Bride by Mail. Katy Madison

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ drew in a deep breath, hoping for an olive branch. Her gaze traveled up his buckskin-clad legs. Her breath left her in an unexpected whoosh. He was the embodiment of the man in the photograph. Strikingly attractive, strong yet domesticated with a pot cradled against his ribs... Just grouchy. His eyebrows knit. He had stayed up all night protecting her and the livestock.

      Jack dropped a tin pan beside her. Outstretched in his hand was a chunk of butter. “Here.”

      She stared at the butter. What was she supposed to do with it?

      “Grease the pan with that.”

      Olivia picked up the tin and carefully took the butter. She smeared the butter in a circle in the bottom of the pan.

      Jack dropped to his knees beside her.

      He hadn’t denied being disappointed in her. She fought back the bitter familiarity of failing to meet expectations. Determined to show she could do a good job, she dragged her fingers in left and right lines. She tried to erase her finger marks only to leave new trails.

      He combed a fork through a whitish mass in the pot he held against his stomach. “Get the sides, too.”

      In the predawn darkness, Jack’s gaze weighed heavily on her. Her throat felt thick. Could she just get one thing right? Why hadn’t she paid attention to the kitchen servants when she was younger?

      Jack reached for the bucket of water and cracked the thin layer of ice on the top. He dipped a towel in the water and held it out. “Clean your hands.”

      Could he be any more condescending? He treated her as if she was three. Olivia wiped butter residue off her hands.

      “How does it happen you’ve reached the age of two and twenty and never cooked?” Jack scooped a handful of water into the mixture. He ended up with a sticky dough.

      “We had servants,” she muttered.

      “You, Anna and Selina?”

      Olivia looked up. Jack watched her as he fashioned the gooey mess into pale lumps and put them in the tin on her lap.

      “No, my parents. At the boardinghouse, our landlady, Mrs. Richtor, didn’t allow us in the kitchen because she thought we stole food.”

      The corner of his mouth twitched. “Did you?”

      Olivia’s cheeks heated and she dropped her gaze. She hoped with the dark he couldn’t see her guilty flush.

      He reached across and pressed another lump into the tin. His hand so close to her leg made her feel squishy and soft.

      She picked the pan up and held it out to him. “The price of boarding included breakfast and supper, but if we bought dinner, no money was left. So we took extra food at meals. I suppose it was stealing.”

      “What about after your parents died? Where did you live then?”

      “An older lady in Norwalk took me in.” The elderly Miss Carmichael had failing eyesight and had wanted Olivia to read. Her benefactor had been disappointed when Olivia stuttered. Was she destined to disappoint everyone who took her in?

      “She didn’t eat?”

      Olivia smiled in spite of herself. The movement of her face felt funny, as if it had been a long time since she’d smiled. “She had a cook. After she died I lived in a mill dormitory for a year and a half. They fed us gruel in the mornings and soup for dinner and supper. I hardly ate for the first week. I really missed good cooking.”

      Jack used the dry edge of the towel to lift the lid off the skillet, put the tin inside and settle the lid back on the pot. With the wet end, he brushed off his hands. “You didn’t have any relatives?”

      She shook her head. “The only relatives I know of are in Norway, and I’ve never met them.”

      He reached out a hand to Olivia. “We have fifteen minutes to wash up before the biscuits are ready.”

      Biscuits. If she’d seen him assemble the ingredients, she’d have an idea how to make them. “What did you put in them?”

      “Look, I’ll show you when we get home. Right now we need to get washed up so we can leave at first light.” Jack tilted his head back. “It’ll be dawn soon.”

      Olivia looked up to discern what he saw. Were the stars perhaps a little less bright? She’d never spent a night out of doors. She had no idea what signs to look for, or what sounds signaled danger.

      “Are you coming?” Jack asked, his hand still extended.

      She put her fingers in his. His warm fingers closed over hers. Her heart jolted. She jerked her hand back as if she’d been scalded.

      Jack’s expression went flat.

      Ashamed she’d responded so strongly, she curled her fingers.

      He pivoted and headed toward the trees.

      Olivia trotted a couple of steps after him before realizing she didn’t have what she needed. “I need my things from my trunk.”

      She turned toward the wagon. Jack hesitated.

      Her trunk was near the back, but unfortunately the latch faced the side. Olivia pushed and shoved to turn it.

      “Move,” said Jack.

      “I have it,” she said through gritted teeth. Her shoulder strained. In the months since the mill closed, she’d lost strength, but she was determined to show Jack she wasn’t a helpless liability. She could do things for herself.

      With his arm around her waist, he lifted her out of the way. Her backside pressed against his hip as he leaned around her. His chest shifted across her back. Olivia fought the hot tremors that raced down her spine.

      Jack yanked the trunk around with one hand and set her back down on the wagon gate. “Hurry.”

      Her breath whooshed out, and she realized she’d been holding it. Though she fought to quell it, a kind of terror settled into the pit of her stomach every time he manhandled her. He was so much bigger than her, stronger. He could snap her in two if he had a mind to, yet that wasn’t quite why she was afraid.

      She unfastened the buckles and opened the latch. She fished out a paper-wrapped bar of precious lavender soap and a hand towel.

      Jack shifted with tangible impatience. “Don’t want to burn the biscuits.”

      She scooted to the edge of the tailgate. Jack’s hand at her elbow tugged as well as supported her as she scrambled down. She was eager to wash. She longed for a bath and a chance to wash her hair. Although fifteen minutes was only long enough for the bare minimum.

      Jack released her elbow then grabbed his rifle. He lifted the lantern high enough to cast a circle of golden light around them. He led her across the meadow to the thicket of trees. Olivia raised her knees, high-stepping through the underbrush.

      As they neared the woods, the smell of pine filled her as well as the crisp scent of fresh spring growth. Norwalk had never smelled like this, nor had the Manhattan СКАЧАТЬ