Nan Ryan (15 page)

Despite all the gossip she’d heard about the “crude, dirty Yankee,” Yasmine detected the instinctive manners of good breeding. His impeccable manners were not all she noticed. He was tall and lean and aggressively male. Just looking at him made her feel small and soft and gloriously female.

“I wonder, Mr. Northway,” she said, lowering her lashes slightly, glancing cautiously at Niles, then back at Kurt, “if you’d be interested in a little seasonal work at my estate. I’m always in search of good—”

“Thank you, ma’am. Mrs. Courtney keeps me pretty busy.”

“Oh, I’ll just bet she does,” said Yasmine.

Kurt overlooked the snide comment. “If you’ll excuse me, I should be getting—”

“Wait, wait,” said Niles, running his hands appreciatively over Raider’s big, sleek body. “How much do you want for your stallion, Northway?”

Kurt smiled. “Raider’s not for sale, Loveless.”

Niles finally looked up. “Don’t be absurd. I’ll offer you a pretty penny for the stallion. Step on down to my office with me and I’ll—”

“The stallion is not for sale.”

“Look, perhaps I haven’t made myself clear. I’m willing to pay far more than the sorrel is actually worth. What would you say to one thousand dollars? Cash on the barrelhead. I’ll give you this very—”

“No, thanks.” Kurt unlooped Raider’s reins from the hitching post and stepped into the street.

“Twelve hundred!” said Niles, anxiously following Kurt. “You can’t turn down twelve hundred! I want this horse.”

“So do I,” said Kurt, and mounted.

Niles caught hold of the bridle. “Look, Northway, I thought … I was told you’re only working at Helen Courtney’s place in order to get the money to go back home.”

“You heard correctly.” Kurt nodded, slowly backed the stallion away.

“For twelve hundred dollars you and your boy can ride the train home and still have plenty left over to get started on a—”

“Good day, Mrs. Parnell. Mr. Loveless.” Kurt wheeled Raider about in a tight semicircle and rode away.

“Fifteen hundred! Seventeen-fifty!” Niles frantically called, running a few steps after him, but Kurt didn’t look back.

His eyes clinging to the shimmering sorrel stallion, Niles Loveless stood in the dusty street muttering to himself, “I must have that stallion! He’s the finest thoroughbred I’ve ever seen in my life! I’d bet everything I own he’d be a shoe-in to win the race at the Baldwin County Fair! Dammit, he’s exactly what I need to make my stable the envy of every discerning horseman in the South.”

While Niles’s covetous gaze followed the cantering stallion, Yasmine’s interested gaze followed the jet-haired man astride. To herself she silently thought,
I must have that man! He’s the finest specimen of masculinity I’ve ever seen in my life! He’s exactly what I need to counterbalance my affair with Niles. With both I’d have a rich golden god to fill my warm, lazy afternoons. And a dark, dangerous devil to fill the sultry summer nights. The handsome Yankee’s exactly what I need to make my boudoir the envy of every discriminating female in the South
.

“Look at that deep chest! The lean flanks! Those extraordinary legs,” murmured a lustful Niles Loveless.

“I am,” breathed an equally lustful Yasmine Parnell. “I am.”

Chapter Sixteen

H
elen stood in the sun waving good-bye as the Ellicott carriage slowly rolled away. Charlie was at Helen’s side, waving too. He liked the talkative Em.

He and Jolly had returned from their fishing expedition around noontime, proudly displaying their catch. Now Jolly had gone home to rest.

It was the middle of the afternoon and all was very still. Not a hint of a breeze stirred the leaves on the trees or cooled the heavy air. And it was warm. Unseasonably warm for early June. Helen could feel her petticoat sticking to her legs and beads of perspiration forming at her hairline.

Helen waved until the big black carriage turned into the tree-bordered lane and disappeared. Then she looked down at Charlie. He was attempting to stifle a big yawn.

Helen smiled and said, “If I know Jolly, he’s sound asleep in his favorite chair. Think you might like to take a little nap?” Charlie nodded sleepily. “I’ll walk you to the quarters,” said Helen. She held out her hand and to her surprised delight, the child placed his small warm palm in hers.

At the quarters Helen went directly to the bed, fluffed up the pillows, and smoothed the covers. Charlie put a knee on the mattress, climbed up, and stretched out on his back.

Flinging his short arms up over his head, he said, “Wake me up when the captain gets back.” He flashed that wide smile which enchanted her and at the same time broke her heart.

