Rescuing Mr. Gracey (20 page)

“Aye, Alec,” she said, smiling.

He closed his eyes. “It sounds as delightful on your lips as I hoped it would.” The one-sided grin disarmed her completely. “Say it again.”

She giggled. “Alec, are our problems worrying you?”

He shook his head. “A personal matter weighs upon me.” He smiled gently. “But I have no wish for the concern to join our walk.”

She smiled, once more content. Just one week ago, Mary had walked alone, fearful of each dark street, exhausted by the field work, the cold rain without umbrellas, and hunger and thirst without bread and cider. Even the current heavy mist and far-off thunder no longer concerned her, for being in Mr. Jordan’s protective and nurturing company chased hardship away.

The black umbrella rose above, and Mary snuggled closer to his side to fit under it.
You been spoiled, Mary Smyth.
Nearly purring, Mary smiled to herself.

“And what are you smiling about Miss Smyth?” he murmured.

Alive, young, flirty, Mary beamed joy. “Oh, just a few wandering thoughts bouncing about.”

Mr. Jordan inclined his head nearer, and she inhaled his tantalizing soap-and-clove scent. “Well then, you must share the thoughts.” His devastating smile never failed to skip her heartbeat.

“Is that a fact?” Rested, fed, and very much attracted to the man next to her, Mary tilted her head and winked at him without bothering to analyze how forward she had become. “Well, I don’ know ’bout that, Mr. Jordan. Me thinks ye canno’ be trusted with me bouncing thoughts.”

Pretending offense, he clasped his chest and thickened his accent to that of a native. “Well, if I canno’ be trusted after these days of rescuin’, and plantin’, and feedin’ ya cheese and chicken, to say nothin’ about me scrubbing the laundry, then I’ve no chance at gaining your trust with bouncin’ thoughts.”

Amazed at how all the tension that used to live inside every movement had completely disappeared, Mary laughed. “Sure an’ ya make a mighty fine point, sir. I need to give ya credit for being busy on me behalf. But just so I know ’tis truly you and no’ some leprechaun come to steal me secrets, ya must be put to the test.” Mary leaned in, whispering, “First, tell me your most treasured wish.”

His eyes crinkled with mirth as he lowered his head and whispered in return, “Oh no, sweet lady. I canno’ give ya that. How do I know you’re not some elf come to steal treasured wishes just so ya can give them away to some other lad?”

Mary knew her eyes danced as she memorized his smiling face. “’Tis a dilemma, then. What to do?” She tapped her chin, then wiggled one finger. “Sure an’ I’ve landed upon a plan. Let us agree to exchange. I’ll give ya one of me bouncing thoughts, and if ya believe me, then ye must share one of your secret wishes.”

He laughed at her game. “Are ya saying ya may try to fool me with some fabricated lie?”

“Well, ya know the Irish have been known to disguise our bouncing thoughts with fabricated lies.”

Mr. Jordan chuckled, his proper accent returning. “I have no doubt I can tell if you fabricate anything, Mary Smyth, for I have made it my mission to identify your remarkable expressions, both verbal and physical.”

Though her cheeks grew warm, Mary arched her brow, enjoying the teasing banter. “So, ya think ye can tell if I lie now? A challenge indeed.” She giggled. “Come closer, lad, so that the bouncy thoughts do not escape on their own.”

With a swiftness that startled her, Mr. Jordan dropped the umbrella, looped her arm, and whipped them both into a nearby service alley. Her heart applauded the contact as one strong, insistent hand urged her closer and the other flipped her hood off her head. As he fanned his fingers into her hair, his tall frame cocooned her with cozy heat. Her breathing, caught somewhere between her stomach and her throat, puffed on his face. His mouth inched closer. “Tell me your thoughts, for I will never betray them,” he said, a deep rumble in his voice.

A foreign, very bold instinct allowed her to rest her head on his chest. His heart danced, tapping happily against her cheek. His breathing became shallow, ragged. His hand stroked her hair. “You’ve…you’ve stolen me thoughts, I fear,” she said, waiting for his mouth to touch hers.

