brief moments. Something she had never expected to feel in regard to a man again. And she’d certainly never expected Mr. Tucker to be so strong. Aunt Wilma swept ahead and swung open the door to her room.
He stopped at the doorway. “Will you be all right now, Miss Roberts?” Deep concern shone from his eyes as he continued to steady her.
“Yes.” The word came out with a breathy sigh, and Beth felt an almost physical pain as his arm slipped from her waist … a pain that had nothing to do with her wrenched knee.
He waited until she entered the room, then headed toward the stairs.
Beth limped to her bed and stretched out. She darted a glance at her aunt and waited for the eruption.
Aunt Wilma settled onto the mattress beside her, and Beth hitched over, grimacing at the pain.
“Tell me what happened. Why was Mr. Tucker carrying you?” Aunt Wilma’s firm tone softened. “Mrs. Cooper seemed to believe you were badly hurt.”
Beth relaxed into the pillows. She didn’t know why she’d feared her aunt would be upset—possibly a result of her own shame at being held in a man’s arms for so long. She probed a little deeper, not sure that the word shame conveyed her feelings. Chagrin or embarrassment might come closer, although the warmth stealing over her disparaged that conclusion.
“I spent longer on the hill than I’d planned and decided to hurry home. I guess I wasn’t watching my footing. I tripped over a root and went flying. I wrenched my knee and struck a rock.”
“But what of Mr. Tucker?” Aunt Wilma’s brows beetled together. “How did he happen to come upon you? What in heaven’s name were you doing up on a hillside alone?” She drew back. “And how badly are you hurt?”
Beth held up her hand and chuckled. “One question at a time, Auntie. I’m fine. Or at least, nothing’s broken, although my knee is quite tender and sore. As for Mr. Tucker, apparently he was taking a stroll and came across me.” She bit her lip. It wasn’t a lie, as he had been taking a walk, but she couldn’t face all the forthcoming questions if she explained. “I’m quite grateful he did, although I could have made it home well enough by leaning on his arm.”
A curious sparkle lit her aunt’s eyes. “I see. It seems he didn’t agree?”
Beth ducked her head. “Well …”
“’Fess up and tell your aunt all about it. What exactly happened out there?”
“When I fell, I lost my sketch pad, and Mr. Tucker misinterpreted my response as pain. He scooped me into his arms, even though I assured him I could walk. No protest convinced him, and he insisted on carrying me to the house.” There. She’d told Aunt Wilma everything. Well, almost. Beth saw no reason to share her reactions to Jeffery’s arms cradling her against his chest or the loss she’d felt when he released her. No. Aunt Wilma had no need for those details at all.
Her aunt stroked a curl off Beth’s forehead. “And why, pray tell, didn’t you simply inform him you’d lost your tablet? I assume you didn’t mention it. Is it still out there in the brush?”
Beth nodded, misery knotting her stomach. “You’re the only one who knows I’m an illustrator. Except for my publisher, of course. But even they don’t know the real Beth Roberts. I guess I didn’t want Mr. Tucker asking questions or insisting on seeing my work.”
Aunt Wilma sighed. “I still don’t understand that decision. It’s not like your drawings are more than an enjoyable hobby. I realize you make some money from them, but one of these days you’ll marry and want to raise a family. You won’t have time for sketching. Why do you insist on keeping it a secret? Mr. Tucker would probably appreciate what you’ve done.”
“No, Aunt Wilma. I will never marry or have a family. No man would want me if he knew everything. It’s no one’s business, least of all Mr. Tucker’s. And it is not just a hobby. It’s part of who I am. It fulfills me, and that will never
He stopped at the doorway. “Will you be all right now, Miss Roberts?” Deep concern shone from his eyes as he continued to steady her.
“Yes.” The word came out with a breathy sigh, and Beth felt an almost physical pain as his arm slipped from her waist … a pain that had nothing to do with her wrenched knee.
He waited until she entered the room, then headed toward the stairs.
Beth limped to her bed and stretched out. She darted a glance at her aunt and waited for the eruption.
Aunt Wilma settled onto the mattress beside her, and Beth hitched over, grimacing at the pain.
“Tell me what happened. Why was Mr. Tucker carrying you?” Aunt Wilma’s firm tone softened. “Mrs. Cooper seemed to believe you were badly hurt.”
Beth relaxed into the pillows. She didn’t know why she’d feared her aunt would be upset—possibly a result of her own shame at being held in a man’s arms for so long. She probed a little deeper, not sure that the word shame conveyed her feelings. Chagrin or embarrassment might come closer, although the warmth stealing over her disparaged that conclusion.
“I spent longer on the hill than I’d planned and decided to hurry home. I guess I wasn’t watching my footing. I tripped over a root and went flying. I wrenched my knee and struck a rock.”
“But what of Mr. Tucker?” Aunt Wilma’s brows beetled together. “How did he happen to come upon you? What in heaven’s name were you doing up on a hillside alone?” She drew back. “And how badly are you hurt?”
Beth held up her hand and chuckled. “One question at a time, Auntie. I’m fine. Or at least, nothing’s broken, although my knee is quite tender and sore. As for Mr. Tucker, apparently he was taking a stroll and came across me.” She bit her lip. It wasn’t a lie, as he had been taking a walk, but she couldn’t face all the forthcoming questions if she explained. “I’m quite grateful he did, although I could have made it home well enough by leaning on his arm.”
A curious sparkle lit her aunt’s eyes. “I see. It seems he didn’t agree?”
Beth ducked her head. “Well …”
“’Fess up and tell your aunt all about it. What exactly happened out there?”
“When I fell, I lost my sketch pad, and Mr. Tucker misinterpreted my response as pain. He scooped me into his arms, even though I assured him I could walk. No protest convinced him, and he insisted on carrying me to the house.” There. She’d told Aunt Wilma everything. Well, almost. Beth saw no reason to share her reactions to Jeffery’s arms cradling her against his chest or the loss she’d felt when he released her. No. Aunt Wilma had no need for those details at all.
Her aunt stroked a curl off Beth’s forehead. “And why, pray tell, didn’t you simply inform him you’d lost your tablet? I assume you didn’t mention it. Is it still out there in the brush?”
Beth nodded, misery knotting her stomach. “You’re the only one who knows I’m an illustrator. Except for my publisher, of course. But even they don’t know the real Beth Roberts. I guess I didn’t want Mr. Tucker asking questions or insisting on seeing my work.”
Aunt Wilma sighed. “I still don’t understand that decision. It’s not like your drawings are more than an enjoyable hobby. I realize you make some money from them, but one of these days you’ll marry and want to raise a family. You won’t have time for sketching. Why do you insist on keeping it a secret? Mr. Tucker would probably appreciate what you’ve done.”
“No, Aunt Wilma. I will never marry or have a family. No man would want me if he knew everything. It’s no one’s business, least of all Mr. Tucker’s. And it is not just a hobby. It’s part of who I am. It fulfills me, and that will never
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