“All right,” Helen said, tempted to kiss his smooth forehead.

“Helen,” Charlie said softly, eyelids closing as he slipped toward slumber.

“Yes, Charlie?”

Helen’s throat tightened painfully when the sweet little boy asked, “Will this be my home forever?”

Helen hadn’t had to answer Charlie. He fell asleep instantly. But his words still rang in her ears an hour later as she completed the laundry. Struggling, she tipped over and emptied the wooden rinse barrel and the black wash pot. She was righting the heavy black pot when she heard the drum of hoofbeats.

The Yankee was back.

Helen’s first impulse was to hurry and get inside before he spotted her. She changed her mind. She was mildly curious. She wanted to see how he looked with a decent haircut.

She began to frown skeptically when Kurt dismounted just outside the corral. Her jaw tightening, she started toward him, inspecting him closely, her gaze on his full head of gleaming black hair.

She heard him softly command his stallion to go on into the corral. The stallion obeyed.

Kurt turned to face her, but he didn’t take one step.

He waited. He let her come to him.

Growing angrier with every step she took, Helen doggedly approached, her blue eyes snapping with exasperation. She reached him, looked pointedly at his unshorn hair, then directly into his deep green eyes.

“Captain, are you bound and determined to annoy me?” She gave him no time to answer. “Must you stubbornly refuse to do what I ask of you? I specifically requested that you get your hair cut and you agreed! You took my money. You went into town. You’ve been gone the whole livelong day! You come riding back here in the late afternoon and your hair hasn’t been touched! What on God’s green earth have you been doing all this time? Drinking whiskey at the Red Rose Saloon? Gambling at Shelby’s Poker Palace? You’re either a fool or a hardhead or both! You can’t expect to squander my hard-earned money and be allowed to remain here on this farm. I made that crystal clear the very first day, but you obviously weren’t paying attention.” She drew a quick, much-needed breath. “Just what have you to say for yourself?”

“Not too much,” Kurt said in the same low-level tones he always used.

He reached down inside the front pocket of his trousers, withdrew the coins he hadn’t spent, and held them out to her.

“I didn’t get the haircut,” he admitted. “But I didn’t squander your hard-earned money either.”

Puzzled, Helen looked at the coins resting on his palm. She didn’t reach for them. She looked up sharply at him. “Why? Why didn’t you have your hair cut?”

Kurt reached out, took her hand, and spilled the coins into it. “The barber refused.”

“Skeeter Jones wouldn’t cut your hair?”

“No, ma’am. Nor would his assistant.”

“That’s absurd. I’ve never heard of anything so … Why would he do a thing like that? I’ve never known Skeeter to turn down business. I can’t understand …” Her words trailed off.

“It appears the town barber doesn’t like Yankees any better than the rest of the good folks in Spanish Fort.” Kurt shrugged wide shoulders.

Helen opened her mouth, closed it without speaking. She stared at him. She studied his dark, chiseled face with the too-long black curls falling over his forehead and the deep forest-green eyes as calm as the quiet afternoon. He seemed totally composed. As impassive as ever.

Helen felt her anger at him swiftly turning into anger at the citizens of Spanish Fort. It was then, that moment, as she stood there in the warm sunshine on that still June afternoon, that she felt, for the first time, a vague kinship to the tall, shaggy-haired man before her.

He was a Yankee, yes, but he was—to the best of her knowledge—a law-abiding man who had gone peacefully into a place of business, not looking to cause trouble, offering money in exchange for services rendered. He didn’t deserve to be turned away any more than a well-behaved Southerner would deserve to be turned away in some Northern establishment.

“Captain,” Helen said finally, a hint of kindness in her voice, “I’m sorry for what happened at the barbershop. And I’m sorry as well for all the unkind things I said to you. I apologize.”

“Apology accepted. I understand.”

“I’ll cut your hair.”

His green eyes immediately widened.

“I’ll do it right now. This afternoon.”

Kurt smiled then. “I’ve never had a lady cut my hair.”

Helen didn’t smile, but her face had lost its tightness and her eyes softened. “Then we’re even, Captain. I’ve never cut a man’s hair.” She turned away, paused, and said, “Unsaddle Raider and give him his rubdown. Charlie should be awake by then. The two of you come on up to the house. I’ll meet you on the front porch.”

“We’ll be there,” said Kurt.