Welcome scents of wool and cloves and a tinge of whiskey cloaked her with pleasant shivers. She closed her eyes and inhaled him. His fingers claimed her neck, her back. His arms tightened. “Take your time, lass. I am in no hurry to move away.”

She licked her lips, unable to define the ache that hummed inside her stomach. “Well…I was tinkin’…” She cleared her throat. “I was thinking, ummm.” She lifted her head and met his intense gaze. “’Tis a fine night for a walk, especially with someone as nice as you,” she whispered.

The corner of his mouth curled on one side. “Even in the rain and the cold,” he said slowly.

“I don’t feel either one.”

Smile fading, his thumb traced a slow, possessive path over her cheek, near her ear, down to her lips. “I see you are telling the truth. I will gladly give you my most treasured wish.”

Every thought, like warm butter, melted. With excruciating slowness, he tilted his head, his eyes closing as his mouth neared. Whiskey and warm spicy breath touched her mouth…so close…so close.

Her lips parted; her own eyes closed. Her hand clutched his coat, holding on for something astounding, exciting.

An explosion of metal crashed behind them.

He whirled, shoving her behind him with such force, she gasped. A cat hissed and dashed away. He released low curses, his posture now stiff, alert, as if ready for battle. He exhaled with a near growl, then clamped a hand upon her elbow, hurrying them both from the alley. Pausing, he first checked the street one way and then the other before raising the umbrella again, though there was no rain.

Irritation punched through Mary’s magic. Knowing nothing of masculine flirtations and embraces, she wondered at his rigid shoulders and tight jaw and sought to relieve the tension. “Huddled together like this, someone may think we plot rebellion,” she said teasingly.

He didn’t chuckle; his mood darkened. Ruffling his hair, he said, “We best get this night completed. A storm approaches.”

Something too deep to identify scraped against her hope. She glanced at him, wondering at the remark. He had never wished to rush deliveries before. Had she done something to make it all change?

A long, dreadful moment of silence followed. The strange dance they had performed tonight made her want to hit him, especially considering he had so easily put the desire aside. Why? What had changed his mood so completely?

She longed to fling herself into his arms, force his mouth to her own, kiss him and touch him and memorize him. Smoothing loosened strands of hair back inside the cloak’s hood, she became keenly aware of his denial…his rejection. She stuffed her empty hands into her cloak, recognizing that the unfamiliar ache to possess another person made her weak and pitiful.
He’s not interested that way, Mary Smyth.

He smiled at her, all irritation or frustration hidden behind startling blue eyes and dark, brooding brows. He was a master of emotional disguise, she admitted with surprise. That revelation frightened her. What secrets had he buried within that talent?

Putting aside the information, Mary stepped up to the cart. “This house is my last stop,” she said.

Upon her return, loath to reverse the steps toward the intimacy that had been building all week, Mary decided to try out some of Bridget’s lessons on flirting. Maybe she could return them to where they were before the intrusive cat. With a flirty smile, hoping the nervous attempt did not look like a love-sick grin, she said, “I believe ’tis time for you to keep the bargain, sir.”
Don’t sound so urgent, Mary Smyth.
She returned to the Irish accent to lighten the mood. “But I must warn ya, be careful. A shared wish is everlastin’.”

Instead of the expected smile, he stiffened as if confronted by a burdensome problem. Time stretched to awkwardness, the silence frightening and confusing. Finally, almost whispering, he said, “I’m wishing that nothing would hurt what I’ve come to cherish.”

“Oh?” She dared not breathe.

He shrugged, focused upon his boot tops. “Aye.”

“What has you so downcast, Mr. Jordan? Have our troubles weighed too much upon you?”

“No.” Lifting her hand, he enclosed her fingers in his own. “I wish I could more fully share more…” he said softly. “You don’t know how much.” His gaze caressed her face. “Yet I fear, should you discover my burden…” He paused, shoving the cart with harsh violence. “To know more may do more harm than good.”

Mary’s palms grew moist with fear. The truth, a secret—a frightful, threatening creature—was going to crawl out to poison her fairy tale. She could not bear it. Not yet.

