Anything for You (7 page)

“If I didn't have rules, I'd have Bert and Hank bringing their cheroots into the kitchen. I don't think the jacks would appreciate ashes in their soup.”

Gypsy wove through the crowded room. She smiled when she heard the jacks complaining about aching heads after a long night at the Porcelain Feather Saloon. Listening to their outrageous descriptions of how badly they hurt, she suspected they exaggerated their hangovers as they did everything else. Each logger wanted to be the biggest, strongest, fastest. She wondered what prestige there was in having the worst headache.

The kitchen was quiet. Faint scents of fried eggs and toast were overpowered by the aroma of fresh coffee. Mounds of rising bread sat on the table, but the hectic pace had slowed to Adam reaching for two cups. He grinned at Reverend Frisch and took down another.

“Oscar volunteered to take the big pot in after he reminded me I shouldn't be toting it around,” Adam said as he poured coffee from a smaller pot.

“It's good
he
has sense.” Gypsy stirred sugar into her coffee. “Reverend, I don't think you've met Adam Lassiter. He's new in my kitchen.”

The minister took the cup of coffee Adam held out. “What happened to you?”

“A log and I had an argument.” Adam tapped the crutch against his cast. “The log won, and I ended up here working for Gypsy.”

“Is she working you hard?”

“Gypsy believes idle hands are the devil's tool.”

“Nonsense.” The minister grinned. “She refuses to give the devil his due, but she makes sure Glenmark gets a fair day's work for his dollar.”

“I'd say she gets more than a fair day's work out of us. I've been trying to figure out how Hank can stay so fat when she's been working my fingers to the bone.”

“Gentlemen,” Gypsy interjected, “if you're finished talking about me, I have some pie.”

Reverend Frisch took a deep drink and put his cup on the table. “Sorry, Gypsy. I've got to leave. There's a funeral I have to speak at up the river.”

“Funeral?”

“Not an accident,” he said hastily. “The inkslinger at Bradbury Lumber died two days ago. They want me to say a few words over him before they send him home for a decent burial.” He laughed as he pulled on his coat. “What's wrong, Gypsy? You have less color in your face than the corpse will. It isn't like you to be spooked like one of these superstitious lumberjacks.”

She shrugged, but her shoulders were heavy. She had told no one about the note she had received almost a week ago. Forgetting it would be the best thing. No one was going to traipse all the way through these woods to find her. A letter was one thing. Risking freezing to death was another.

Yet she could not put it out of her mind unless … she bit back the curse she should not speak in the minister's hearing. Adam's touch had banished every thought of that letter from her head. That only proved she was as stupid as whoever had written the note.

“Gypsy?”

She blinked at Adam's question. Raising her gaze to his blue eyes, she saw his confusion. Not that she blamed him. No one could understand her fear. No one must, or … she did not want to think of that.

She forced her voice to be calm as she said, “I'm just tired.”

“You should let your flunkeys do more of your jobs,” Reverend Frisch chided. “You do too much for a—”

“A woman?”

“I was going to say a kingbee cook.” The sky pilot tapped his pipe against his empty cup, then put it in his pocket. He wrapped a brightly colored muffler around his neck and pulled on a garish stocking cap. “But you're right, Gypsy. No woman—no man, either—should work as hard as you do.”

“Who else is going to do it?”

“That's the problem, isn't it? Why don't you let Adam help you? He looks like he can carry his weight.”

“He can barely tote himself!”

Reverend Frisch chuckled and patted her shoulder. “Take care of yourself, Gypsy. Don't let one of these lads convince you to run off with him without giving me a chance to propose.”

“You, Reverend?” Her eyes widened. “Now, what would your wife say?”

“She probably wouldn't be pleased, but I have to admit I have a hankering for more of your swamp water and pie.”

After the minister left with half a pie wrapped for the trip, Gypsy sat at the kitchen table and stared at her coffee. While he refilled his cup, Adam remained silent. The mumbled voices from the dining room drifted over them as he sat across from her. He pushed the rising loaves of bread aside.

