Rescue Me Please (5 page)

She was
caught by
surprise
,
that
even in her frightened state
,
the man
standing before her
made her catch her breath.
 
A devilishly handsome face
framed by dark waves
with sharp masculine features.  Tall.  Imposing. 
Clear b
lue eyes sparkling with amusement. 
He was broad, nearly blocking
what little sun appeared on that
winter’s day. 
Perhaps it was his kind eyes
or the humor hinted at in their depths
?
  She reined in her thoughts
, a determined set to her mouth.  Almost as if an afterthought, she reached for the ribbon
tied
around her neck, tugging slightly, then she patted her bodice clutching at the sm
all lump between her breasts.

Parker’s eyes followed her
agitated
movements choosing not to mention the action at th
at
time. 
“Your baby is safe with me,”
he
assured.  “You have no need to fear.”  He allowed
his voice to go soft and calming.  He took that moment to rise
cautiously to his feet with
the infant
still
pressed securely against his wide shoulder.  “I mean you know harm.”
 
He kept his gaze on hers
;
h
er tired gr
een eyes held suspicion
as if she wasn’t fully convinced that she could trust him
and her
pink-tipped
nose told him she was
cold.

She couldn’t help but stare; he was such a large man, tall, broad-shouldered, lean, and well
-
dressed with casual elegance, almost immaculate if not for the loosened cravat about his neck and the thick brown hair tipped with gold
that
lay
tousled atop his head which she assumed was normally flawlessly styled.  She watched as he raked his long fingers through the silky strands and almost smiled.  He was the perfect example of man
.  The kind
that would have caught her
eye before—her past desires were
no longer of
any
conse
quence.  She closed her eyes
gather
ing
her wits.  She had only enough strength to worry for herself and her daughter. 
The rest was nothing but a best forgotten longing for something that would never be hers.  She opened her eyes slowly, her gaze not quite focused.

Parker
watched her closely taking note of how she held the knife with
both hands,
her knuckles
white.  H
er arms stretched out stiff in front of her, her m
eager bosom heaving. 
Fear
perceptible in every tense line of her slender body. 
No, not just fear. 
Terror
. 
He could tell that she had no formal traini
ng in weaponry, but hid her terror
well behind false bravado. 
His brows drew together, and h
e stared intently at her.

“Imagi
ne my disbelief as I walked
and nearly stumbled upon your crying babe.”  He noticed
that she fought a
smile.  He watched as she pressed her lips flat before losing the battle as the corners of her mouth
tip
ped
up in an unexpect
ed smile, if for only a second.  A
flicker of warmth heated her eyes for a moment before they were shuttered once again with guardedness. 
He knew that smile meant
something;
it seemed rusty, but not forced.  It appeared and brightened her face and for some reason he felt that smile all the way down to his toes. 
He
used that distraction to inch
closer.

A heartbeat of silence descended over the clearing
, curiously
he observed
her.
  His
eyes traveled over her disheveled appearance.  She was rail thi
n and beyond pale.  Her deep red
hair was scraped back in a tight coil at the back of her head
,
with hunks of limp curls falling a
bout
her face.  Dark circles were drawn beneath her eyes as if from charcoal
,
emphasizing the washed-out appearance of her skin.  Her cheeks hollow
ed
and the freckles scattered across her nose made more visible by her ashen appearance.  And although the dress had seen better days, he could
see
that under the filth and grime, the fabric was of the highest quality.  The worn cotton hung loosely on her body as if she hadn’t eaten
well
in a good while, although the bab
y appeared healthy and well-fed.  D
elightful rolls of fat encased its tiny body.

“Your
baby needs a dry cloth.”  His eyes slanted towards the discarded satchel.  “I was going in search of one
when I accidently woke you from your rest
.”

Her brow wrinkled in confusion.  She glanced
at her baby, then her face crump
led. 
He could see her check the tears
that had welled up in her eyes.  Her head shook tiredly from side to side
. 
She licked her lips and
swallowed
h
er voice
a croak as she responded to his inquiry, “Our belongings were taken a few days back when we stopped to re
st.  I have nothing else to use,”
he
r reply said
in a low voice and
with a regretful shake of her head
.  She averted
her eyes,
press
ing
her lips together to still their trembling.

“Crying women make me nervous,” he admitted not taking his eyes off her face.  “You would think with two sisters and an aunt under my care I would have become quite used to tears by now, but alas
,
no.”  He kept his eyes trained on her face watching for any sign.  He almost chuckled when he saw a spark of humor flicker then quickly
disappear in her green depths.

“It’s true.”
  He shuffled a bi
t closer.  “A single tear reduces
me to rubbish.”

She looked up into his eyes, her lips twitching.