Not tonight, when a dream came close enough to touch.

“Well then,” she said, pushing his confession back into hiding. “Secrets will just have to wait for another day.” She swallowed.

He turned toward her, his jaw tight. “Aye.” His tone had shifted, thick, full of regret.

Her heart stuttered as she watched his head droop. He looked so pained, so weighted.
He’s going to leave.
The unexpected thought slammed into her so violently, she believed lightning had struck her heart.
He’s preparing to say good-bye.
The night’s ale burned her throat. Her ears rang. How to save herself, save the magic, stop the next moment?

Dread crept up her back with sharp claws.
Ya must release him, Mary Smyth.
At least she may hold on to pride that way. She tilted her chin.
Be brave, Mary.
“Alec, I do appreciate all that you’ve done for me and my family. You’ve been a blessing.”

“My motives are selfish, Mary,” he said, rearranging the night’s collection of soiled clothing in the cart. He glanced up, capturing her gaze with his own. “I have concern for your family—but more for you.”

She hugged her arms close to her chest. “As the beneficiary of your selfishness, I am grateful to know a man of such generous self-centeredness.”

They walked in silence. He did not give her the expected notice that their friendship was at an end, and she began to waver in her opinion. By the time they arrived at her doorstop, she decided she would give one more signal that she wanted him to kiss her. If he refused again, she would know his intent. “Thank you for the escort, Alec.” The thumping of her heart increased as she tilted her chin upward and leaned toward him. She held her breath and smiled.

His brows drew down, and he looked away. Mary stepped back and dropped her head.
Perhaps he has another girl. Perhaps that is the secret.
He’s trying to break from ya.
Hot blood raced through her cold limbs, and her eyes flooded with moist heartbreak.

A quick lance of a wound ’tis better than gentle pokes. Be done with it, Mary Smyth.
She exhaled. “Now that the field is planted and my brother Patrick can escort me, I release you from the burden of our lives. Please accept our gratitude for all that you’ve done. Know you always have an invitation to visit.” A terrible squeeze stole her breath.
There, now. Do not cry. Wait ’til he waves good-bye.

He flicked his gaze to a distant point. She saw the struggle on his face, a wavering, an internal argument. Tilting his head toward the dark sky, he exhaled some pent-up force.

Nausea rose in her throat.
Be still, Mary. ’Tis comin’. His farewell is comin’.

Suddenly, he shook his head, straightened his frame. His throat cleared. “Are you trying to urge me away?” he said, his voice pure velvet. “The one entrusted with your bouncing thoughts?” Strain departed from his eyes, and the boyish, one-sided smile returned. Stroking her jaw with his thumb, he whispered, “How can I allow it, when you are in possession of my treasured wishes?”

Soft rain misted her face along with a tear that slipped down.

“God keep you safe, Mary.” He walked backward a few paces and then bowed. “I will see you on the morrow.” With that, he turned and strode briskly away.

~ 14 ~

“‘And we’ll let you see we’re not

afraid to cross over Dolly’s Brae.’”

The sun caressed Mary’s face, and she stretched like a satisfied kitten.
He’ll be here within the hour.
Every day but Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, the days he had to attend to business outside Castlewellan, Alec arrived at her door just as the sun set, basket of fruit or cheese or bread sufficient for the entire family to share. Gathered around the Smyths’ small table, the entire family chatted, laughed, and discussed methods for harvesting the upcoming crop.

And then, after the sun set, magic began. Signaling Mary with a smile, he wrapped her ragged cloak about her shoulders, assisted loading the cart with laundry, then bid farewell to her family.

Together they took the long road to Castlewellan, lengthening their time together. Intimate conversation mingled with teasing. Hushed moments followed quiet conversation, her arm tucked into his, his height and strength protecting her.

“I’ll be going to the lake this morning, Mam
,
” Mary called to her mother.

Maureen wiped her hands upon her apron. “Aye. I thought ya might. Is Mr. Jordan coming?”

“I think so.” Her smile could not be suppressed. “Where’s Da?”

“He’s working on the combing machine.”