“Be careful,” she warned.

“You worry too much.”

“I don't want to have to remake those loaves because of your clumsiness.”

Leaning his elbows on the table, he asked, “When's the last time you took a break from the work here?”

“You've seen how much time it takes. If I want to keep my job, I have to do what's necessary.”

“But you love it?”

“There's no need to make that a question.” Swirling the coffee in her cup, she smiled.

Adam grimaced as he stood and walked to where another pie waited by the window. Cutting a slice, he took a bite before saying, “Maybe for you, but I'm looking forward to the end of winter. Then I can see Saginaw and civilization again.”

“It's hard to imagine being in a city with real streets and trees that are for sitting under instead of chopping down.”

“You've never been to Saginaw?”

Gypsy gave him what she hoped was a withering glower. “Don't be ridiculous! Of course I've been there.”

“When's the last time you took a day off?”

“A whole day?”

He rested his shoulder against the wall and put his elbow on his crutch. “Twenty-four hours, Gypsy. One day. Three meals for these ravenous lumbermen. When's the last time you took a whole day off?”

“It's been a while,” she hedged.

“How long is a while?”

Putting her spoon on the table, she rose and went to the flour barrel. “You know how many hours are in a day. Why don't you figure out how many hours are in
a while
while you peel potatoes for stew?”

“You're just as bad as Farley warned you'd be.”

She faced him. Until she saw his frown, she had been unsure if he were joking or not. “You didn't have to take this job!”

“No? I like the feel of that bonus in my pocket. I sure wasn't about to give it back because I had to work for an unreasonable dictator.”

“I'm not unreasonable.”

Despite his determination not to let her best him with her honed words, Adam smiled. She stood with her hands planted firmly on her slender waistband. Her apron could not hide the feminine lace of her blouse, which accented the pleasing curves of her body. They drew his eyes too often for a man who should be thinking of other things. Her mouth was as warm as her hair, and her jade eyes challenged him to discover which was softer. Not just a hint of a kiss, but a deep, lingering kiss as he tasted every luscious corner of her mouth.

He started toward her, but remembered his crutch in time. Placing it under his arm, which no longer throbbed from hours of having the wood jammed beneath him, he hobbled to where she stood in the larder doorway. “I hope we can be less cynical than we were the last time we spoke here.”

“That depends on how you handle yourself.”

“Or how I don't handle you.”

Gypsy did not smile. “I'd prefer you didn't remind me about that.”

“You remind me of it all the time.”

“
I
do? You're crazy!”

Shaking his head, he leaned his shoulder against the door. His body ached from long days of working in the kitchen and being near this woman who would have enticed him even if there had been dozens of other women around. After sitting on the bench all night while he kept the fire stoked, he was ready for bed. He would gladly take her with him.

He almost laughed at that thought. One thing he had learned about Gypsy Elliott this week: She thought about one thing and one thing only—making meals for the jacks working for Glenmark. Too bad he could not be so single-minded. It would help him sleep instead of tossing on that uncomfortable bunk.

“I'm not crazy.” He swallowed a yawn. “Just honest when I say I think about you in my arms when I see you flitting about like a bee.”

“Which I can't do if you don't move aside. Adam, I have to—”

He caught her hand in his. When her wide eyes rose from his red plaid shirt to his smile, he shook his head. “No, you don't have anything to do right now. It's Sunday, Gypsy. Let's take a walk and enjoy the sunshine. It's the first time we've seen the sun in a week.”

“I'd love to, but I have to start supper.”

“Let Oscar and Per start it.”

“It's not fair that—”

“Gypsy, they'll be glad to get away from Hank's bellyaching about his headache.” He rubbed her fingers slowly. When they quivered in his, he bent toward her to whisper, “And I deserve some time off after sitting up all night to tend to the stove and listen to you pace in your room.”

She drew back. “You must have heard the snow shifting on the roof. I slept well last night.”

