Twice Blessed (7 page)

When he took a step toward her, she edged back. She did not know this man well, but surely he would not do anything inappropriate in front of his own child. Would he? She knew how poor a judge of character she was. Her kind heart had betrayed her before.

He reached out, and she struggled not to scream. She was not sure who, other than the children, would hear her in the middle of the night.

“Allow me, Emma,” he said with a chuckle.

Heat slapped her face as he settled the coverlet on her shoulders as if it were a fine silk cloak. As his fingers smoothed the layers of fabric along her shoulders, his breath coursed through her hair, grazing her cheek in an invitation she doubted he intended.

She had not realized he was so tall until they stood here in her cozy house. His chin could rest on the top of her head, but as he bent toward her, she could see nothing but those earth-brown eyes.

“Thank you, Noah.” She looked at the little girl, who was staring down at her dog. There had been much talk at the store about a widower and his child who had moved onto the farm a few weeks ago. She wondered why no one had mentioned how good looking Noah was. Maybe because he had infuriated all his neighbors already.

He glanced at the dog. “I appreciate your taking care of this emergency for us in the middle of the night. When Fuzzball came home all bloody, I wasn't sure who could help. I remembered someone talking about your tending to one of their animals.”

“How did Fuzzball—” She smiled, as he did, when she spoke the silly name. “How did he get shot? Belinda said something about Mr. Murray. Do you—”

“Can we talk somewhere without little ears listening to every word?”

As he waited for Emma's answer, Noah glanced at Belinda, who was perched on the sofa, a three-colored calico cat curled up against her. Her head was bobbing as she fought to stay awake. He did not want to chance her hearing what he had to say, even when she was half asleep.

Beside her, Sean O'Dell was curled up, asleep. Noah sighed. Apparently Emma had tamed the wild youngster already. He hoped so. Belinda did not need to be learning anything from one of those kids who had been placed out around the village.

Looking back at Belinda, he resisted the temptation to take one of the embroidered pillows and set it behind her. It was not easy being both mother and father to this child, because she kept him on his toes with her many questions and her delightful insights into the commonplace. Although she had been in his life so few years, he could not imagine what his days would be like without her in them to fill each one with joy.

“Alone?” Emma asked.

At the edge to her question, he turned back to Emma. He could not blame her for getting the wrong impression. Their last meeting had not been under the best of circumstances. He had to admit he had not gotten the wrong impression about her. He smiled as he noted how tightly she held the blanket closed around her. Too late, he wanted to tell her, for the image of her in that light pink nightdress that matched the color in her cheeks was seared into his mind. With her tawny hair curling around her neck and cascading in a golden river down her back, she looked like an angel, even as she put the most devilish thoughts into his mind. He wanted to reassure her he had not used a wounded dog and a heartsick child as a way to get into a lady's house so he could ravish her.

But damn, she was ravishing!

“Noah?”

The impatience in her voice freed him from the fantasy that, if she had guessed what he was thinking, would have gained him a well-deserved slap. “Yes, Emma.” He cleared his throat. “May we speak privately?”

“I have coffee left over from supper in the kitchen. It should still be hot. If not, I'll put some more water on.”

As well as every light
, he thought as he nodded and followed her out into the small room beyond where the dog slept in front of the stove. She was showing good sense. Something he should have as well, although it would be so much easier to be sensible if she were not still draped in that blanket which brought out the green in her eyes and the warm flush of her lips.

“Please sit down,” she said as she took the pot off the warming shelf on the large black stove. It nearly filled the small room.

Open shelves overflowing with boxes and dishes were set on all the walls except by the stove and where the window over a dry sink offered a view of the rain. He noticed no two plates on the shelves were the same color and wondered how she had amassed such an odd collection. A door was almost hidden in the shadows. He noticed it only because the wind rattled it. With the lantern overhead cascading light down upon the bright yellow oilcloth on the table, it was a cozy room.

