“Hello, Wyatt,” Tresia greeted him with a smile of her own. “Just the man I needed to see.”
“Good afternoon, Tresia.” He strolled toward the counter, like he hadn’t a care in the world, and placed the gloves he’d just removed on the glass top. “I stopped by to see if the new cookware I ordered has come in.” He shook his head. “Mama doesn’t like my old cast-iron skillet. Or any of my other pots and pans. She says they don’t cook right.” He laughed. “I don’t know what that means. They seem to cook just fine for me.”
“They aren’t in yet. I expect the order next week sometime.” She gestured toward Sheridan. “Let me introduce you to Sheridan DuBois. Miss DuBois, this is Wyatt MacLean.”
“We’ve met.” His voice was deep and rich and hinted at things Sheridan would rather not think about, and her world seemed to stop. It was the same reaction she’d had when he walked into her parlor house…until he’d made her angry.
“You met already?”
Light danced in his extraordinary eyes, and the corners of his mouth rose up, showing his dimples.
“Well, sort of,” he conceded.
Heat rushed throughout her entire body. She could feel the flush encompassing her neck, face, and ears, considering exactly how they’d met. “I owe you an apology, Mr. MacLean.”
“No, I don’t think you do, but I might owe you one.”
She shook her head. “I understand why you thought what you did.”
He reached out and took her hand, enfolding her fingers within the warmth of his.
And she didn’t want to pull away. Indeed, she could feel the warmth of his hand through her gloves, and the sense of reassurance it provided.
“Let’s pretend we’re meeting for the first time.” He smiled that devastating smile, which did funny things to her insides. “Hello, I’m Wyatt MacLean. So very pleased to meet you.” Andthen he lifted her hand and dropped a kiss on her knuckles, which just made her more flustered.
She couldn’t think of a single thing to say as the heat of his lips traveled all the way up her arm. That had never happened before. Granted, she was inexperienced with men, since she’d been sheltered most of her life, but she had met members of the opposite sex before, mostly the fathers of her charges. But this reaction? Embarrassed, she opened her mouth several times then finally managed a ‘nice to meet you as well.’
“Do you have your buckboard?” Tresia asked him.
“I do.” He nodded toward Tresia but never took his gaze from her.
“Would you be kind enough to take Miss DuBois home, along with two crates of glasses for Mrs. Gallegher?”
He grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and once again, Sheridan felt off-balance. She hardly knew him and yet, she felt like shecouldknow him. At twenty-six years old, she’d never been interested in knowing any man.
“Of course, I can take Miss DuBois and her crates home. It’s no problem at all. I’m happy to be of service.”
Realizing she had no choice if she didn’t want to appear rude, she tilted her head to the side as she looked up at him. “Thank you. That’s very kind.”
“What’s in the boxes?” Wyatt glanced in Sheridan’s direction as he loaded the two small crates into the back of the buckboard.
“Crystal glasses.”
He moved around to the front of the wagon then held out his hand. “Why didn’t you bring a wagon with you to pick these up?”
“I didn’t know there would be two crates. Mrs. Gallagher didn’t mention that.” She took his hand and allowed him to help her to her seat, though she seemed uncomfortable doing so.
“Well, I’m glad I was here to help.”
“I am as well.”
He went around to his side of the wagon and climbed in, then untied the reins from the hook. “Are you ready?”
She nodded but didn’t speak, though she did grasp the metal bar at the side of the seat to hold on when he started the horses moving.
He kept glancing in her direction as he guided the buckboard through town. She looked lovely...but seemed nervous and out of place. She should be in a fancy buggy, not sitting in his buckboard’s high seat, her body stiff, her hands clasping the tin in her lap.
Her cheeks were rosy from the chill in the air. Or maybe her cheeks were rosy from embarrassment. Either way, the color was very becoming. And the jacket she wore was no protection against the chill. She had no hat, either, and her golden blonde curls rippled in the breeze.
