For the next few moments, Mr. Harrison barked out commands from the back of the cart while she tried to coax Marge forward. But it was of no use. The hole in the road was deep, growing muddier with each drop of rain that pounded on them.
Mr. Harrison ran to her. He bent low and put his face close to hers so she could hear him over the pounding rain. “It is no use. I’m going to unhitch Marge so we can find shelter until the worst of this has passed. When the rain settles, I’ll fetch help so we can dig out the wheel.”
Lucy nodded. Mr. Harrison slipped on his way to Marge’s other side, but caught himself before falling. He began unhitching the harness. His movements were mostly blockedby Marge, but Lucy had seen him hitch her up almost every morning since arriving in Fenswallow. She blinked away some of the rain in her eyes and reached for her side of the harness.
Mr. Harrison was much faster at unharnessing, and he returned quickly. Stepping behind her, he placed his hand over hers and started working on the last knot. His body blocked the pounding rain from her back, and heat from his chest warmed her. “I’ll finish it.” His voice was rough, just behind her ear. “Run over to that oak, and I’ll bring Marge in a moment.”
She looked around him to see a large oak tree with thick branches, not far from the road. Lucy spun around to nod to him, since she wasn’t certain her voice could be heard over the rain. Her face was practically buried in his chest. She sucked in a breath, but when she looked up, he was focused only on the harness. His jaw was clenched, droplets running down his cheeks. With the pounding rain and his intense concentration on Marge, would he even notice if she wiped away some of the rain and traced her fingertip down his rough cheek?
Her hand crept upward, but before she even reached his shoulders, Mr. Harrison’s blue eyes flashed down at her.
Her breath caught. What had she been thinking? The rain must have addled her brain. His eyes narrowed. “What are you doing? Go.”
She dropped her hand to her stomach. Twice now he had told her to leave, but standing between him and Marge felt like the warmest and safest place for her to be, and she was tired of shivering. “’Twill be colder away from ye.”
His face froze and for a moment she thought she’d angered him. Was this the moment she found out he could be unkind? But after glancing down at her wet cloak, and muddied hem, his face softened. He dropped his hands from Marge’s harness and looked at her. For the briefest of moments she thought she saw his eyes catch on her cheek before dropping to the nape ofher neck. She was so wet, she hadn’t felt any individual rivulets of rain running down her face, but she held her breath anyway. Perhaps she wasn’t the only one thinking about brushing water off of the other’s face.
But his hands remained at his side and a muscle in his jaw twitched. “I think you’d better go.” His voice was soft, but firm. “I’ll be there soon.”
He stepped to the side and rain pelted her again. She gasped and Mr. Harrison flinched. If he felt so bad about the cold, he should have allowed her to stay with him. But she couldn’t argue with him now. With a deep breath, she squinted her eyes against the rain and rushed off to the oak tree. After what seemed like hours but was probably only a few minutes, she arrived at the shelter of the tree. Her face was numb from the cold, and she’d slipped a few times in the mud, but she hadn’t fallen. She turned back to look at Mr. Harrison. He was still at the cart, but he had Marge’s reins in one hand, and the other rubbed along the length of her neck. His head was bent toward her ear, and though she couldn’t hear him, she could tell he was speaking to her, calming her after the distress she’d been through since the wheel got stuck.
Even though Lucy shook with cold, a spot of warmth blossomed in her chest at the sight of him. She could stay in Fenswallow for years waiting for him to show his harsh side, but she knew he wouldn’t. That man, comforting the old mare with his gentle hands and soft-spoken words, was no brute, and he never would be.
CHAPTER 12
Matthew keptone hand on Marge’s mane as he led her to the oak tree. His eyes flashed up at Miss Shroud every few steps despite the rain pounding against him. Her hands were crossed over her chest, and she was visibly shivering. He blinked hard against the image of her. The woman was exasperating. She seemed to have absolutely no understanding of how society would look at her actions. If that necklace held the portrait of a man she was in love with and had hopes to marry, she shouldn’t be here with him. The townsfolk already had their names at the tips of their tongues whenever he was seen by anyone. Such talk was never good for a woman’s reputation.
Of course, if the man she cared for would allow a few words of gossip to overshadow the goodness that was inherent in Miss Shroud, he didn’t deserve her.
Not that it was any of his business. He’d tried his very best to keep their conversations steered only toward his work, but she always wanted to speak of personal matters—the things that made her happy, her favorite book, or the particular color of a wayside flower. In short, she conversed with him when she shouldn’t; she spent her days alone with him when she shouldn’t; and now she stood alone under an oak tree inthe pouring rain, shivering and saying things to him that she shouldn’t.
She was warmer when she was pressed up next to him?
Did she really have no idea what words like that could do to a man? Even a rough and inferior one like him? She had no understanding of propriety at all.
And now he had to look at her, with her clothes soaked and clinging to her every curve, knowing that she would happily sidle up next to him for warmth. A few days ago he might have thought her comment had been flirtatious. But after talking to Mr. Miner, he knew it for what it was. Miss Shroud was cold, and his body was not much different from Marge’s to her. He, on the other hand, couldn’t even think about keeping her warm in his arms without feeling something toward her. Helping her unhitch Marge had been an extreme test of his ability to remain aloof. A few moments were all it had taken for him to want to wipe her face free from rain drops and fold her into his arms. It was one of the worst ideas he’d ever come up with, and he’d come up with some remarkably bad ideas in the course of his lifetime.
Even now, the urge to stop her shivering by offering himself as a furnace nearly overcame him. She looked so small next to the massive oak, and so fragile against the onslaught of rain. He wasn’t going to be able to wait this storm out next to her, not if she kept shaking like that and looking at him with those hopeful eyes.
Perhaps Marge could keep her warm, because he certainly wouldn’t.
He reached Miss Shroud and pulled Marge right up to her. “Marge is warm. Come stand under her neck. I need to return for one package on the cart, then I will be back.”
He turned and started back to the cart, not giving her a chance to complain about Marge as her source of heat. When he returned, he would see which side of Marge Miss Shroud haddecided to take refuge under, and he would choose the other. He would stand in such a way that he didn’t have to look at her, and he would chant the nameMiss Lucy Batemanin his mind. They would wait out the worst of the storm quietly.
It was a good plan. And yet, he highly doubted Miss Shroud would do anything according to his plan. Not even if he told her his plan.Especiallyif he told her his plan.
He stepped up on the sidebar of the cart and bent down, pulling up the oiled cloth that covered the few items he still needed to deliver. He hadn’t come back for anything in particular. He’d simply known he needed a few minutes’ respite from Miss Shroud. But all of the packages would actually be safer under the cloth, rather than under the tree with Miss Shroud and himself. He sighed and laid the oilcloth back down. He couldn’t risk any of his customers’ deliveries simply to make himself safer in Miss Shroud’s presence.
“May I help ye?” Miss Shroud’s hands sprang up on the side of the cart before she jumped up on the bar to stand next to him, peering into the cart.
“Ah!” Matthew jerked away from her in surprise, but the bar was slippery. His boots slid out from under him and he tumbled backward, landing in the mud next to the wheel. Miss Shroud’s eyes went wide and she hopped off the sidebar. Matthew groaned, but nothing seemed hurt, even if his coat would likely never be the same.
Miss Shroud bent down, but with the rain pouring into his eyes, he couldn't get a good look at her. “Are ye hurt?”
He rubbed the rain off of his face. “No, I’m not hurt. It turns out mud makes for an excellent landing surface.”
“I’m so sorry.”