Noah pulled out one of the chairs and frowned as it wobbled. “Is it the floor or the chair that's uneven?”

She smiled. “I suspect both are.” Her smile vanished when he tipped up the chair to examine it. “What are you doing?”

“This chair has a loose rung. A bit of glue and a couple of small nails will make it steady again.”

“You sound as if you know quite a bit about chairs.”

Turning the chair upright, he sat on it cautiously. It would hold him … for now. “I need to know more than a bit about chairs and tables and bedsteads. I make furniture.”

“But you bought the Collis farm.”

He took the cup she held out to him. “It has a good woodlot. The maple and birch will be enough to keep me in wood for several years. I'm hoping there's still plenty of cedar left in there.” Taking a sip of the coffee as she sat across from him, he smiled. “You brew a strong cup.”

“It wasn't so strong earlier. If you'd like me to make a fresh pot—”

When he put his hand on her arm to keep her from jumping to her feet, he was astonished at the flash in her eyes. He had seen it before, but not on her face. Fear. He pulled his hand back.

“The coffee is fine,” he said, although a dozen questions battered at his lips. His motion had been nothing more than polite, but her fingers quivered as she lifted her cup. Putting his own on the table, he added, “I want to thank you again for opening your door to us at this hour and for taking care of Fuzzball, Emma.”

“I'm glad I could help.” Emma drew in a deep, steadying breath. She was acting as frightened as a child and with just as little reason. “In Haven, we try to be friendly neighbors.”

“So you've told me.” He swirled the coffee about in his cup. His expression became hard again. “Too bad I haven't seen much sign of that.”

She dampened her lips. “What did you want to tell me privately?”

“Do you know Leo Murray who has the farm next to mine?”

“Of course.”

“What do you know about him?”

She laughed without humor. “A lot.”

“What can you tell me?”

“I don't like to speak ill of people—”

“But there isn't much good you can say about that crotchety old man.”

She rested her elbows on the table and let the steam from her cup billow into her face. Nightmares and night callers. She was going to be useless tomorrow. Fortunately it was Sunday, so she needed to worry only about not falling asleep at church. Reverend Faulkner might understand, but others would not. She tried to concentrate on what her unexpected guest was saying, but it was difficult when she wanted so desperately to yawn.

“You believe Mr. Murray shot your dog?” she asked, clenching her teeth so the yawn could not escape.

“I
know
he shot Fuzzball.”

“But why?” She gripped her cup and frowned. “Mr. Murray is very protective of his animals. Did you let your dog get into his sheep?”

“That's what he says.”

“Then he had a right to scare your dog away.”

“By shooting it?” He stood and drained his cup. Setting it in the dry sink, he shook his head. “There are other ways to keep a dog from chasing sheep.”

Emma sighed. “Look, Noah, you're new here, and I suspect you're new to farming.”

“How did you know that?”

“Just a guess, from your reaction to Mr. Murray's warnings. Did you used to live in a city?”

He hesitated, then said, “Yes.”

She frowned, unable to guess why he would be so reluctant to answer such a harmless question. She was tempted to tell him she was probably the only one in Haven who would not pry into someone else's secrets. Nobody else would be as circumspect. Small town folks loved gossip.

“Are there lots of rules out here in the country I should know about?” he asked, leaning back on the dry sink.

She wished he had remained sitting. With the table between them, she could pretend not to notice the brawny muscles his wet shirt was unable to hide. He was as roughly hewn as the wood he worked with. Again she found herself staring at his hands. Only a man who loved his work would work hard enough to raise those calluses.

Taking a sip of coffee to keep herself from staring more, Emma said, “There are plenty of rules out here in the country. Not like the rules in the city, where you need to know when and where to cross the street. Our rules have to do with making and keeping good neighbors.”

“And one of the first is not to let your dog chase your neighbor's sheep?”

“One of the first,” she said, meeting his gaze evenly, “is that a farmer has a right to do whatever he must to protect his livestock from marauders.”

