice. Then, with resignation, she had used her perfectly sharpened sewing scissors to clip the list into pieces too small to reconstruct. No other man on the list was half as suitable as Captain O'Neill. No other choice half as reasonable. The idea was perfect idiocy from the beginning. His refusal merely brought to light her distorted logic. What had caused her temporary lapse of good judgment? Mere desperation? Loneliness?
I should write him a thank-you note. Would he find it as darkly amusing as I do?
She might well have written it, too, but his rebuff had awakened more than her powers of discernment. The physical pull she felt toward him frightened her. He walked into her daydreams unbidden, playing the role of lover. Responses and longings, urges suppressed long ago, flooded back, and with them, memories of Drew, and anger and shame.
Technically, she reminded herself, she was still a virgin. But she had given Drew everything but entry. They were engaged. They had lived in the same house. With such temptation it was miraculous she had kept anything from him at all.
Bare chests. Warm nakedness. Cuddling, stroking, fondling, tingling release. She couldn't congratulate herself on her piety, because what they had done was so very close to sex. Was so very intimate and familiar that even remembering brought a hot flush to her cheeks.
And it wouldn't have mattered if the accident hadn't happened; just a few days more and she would have been his wife. Maybe she should have gone ahead with the marriage as Drew had pressed her to. In retrospect, how she had opened herself up to scandal seemed clear. Maybe because of her indecision, or maybe because Drew was convinced he could change her mind, he hadn't moved out until nearly a week after her parents had died. If they had married, the scandal would have been prevented.
After the funerals, she wanted to
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