“Who is it, sweet pea?” A hoarse, rather gravelly voice called out from further inside the house.
“A lady,” Avery responded then lapsed into silence, her eyes still wide, her hand still clutching the horse, but a little tighter now.
A moment later, she heard heavier footsteps then a big, strong hand grasped the edge of the door and opened it wider.
Tresia froze. So did he, stunned for a moment that seemed to last forever.
She inhaled an involuntary gasp. Lucy lied. Straight up lied. The man standing before her was an Adonis. Tall and muscular with almost midnight black hair touched with a hint of silver and smoky blue-gray eyes the color of storm clouds that seemed to see right into her soul.
He recovered first as a slight smile appeared on his face—his devastatingly handsome face—revealing dimples in his cheeks. “You must be Mrs. Morgan. Lucy said you’d be stopping by.”
Oh, that voice! Warm and raspy, it touched her all the way to her toes and made her mouth dry. She stared at him, looking for her voice, her composure, both of which seemed to have deserted her. Beyond surprised, she could do nothing but nod.
“I’m Devlin Goodrich, but you already know that.” He moved out of the way, opening the door even wider. “Please come in.”
Tresia took a step forward. The next thing she knew, she was falling…right into his arms, her hands pressing against his hard chest to keep herself from tumbling at his feet. Her first impression had been correct as she felt the tight band of his muscular arms wrap around her to steady her. The subtle fragrance of sandalwood coming from the open collar of his shirt tickled her nose.
“Are you all right?” His voice in her ear was gruff with concern even as his body stiffened.
“Yes, I’m all right.” Her face hot with embarrassment, she nodded and stepped away, cursing herself for being so clumsy when she’d never been clumsy a day in her life. Lucy was going to pay for this! “I’m sorry, I don’t know how that happened.”
“No harm done.” He bent down and inspected the doorway. “The threshold is loose. I didn’t notice that before.” He turned his head to look at her, still crouched down on his haunches then rose slowly to his full height, which had to be well over six feet, concern for her reflecting in those stormy eyes of his. “Are you certain you’re all right?”
“Yes, perfectly fine,” she lied. She wasn’t fine. Her heart beat much too fast. She concentrated on trying to salvage her equilibrium…and her pride.
“Let’s chat in the kitchen.” He led the way, then pulled out a chair at the table and gestured for her to sit. Grateful, as her knees were still a little weak, she slid into her seat. Avery followed and crawled into her lap almost immediately—and without hesitation—though she didn’t say a word.
Tresia didn’t mind. She loved children, and they seemed to love her, though she’d never had any of her own. She glanced at the marshal, still a little taken aback by his appearance and the fact that Lucy had straight up lied to her.
He seemed surprised that his daughter sat on her lap but didn’t make a comment. He blinked several times though and cleared his throat. “I’d offer you something to drink, but I don’t know where anything is yet. We arrived late last night and stayed at the hotel. I didn’t pick up the key to the house from Lucy until about an hour ago.”
“Glasses are in the cabinet to the right of the sink,” she offered.
Startled, his dark brows rose. “How do you know that?”
She laughed, slowly gaining her poise. “I’ve been in this house many times. I was friends with the last marshal’s daughter. And I helped Lucy clean in anticipation of your arrival.” She adjusted Avery in her lap and pointed to a door to his left. “There are foodstuffs in the pantry but nothing in the ice box. We didn’t know exactly when you’d be arriving and we didn’t want anything to spoil, but if I know Lucy—and I do—she’s already arranged to have ice delivered. She probably also let Mr. Shaeffer—he owns the dairy just outside town—know that he can start bringing milk, butter, and cream, beginning tomorrow morning. He delivers between six-thirty and eight on Wednesdays and Saturdays, but since you just arrived, he’ll make an exception for you.”
She watched him, her eyes roaming over his broad shoulders, slim waist and long legs before he turned and pulled a glass from the cabinet, giving her a view of his backside, which was perfect, in her opinion, though she had no business looking at it. He filled the glass from the pump at the sink then turned once again to hand it to her. She took a sip to relieve the persistent dryness in her throat.
Pulling out the chair opposite her, he sat, then folded his hands on the table. “Uh, I’m not sure how to do this. I’ve never hired anyone to take care of Avery before.”
“Not to worry, Marshal.” She smiled at him. He definitely needed her help and though it wasn’t what she wanted, she’d do it anyway—for him and for the little girl sitting on her lap. “We’ll figure it out. Ask me anything.”
“Can you cook?”
“Yes, of course. Nothing fancy, mind you, but tasty and filling.”
“I already know you can clean.” He waved his hand, encompassing the room. “Avery and I haven’t explored much, but everything looks spotless.” He turned his attention back toher, tilting his head to the side. “Will Sunday and Wednesday afternoon off be acceptable?”
She couldn’t concentrate on what he was saying. Not one bit. All she could hear was her heart beating rapidly, like it had suddenly sprung to life three years after she laid Brett to rest. She couldn’t see beyond the warm glow of his eyes, either, or the slight smile that made his mouth fuller. Tongue-tied, she finally just nodded.
“I’m not sure of the hours but I was thinking something like seven to seven. Will your husband mind if you’re here and not at home?”
“I’m a widow, Marshal. There is no one at home waiting for me.” She glanced at the girl in her lap then turned her attention back to him. “I can work whatever hours you need.”
Sympathy appeared in his eyes and a slight flush colored his cheeks. “I’m sorry. I just assumed—Lucy didn’t mention that when I met with her this morning.” He recovered from his embarrassment rather quickly, but the empathy remained. “Did she tell you how much the salary would be?”
“No, she didn’t.”