“Marauders?” His brows rose, but no mirth eased his rigid lips. “Fuzzball is just a rambunctious pup. He wouldn't have caused any damage.”

“You can't know that. Neither could Mr. Murray, because other dogs have chased his sheep, leaving him with miscarrying ewes and dead lambs. He saw your dog in his field and assumed the worst.” She curved her fingers around her cup as she met his gaze evenly. “Next time he'll shoot to kill.”

“How do you know he wasn't trying to kill the pup this time and missed?”

“Mr. Murray is a crack shot. He has to be, or else he might hit one of his herd. You may not believe it, but he did you and Belinda a favor tonight. He's given you fair warning, and now it's up to you to keep Fuzzball away from his sheep. Next time, he won't be so generous.”

Noah frowned and sighed. “I hadn't thought of it that way. He was generous to me, like you convinced me to be generous to the O'Dell kid?”

“Exactly.”

“And like you're now being generous again to the boy. How did you get him dumped on you?”

“I didn't get him dumped on me. I agreed to take him because the representatives from the Children's Aid Society believed he'd be happier in town than out on a farm. He has been very helpful around the store.”

“So you haven't had any problems with him?”

She shrugged, hoping he did not take note of how stiff her shoulders were. The small issue of Sean stealing candy was nothing she needed to share with anyone. “Nothing but for Sean and me to get accustomed to each other. He's going to start school on Monday, and that will help him learn more about the rest of the children here in town. They'll help him become even more comfortable here.”

“Another way neighbors help each other around here?”

“Yes.”

Pushing himself away from the sink, he said, “I guess I've got a lot to learn.”

“I guess you do.”

“And you've been too generous to me, too, Emma. I wish I could repay you for—”

“That isn't necessary,” she replied as her mind taunted her with ways she would like him to express his thanks. Those strong hands had been so gentle when they had been around her waist. Although she had told him to recall himself on the street, that did not mean she had not been delighted in his touch then … and would be now.

“I could fix your chair,” Noah replied.

Smiling, she said, “If you want to fix something, please fix the coffin Mrs. Lambert ordered for her husband. The top was scratched when Sean jumped out of it in the storage room. I don't want to deliver it to her like that.”

“The coffin is still in your back room? After a week? When's the funeral?”

“Mr. Lambert isn't dead.” She laughed. “He isn't even sick.”

“So why did his wife buy him a coffin?”

“Who knows? I sell folks what they want. I learned long ago not to ask why. I might get answers that start to make sense.”

He chuckled. “What would make sense right now is to say thank you again and be on our way.”

“Keep an eye on Fuzzball's leg for a couple of days.” She started to stand, then gasped as pain seared her left foot.

“What is it?”

She drew back the coverlet, which had seared liquid fire across her instep when she moved it. Four red welts were outlined in blood.

“You're hurt!” he gasped. “Why didn't you say something before this?”

He knelt and cupped her bare foot in his broad hand. She watched as he tilted her foot so he could see the trails of blood. Against her skin, his fingers were rough as a woodworker's should be, but gentle. She could imagine him stroking a piece of wood as he decided how he would turn it into something beautiful and useful.

Her heart thudded against her chest when his hair brushed her leg. Her fingers tingled with the craving to sift through those dark strands. Would it be as coarse as his fingers or as silken as his water-stained vest?

He looked up at her, and, for a moment, his gaze held hers. Or was it more than a moment? She could not tell.

She must have hidden her thoughts, because he asked only, “Is your foot terribly sore?”

“Not as sore as Queenie's tail, I fear.” Emma drew her foot out of his hand and brushed the coverlet over her ankle, which had been too boldly displayed. “Queenie is my cantankerous cat. Her tail, unfortunately, was right under my foot when you startled me with your knock on the door.”

“You should tend to this foot before it gets infected.”

“I shall.” She smiled. “I shall retrieve the powders I used to tend to your dog and take care of my careless foot.”