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“Infernal woman. I’ll take it to her. Just give me a danged minute to eat.”
“If you like. I don’t know why Lenny didn’t just come in here and eat dinner with us.”
He leaned back and took a drink of water from his tin cup. “My guess would be because she’s tired of waiting on you hand and foot. Go change into dry clothes. You’re dripping everywhere.”
Oh, the man was just too much to bear. “I was busy making you food! You’re welcome! And Lenny has not been waiting on me hand and foot. We have been taking care of this place together.” Maybe her anger showed a little too much. Garret was sure to give her hell over any kind of emotional display, but she couldn’t find it in her heart to care anymore. It had been a long day, she was utterly exhausted and confused by his hot and cold nature, and from the way their conversation was shaping up, it was sure to be a long night as well. “Lenny is not my servant, Garret Shaw. She is my friend.”
Garret had frozen, eyes boring straight through to her soul, fork in hand as he leaned over the plate of food she’d made.
“Your elbows are on the table,” she gritted out, just to get in one more dig. Then she turned and headed for the door with the plate of food, but just as she reached for the handle, Garret appeared out of thin air, blocking her way.
She gasped at how fast he’d been. Just a moment ago, he’d been sitting at the table across the room, and now, he had blurred in front of her. She froze, eyes downcast as the instincts in her told her to be quiet, be still.
Her heart raced as his big hand slid to the plate and pulled it away from her. “I’ll take it,” he told her in that deep, gruff voice of his. With his other hand, he reached for a soggy ribbon at the waist of her dress and slid it over his fingertips. “I need you to go put dry clothes on, Eliza.”
The shockingly intimate moment had her breath shaking as she exhaled slowly. Unable to speak, she nodded.
“Good girl. I’ll be right back.”
Eliza took a step back and watched as his slipped into a long canvas trench coat, grabbed his hat from the rack, and opened the front door. He hesitated there. “Dinner is good. I’ll eat the rest when I get back.”
“Th-thank…you,” she uttered as he let the door swing closed behind him.
She did not know how to act around this man. He was like an uneven, ever-shifting footing and she couldn’t find her balance. Hot and cold, and hot and cold.
He was something unnatural, and so was Lenny. She could tell they were different. She’d wanted to obey him when he’d softly told her to change into dry clothes just now, and she had never felt that way in front of anyone before. Not even her atrociously-judgmental aunt.
Perhaps it was because he was asking her to do something for her own good, or perhaps it was whatever animal magnetism he wielded. Whatever the reason, she was double-thinking every conversation they’d had today. There was some little spark inside of him that cared if she lived or died, and for Eliza that felt like progress, yes, but it also confused her heart.
Chapter Nine
The door slammed into the wall, and Garret cursed as he tried and failed to catch it. His jacket was soaked, and when he removed his hat, water droplets rained onto the floorboards. Little drops of moisture clung to the ends of his dark hair. When he straightened his spine, he was taller than the doorframe he’d just ducked under. While he shrugged out of his coat, his eyes cast up to her, away, and then back. He froze. The anger of whatever had happened outside left his eyes, and was replaced by surprise.
Eliza had changed into her nightgown and a long robe to allow her dress to dry by the fire. He stared for a total of three breaths, and then his dark eyebrows drew down and his gaze dropped to the floorboards near her feet.
“My dress was wet,” she explained. She’d never been bedraggled in a sopping dress in front of a man, but neither had she been in a nightdress in mixed company. Either option was mortifying, but her current state now seemed to be the worse of the two.
Vulnerable. She felt completely vulnerable.
How could his lingering look make her want to wear more and less fabric all at once?
Garret strode to the hearth. His movements were confident and practiced as he stacked kindling and logs, and lit it. Twice he caught her watching him. Heat raced into her cheeks, and she hurriedly returned to the needlework on her new dresses. She’d unwrapped them one by one while he was away.
“It took me a long time out there,” he said gruffly.
She poised the sewing needle over her next stitch. “That’s okay.”
“Burke and the others just arrived, and it didn’t feel right not helping them unload.”
A small smile took her lips, and she lowered her gaze to her work so he wouldn’t see the pleasure there. He could be a complete ass, but he was also a good leader.
“I made you another helping of food. It’s warming on the stove.”
He left the fire crackling in the hearth, and gestured to a chair nearest to the warmth. “That’s for you.”
She eyed the worn leather chair she remembered from when she’d played here as a child. “That was your father’s,” she reminisced.
In a harsh tone, he said, “It is mine.” He stiffly stood there as if he was waiting for her to argue, but she didn’t understand, nor did she presume to know how to respond. Garret and his father had had a complicated relationship, from what she remembered.