Helen waited for the pair on the shaded front veranda. All was ready. She had spread a worn sheet on the porch’s wooden floor. That done, she had placed a straight-backed kitchen chair squarely in the center of the spread sheet. On the chair seat lay a folded white towel, a pair of scissors, a soft-bristled brush, and a round hand mirror with a long silver handle.

As she waited for the pair, Helen leaned against a solid porch pillar, her arms folded, and looked out over the calm blue bay. All traces of the morning’s thick shrouding mists had long since evaporated. The sun shone down from a cloudless sky, its fierce glare making tiny reflecting mirrors of the outgoing tide’s gentle waves.

Across the wide bay rose the buildings of Mobile, shimmering in the afternoon sunlight. Just south of the city, at the entrance to the bay, were the tall turrets and huge cannons of Fort Gaines. In the harbor one lonely passenger steamer, a couple of shrimp boats, and a few scattered timber barges moved easily in and out of the port.

Helen sighed.

She recalled the time before the war when the harbor of Mobile was one of the busiest in the entire country. Huge cargo freighters bound for England, Spain, the Caribbean maneuvered cautiously through the heavy traffic of sleek sailing vessels, majestic riverboats, burly tugs, and huge barges.

Back then the active port with its constantly bustling levee was an exciting place. So incredibly thrilling to stroll down the wide wooden wharf through the milling crowds. Banjos playing gaily. Smiling youths tap-dancing while people tossed coins at their feet. Vendors selling fresh flowers and sugary pralines and sun-ripened fruit. Elegantly gowned ladies and handsomely dressed gentlemen promenading to see and be seen. Well-heeled passengers disembarking from wedding-cake-trimmed sidewheelers.

It was over. The good life. The old life. The golden days and nights. Gone. All gone. It would never come back again.

“Mrs. Courtney.” Kurt Northway’s deep voice from very near pulled Helen from her wistful reverie.

Blinking away the past, she turned to see Kurt round the corner of the house. Alone. Before she could question him, he said, “Charlie was sleeping so soundly, I hated to wake him.”

“He’s had a busy day,” Helen replied, nodding.

But even as she calmly made the statement, she was frantically wishing that Charlie was awake, was going to be with them. Or that she had not offered to cut Northway’s hair. Never in a million years would she have made such a proposal had she known he would come alone. Now she couldn’t very well back out.

Kurt walked up beside her, stood looking out over the wide expanse of the calm blue bay. Sensing her edginess, he made a special effort to put her at her ease. Smoothly engaging her in casual conversation, he commented on the breathtaking view from the wide shaded gallery.

His gaze fixed on the buildings of Mobile, he told of his and Charlie’s day-long stay in the gleaming old city across the water. He asked the names of the myriad sweet-smelling bushes and flowering trees filling her big front yard. He pointed to the thick maze of lush green foliage below them, bordering the yard.

Helen explained that the dense junglelike growth totally enveloped the bluffs where the headland fell away and sloped down to the bay fifty feet below. Pointing, she told him that once there had been stairs leading from the yard’s front border all the way down to the water’s edge. Her Grandpa Burke had built them before she was born.

“And you used to skip down those stairs, counting the steps as you went,” said Kurt, smiling, his eyes remaining on the dramatic landscape spread out at their feet.

She looked at him. “Yes, yes, I did. But that was a long time ago. The steps have all fallen down or rotted from the rains. The swampy jungle had reclaimed most of the path Grandpa cleared to build the steps.” Helen turned away. “It’s Dominic’s domain now. We’d better get started on that haircut.”

“You’re right,” Kurt said, and began unbuttoning his blue cotton shirt as Helen walked away.

From the straight-backed chair, Helen picked up the scissors, brush, and long-handled hand mirror. “Captain, I’ve laid out a towel for you to—” she turned quickly, practically bumped into his broad, bare chest, and stopped speaking.

Kurt reached out, touched her waist, steadied her. “You okay?”

“Well, yes, I … I … didn’t know you were so close.… I didn’t expect … Captain, you’ve taken off your shirt.”

“Did you want me to leave it on? I thought since … I can get it … put it back on.”

“No. No. Of course not,” she said, quickly lifting her eyes from his naked torso.

But not quickly enough to avoid noticing that his waist, as slender as a young boy’s, was corded with muscles which stirred with the rise and fall of his breathing, or that the crisp black hair covering his chest was damp with perspiration. “I … ah … sit down, please.”