He shrugged
, with a rueful twist to his lips
. 
“Where?”  He could feel anger welling up inside of him that someone could be so cruel to such an obviously needy traveler?
  He was impressed that after all that she had obviously endured, she could still find a reason to smile.  No matter how fleeting the action.

“Where?”  She was so very tired she didn’
t understand
what he was questioning.

“Where did you lose your belongings?”  He bristled.  “Ashford?”

She gave a brisk shake of her head.  “
I believe the town was called
Caldwell.”  The word
s
squeaked from her throat.

His shoulders
almost
slumped in relief.  “Well then, we must improvise.” 
Without hesitating
,
he reached for his cravat
.  There simply wasn’t an
other viable alternative at that
time.

She gasped in horror as he
gently
laid her baby on the freshly cut grass.  He
proceeded to reach up and tug his fine linen cravat from around his neck.  A strangled
cry escaped when she realized his intended
use
for said cravat. 
The panels of his shirt separated revealing
the
sun-browned skin of his neck and the beginnings of a dark furred chest to her gaze.  “You cannot…”
 

He lifted his head and met her worried green eyes waving his hand
dis
missive
ly
just
in time to witness her hastily averted
eyes from the V of his shirt
.  A delightful pink color enhanced
her
previously
pale cheeks.  A small smile played at the corners of his mouth.  “Of course I can.  The babe is quite uncomfortable in its current circumstances
and I have means to remedy the discomfort.
”

“I have nothing of valu
e to offer for your cravat, sir,” s
he said despondently, gesturing towards her person.  “As you can very plainly see, I have barely enough to keep the two of us fed
…
”
she broke off, her chest heaving
as she tried to regain control of herself
.  T
he look in her eyes
one of
desperat
ion
.

The knot in Parker’s stomach grew larger. 
He was surprised by her speech.  It was that of a lady. 
“I do not recall having asked for recompense.”  He quickly tied the makeshift nappy and lifted the baby in front of him as if he were admiring his handiwork.  Then he
p
ropped
the baby on his shoulder once again before standing.  “And I believe that you sell yourself short.  You have much to offer.”

A look of puzzlement drew her fine brows together; a certain measure of relief entered her face but also a hint of fear as panic hammered in her chest.
  “I do
not
understand?”
She marveled at how ca
lm she sounded.  How composed.

“What I would ask of you is your name and that of your baby.”
He raised his brow in question.

Persephone’s eyes locked on his and her hand fell back to her side, tuck
ed into the folds of her skirt while
she weighed his words.  Could she trust him?  Did she dare to hope that he held no nefa
rious designs on her person
other than kindness? 
How did she know he wasn’t one that had been searching for her all along? 
She should have been more fear
ful, but she found herself
mollified by his immaculate attire and her exhaustion.  In her dealings with unscrupulous men
,
they came in all shapes, sizes
,
and clothing.  She should have learned her lesson by now.  The vilest creature
s
she had ever met came attired in the finest threads money could buy.
They d
isguised
themselves
as the holiest of angels
,
when in truth they were
the most sinful
of demons.
The difference, they most definitely would not have bothered to soothe a crying infant with tender words and incoherent sounds of comfort.

Emotions knotted her stomach.  She glanced worriedly at her crying baby, then down at the frayed hem of her gown and the numerous dirt smudges scattered across her skirt and felt a tw
inge of embarrassment, t
hen she
quickly
checked her response.  Embarrassment was a ridiculous emotion to have in this situation.  She released the knife with one hand
in order
to
pull her thread-bare shawl more tightly around her wan frame
yet unable to ease the numbness of her uncomfortably
cold
feet
.

She took a moment to study him.  He was well over six foot tall and large—even with the knife she was in no position to fight him.  She hadn’t eaten in days and the most sleep she had had was the few minutes she had stolen this afternoon.  In fact, her lack of food was making her decidedly woozy.  Could she truly afford to discourage any help being offered?

Parker studied her right back.  His look deliberate, determined
as she chewed on her bottom lip for a mom
ent, then dragged in a breath.

“Persephone Smith and my baby’s name is Tillie.
Matilda, but I call her Tillie,” she explained, h
er voice shaky.  He couldn’t tell from fear or hunger.

“Persephone,” he
repeated
,
his brow quirked, smiling slightly
. 
“Your parents must have had a profound interest in Greek mythology.”
He bowed.  “To be in the presence of the daughter of Zeus is a tremendous honor.”
  He couldn’t help the smile that appeared.  “Or am I in the presence of the wife of Hades?”

Her eyes widened at his knowledge of Greek mythology
and his attempt at humor
.  “My father.”
A brief smile appeared, but sadness dulled her eyes.  “He was mad about it; he would have named me Medu
sa had my mother not intervened and
for the latter,
I suppose it would depend on whom you ask.
”