“Can you allow me to be a gentleman just once?” he asked, half exasperated, half playful. “If I’m going to ruin these perfectly good trousers, I should have a good excuse.”
“Fine,” she said. “Just keep your eyes forward.”
He looked at her, cocking an eyebrow and giving her a perfectly devilish smile that made Maddy wonder if her knees would actually buckle.
“As long as you do the same.”
Maddy reddened, then turned away, her eyes fixed on the shore.
“You don’t have to keep shifting your weight,” he said, as if sensing what she was doing. “I’ve got you.”
“I’m bigger than you,” she protested, as if that was the only explanation required.
He turned to face her, and a line of irritation spread across his brow.
“Did it ever occur to you that I might like helping you? That I respect you enough to let you know if I might need you to shift your weight or to stop for a moment?”
The exasperation in his voice, and the implication—that he wasn’t bothered by her size—was a far more bewildering thing than it should have been.
He guided her to a large rock a few feet from the shoreline. Away from the canopy of trees, it was warmed by the afternoon sun, and despite its hard surface, offered some comfort.
“Thank you,” she said, as she tried to wring out the edges of her drawers.
“You weren’t even drowning,” he said. “My attempts at playing the gallant hero were misspent.”
Were they? She’d never been rescued by a man before. Maddy stilled even as the thought formed, remembering the moment when they’d gotten off the train, and Nelson Taylor had insulted her. Beau had nearly started a fight on her behalf. Even before then, he’d bought that near-priceless tome for her, saving her the worry of having to nick it. Of course, he had no idea that he’d helped her in that way. But he’d seen, somehow, that her heart needed something, and he’d given it to her. Beau da Silva seemed to make it his mission to make her feel safe. It was so strange.
So tempting.
She studied his face—really looked at it. There were little lines at the corners of his eyes. He had a small scar, just peeking out underneath his hairline. She realized he had a small fleck of blue in one of his eyes. He seemed, at that moment, incredibly shy. She fought the traitorous urge to run her fingers through his disheveled hair.
“It’s the thought that counts,” she said, unable to keep herself from smiling. “And I appreciate it. I really do.”
“You really do have very pretty eyes,” he said, then, as if sensing her imminent retreat at the compliment, he plucked a small ribbon of her hair in his fingers, held it up, and pulled a face before unceremoniously dropping it. “But your hair… I have seen old mops less tangled than this.”
This time she did laugh—it was loud, and she was pretty sure she snorted just a little bit as she struggled to find breath. She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye, then caught a look of utter joy in Beau’s face.
“What?” she asked, as she tried to pull her hair out of her face and into some sort of order.
“It’s good to hear you laugh,” he said, with a grin so infectious Maddy returned it. They both grew quiet, a creeping yet tantalizing tension between them. There was no sound, save the gentle rush of the waterfall, and the insistent call from a blue jay from above them.
He stood and gestured to her hair.
“Let me help you with that.”
“I think you’ve helped enough,” she said.
He arched an eyebrow, which Maddy knew was deliberately done to disarm her and quite handily did the trick. “My gallantry knows no bounds.”
He stood behind her, and though the sun was warm, a shiver of pleasure went through her as he carefully raked his fingers through her hair in an effort to detangle it.
“You don’t like compliments,” he said, oddly matter of fact.
“I—” She paused, uncertain how to proceed. “I find them difficult.”
“Because you are too modest for your own good?” he asked.
“I’m not too modest,” she protested. “Is it possible to have too much modesty?”
