Her Patchwork Family. Lyn Cote
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Название: Her Patchwork Family
Автор: Lyn Cote
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Исторические любовные романы
Серия: Mills & Boon Love Inspired
isbn: 9781472023094
isbn:
“What’s that supposed to mean?” The boy’s tone showed plainly that he didn’t hold her in any respect, probably held no adult in respect. The defiant eyes that returned her gaze told her much more than she wanted to deal with tonight.
It grieved her. “Tucker Stout, I don’t understand what took thee out of thy comfortable bed in a comfortable home—”
“I like being on my own. I don’t like people interfering with me, see?” His brows drew together.
“I must on the whole agree with thee.” Peace began trickling through her, soothing her rasped nerves. “I also like being on my own. And I don’t like interference of any kind either. So we have that in common. What interference are thee expecting from me?”
The boy snorted. “You’ll be telling me to wash my hands and do this and do that and say grace at the table and don’t pick my nose—”
The last forced a chuckle from her. Her good humor surged back. “Does thee do that often?”
Rebellious, Tucker made as if to rise. She pressed a hand over his and said, “Sit, please.”
He stared and then capitulated, scowling.
“May I ask thee a question?” She waited for his permission.
Finally, he realized that she wasn’t going to speak until he granted her the opportunity. “Okay, ask me.”
“If thee runs away and is caught and sent to jail, won’t they tell thee to wash thy hands, and do this and don’t do that?”
He stared at her.
“I would think that Vista and I would be preferable to jail guards.” She folded her hands in front of her on the table and waited. Would he accept this simple truth?
He lifted one shoulder and demanded, “So what do you want me to say, lady?”
“Nothing, really. I will ask for no promise from thee. And I am not going to tie thee to thy bed. Or bolt thy door and window shut. And this is the last time I will come after thee. Thee must decide for thyself which to choose—this home or jail.”
Tucker looked at her as if she were speaking in ancient Greek.
Felicity rose. “I will bid thee good-night. Will thee turn the lock on the back door, please? Thank thee.” She walked up the stairs without a backward glance. Oh, Father above, heal this wounded heart. Only Thee can. I cannot.
In her room again, she took off her robe and slippers and sank onto the side of her bed, still praying. Forcing herself to have faith, she lay down again, trying not to listen for Tucker’s footsteps on the stair. Her final thought was not about Tucker but about Judge Hawkins. What was he doing out well after midnight? And had he seen her with Tucker? And if he had, what would he do?
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