Like most men in town, he had no qualms about showing his forearms, for his sleeves had been rolled up past his elbows. The flannel work shirt had done nothing to hide the width of his shoulders or the breadth of his chest or the circumference of his upper arms. Upon her first sight of him, she had noticed how hismuscles bulged beneath the fabric, as if they were attempting to escape.
He could probably lift her with one arm. Lift her up against a wall and hold her there whilst he had his way with her.
She couldn’t recall another man in Galena having such a physique. At least not among those who worked on Main Street. “Probably from working with horses. Lifting saddles, and bales of hay, and you’re talking to yourself again.” She rolled her eyes. One of the side effects of being alone in the shop, she supposed.
She tried to concentrate on the next item on the scrap of paper she held, Mrs. Sumner’s list neatly printed in black ink.
Gauze strips.
A shiver ran down Ella Mae’s spine at the thought of Mr. O’Connor stripping her bare. Of how his hands would feel skimming over her warm skin. Of how his palm would feel holding one of her breasts, his thumb caressing a nipple until it was tight with need.
Need ofwhat, she wasn’t quite sure, but if she kept this up, she would be in need of a new pair of drawers. She had grown damp at at the apex of her thighs, all because she couldn’t get her mind off of John O’Connor.
Think of Mother, she thought. Think of what she’d had to do to be the best potter in town.
Her gaze darted to one of the vases Emma Avalon Montgomery had made the week before in her small studio at their house on Prospect Street. Her kiln, moved from her original house in Galena, was now in the back garden. Every week, her newest creations were fired, usually three times, before they appeared on the display shelves at Montgomery Dry Goods.
Ella Mae’s grandfather, Edward Avalon, had been a master at creating beautiful stoneware, an expert at shaping clay on a potters’ wheel, a scientist when it came to firing theearthenware, and an artist with the tiny brushes needed to create idyllic country scenes on the sides of pots and the petals of English roses on vases.
Everything Ella Mae’s mother knew about pottery she had learned from her father. Everything she had owned prior to marrying Robert Montgomery had been due to whathehad created.
Well, and because Great Aunt Adeline had been generous in her last will and testament. She had seen to it that Emma inherited what she hadn’t spent on her worldly travels and extensive wardrobe. That meant Ella Mae’s parents’ initial few years of marriage hadn’t required they live in poverty as so many other newlyweds in Galena were forced to do. They had been able to build a house in Prospect Street. Furnish it with fine furniture from St. Louis. Hire a cook and housekeeper, and later a nanny to see to the children.
Ella Mae knew she had led a privileged life, for the girls with whom she had attended school were frequently daughters of the lead miners or those who worked on the canal or in the shipping industry. As for the boys, they were much the same, many dropping out of school before they had reached the last grade in order to work or to help in their families’ businesses.
John O’Connor had been one of those boys. Quiet and apparently shy, he had always sat in the last row in the classroom. “Son of a laborer who’s digging the canal,” one of her friends had commented, when they noticed how he always headed straight for home when school was done for the day.
She hadn’t seen him since her days in a schoolroom had ended.
So where had he been?
With a sudden rush of customers, Ella Mae was forced to concentrate on business for the rest of the day. Even so, thoughtsof John had her wishing he might return to the store, sooner rather than later.