His fingers under her chin tipped her face back toward him. “Why are you lying to me? Even if I hadn't heard you with my own two ears, those sooty circles under your eyes tell me the truth.”

As her lips parted, he knew he did not want to hear her excuses. He wanted to kiss her. His hands framed her face, sifting up through her hair as he brought her mouth beneath his.

Shock stiffened her, but she softened as he delved deep into her mouth, wanting to sample every sweet secret. When his tongue touched hers, she shivered in his arms.

His hands slipped down her back to draw her even closer as his mouth trailed along her throat, pausing when her pulse leaped like the flames in the stove. Hungrily, his mouth found her lips again. They were even more delicious than he had remembered.

“No,” Gypsy moaned, pulling away. She could not keep her fingers from trembling as she patted her hair back into its bun.

“Gypsy—”

“No. I told you this was impossible.”

He smiled and ran a single finger along her arm, renewing the swirls of enchantment dancing through her. “I think we both know this is quite possible.”

She took a deep, steadying breath. “I need to get supper started.”

“After we go for a walk.”

“Adam, I—”

“You need to get out of here.” He grinned. “For a while.”

She hesitated. “Just a walk?”

“Just a walk.”

“Nothing else?”

“Do you want a promise written in blood?” He laughed shortly. “You can ask your buddy Farley along if you'd like a chaperon.”

A smile eased the tension across her lips. “I think he's probably pretty busy with Rose right now.”

“Is that a yes, then?”

“If we don't talk about this.”

“This?” He pointed to the stove. “Or this?” His finger traced the curve of her lips.

Fighting the yearning to melt beneath his touch, she whispered, “None of it.”

“All right.”

“Just like that?”

“I can be reasonable. Once in a while.”

She laughed. The idea of escaping from the kitchen for even an hour was intoxicating. “I have to get my bonnet and coat.”

He smiled, then gave her a roguish wink. “Allow me, Gypsy. After all, I know you consider me less than a gentleman.”

“Do you think you should?”

“Get your coat?” His forehead creased in bafflement.

“No. Take a walk.” She touched the crutch. “You don't want to hurt your ankle more.”

His fingers slid over hers. When she did not pull her hand away, he stroked it. The sweet warmth burst forth again, but not where he touched her. Deep inside.

Not wanting it to end, she feared what might happen if she let it continue. She swallowed her gasp of surprise as he drew away. His smile warned her he had guessed what she was thinking.

“I'll be able to manage in the snow.” His low voice resonated through her with the power of a falling tree striking the frozen ground. “If you're looking for an excuse not to go with me, just say so.”

“I want to go with you. I mean …” She laughed at her girlish shyness. She often spent a rare free hour gossiping with one of the flunkeys or a jack. This would be just the same.

Wouldn't it?

CHAPTER FIVE

Gypsy tried to tell herself she had not made a mistake. When Adam hobbled across the room to get her coat and her simple straw bonnet with its black grosgrain ribbons, she drew her apron over her head and hung it on the peg by her bedroom door. This walk might give her the chance to learn more about Adam Lassiter and why he was at this camp.

She reached for her coat, but he smiled and held it up. “Be careful,” she warned when she saw how precariously he was balanced on the crutch.

“I'm not planning on throwing myself at your feet.”

“I didn't think you were.” She slid her arms into the cool wool. As she buttoned her coat, she watched him shrug on his. “You're doing much better than I thought you would. You've never complained.”

“I've complained.”

Gypsy laughed as he dropped her bonnet on her hair. Adjusting it, she tied the ribbons beneath her chin. “Not about your leg. You've only griped about your cast.”

“The blasted thing crashes against everything until I feel like a clown.” He wagged a finger at her. “Don't say it.”

Gypsy smiled as they walked out through the dining room. It was nearly deserted except for a few jacks still reading the magazines Reverend Frisch had brought. She jumped down past the slick spot where the eaves dripped. Turning, she held out her hand to steady Adam.

“Back away, Gypsy,” he ordered. “If I slip, I'll send you flying into that snowbank over there.”