Page 61 of The Pumpkin Bride

His pulse kicked up a notch. “Which game?”

She winked at him. “I’ll figure something out.”

His instincts told him he’d be on the losing side of whatever that might be.

Chapter 16

As Jask set about his afternoon chores, Marigold collected eggs from the coop. She’d skipped the chore earlier in favor of laundry, then put it off till after lunch as they’d laughed over pumpkin soup and fresh cheese sandwiches fried in butter. For all the banquets she’d attended, she’d never tasted a meal so fine.

Marigold transferred the eggs to the counter basket.

Over the weeks since she’d arrived, she’d grown to identify which chickens laid which color—Primrose’s were an off-white; Heather’s were slightly pink; Daffodil’s showed a yellowish hue; and Bluebell’s were, of course, blue. Tonight she’d make a dish featuring eggs, mushrooms, and caramelized onions, topped with fresh chopped parsley.

Ambitious, maybe. But she’d learned a lifetime’s worth of lessons from Jask and Grimroot Farm. Odd, how her training had taught her to care for a kingdom, but it wasn’t until she’d arrived here that she learned to care for a person. After washing up, she reached for the linen that hung under the nearby cabinet. As she dried her soap-roughed hands, she glanced through the window.

Shock dissolved her knees.

Jask Bone-Cracker was shirtless.

A lady would look away, but she was incapable. The landscape of his body warranted careful study. He was all boulders and mountains, muscles that rippled with each thwack of the axe. The furrows of his midsection clenched as he swung the blade, once, twice, and the round split. After kicking half of the round away, he split the remaining half until they’d reduced to wedges sized properly for the hearth.

Marigold blew out her lips. Saints, he was beautiful.

Round after round fell apart under his might. The hands raining destruction on the wood had rendered nothing but tender care to her. Picking her up when she fell after the bath, putting her to bed, helping her over dead trees and down ladders. All too easily, she pictured herself leaping into the safe harbor of his thick arms, letting him twirl her until she was dizzy and laughing. Carry her inside.

Then carry her upstairs.

She twisted the dishrag. In his large and luxurious bed, this gorgeous person would peel her clothing free, caressing her body, climbing on top of her, nudging her knees apart and—

Jask glanced up from his work, then locked gazes with her.

She dropped from sight.

Why, oh why, had she done that? She sat on the floor. With her arms wrapped around her bent legs, she rested her head on her knees. Since Bram died, she hadn’t given another man a second glance. Even when her parents accepted Crispin’s proposal, she’d only considered that it would have been her duty to bear Crispin’s children.

But the prince of Harvest Hollow never made her heart hum.

Or the flesh between her legs throb.

Bram had unlocked both, and here she was, feeling this way for another. Jask, with his reliable, helpful, patient presence had, without her knowing it, done the same. She felt for the locket, comforted by the small lump under her kirtle. Was this unfaithfulness?

The front door creaked.

“Marigold?” Jask asked. “Are you all right?”

“Fine,” she said into her knees. “Just having a moment.”

Without looking, from his heat, she knew he squatted next to her. Still shirtless?

“Anything I can help with?” he asked.

Shirted, actually—he’d thrown the linen on. Damn. She lifted her chin and dragged her gaze from his collarbones to his eyes. So familiar were they after these weeks, she felt like she’d been staring into their deep, gold-flecked brown for a lifetime.

“No. I . . .” Absolutely could not tell him the truth. “. . . needed to sit for a moment.”

“On the floor?” He tilted his head. “Though multiple chairs are within reach.”

“Jask, it’s fine. I’m fine. It’s . . .” She hated this lie, but it was honestly the only one that caused men to back off and leave her alone. “My courses.”