Page 43 of Cloaked in Beauty

“My ma’s chicken stew recipe. Goes perfect with the yeast rolls I got in the warmer.”

“Yeast rolls?” Letty inhaled deeply and caught a whiff of fresh bread, which only made her belly rumble louder. She met Susanne’s gaze. Her new friend’s dancing eyes had her pressing her lips together to stifle her laughter.

Susanne opened the overhead door on the stove and, using a towel to protect her hand, pulled out a tray of golden-brown rolls. “The boys already had a few, so no one will notice if another one disappears.” She grinned. “Though you’ll have to hurry. Your man rode in about fifteen minutes ago. I expect he and Lincoln to come through that door any minute.”

Her man.

Philip certainly wasn’t her man. He wasn’t her anything, really, except her guard and escort. Yet ever since he left to fetch their packhorse, she’d been unable to banish the possibility of him becoming more. Grandmother had warned her that the reading of fairy tales and novels could cause her to develop an overly romantic nature. Her run-in with the loggers had cured her of building up fantasies around men she’d never met, but Philip was different. She’d spent hours in his company, seen his character firsthand, even heard him pray. She hadn’t known him long, but she believed she was coming to know him well. And what she knew, she admired. Well, except the stubborn, highhanded parts. But even those were born from his desire to protect, not to subjugate.

Letty moved the rolls from the hot tray into a basket, covered them with a cloth, and placed them in the center of the table next to the butter crock. Best to practice resisting temptation on the small things so she’d have a better chance of resisting the larger things.

“No snitching?” Susanne teased.

Letty grinned. “Not yet, but I’m not sure how long my willpower will last.”

Thankfully, the sound of boots stomping on the back porch reduced the need for long-term restraint.

Mr. Bullock pulled open the door. “Susanne? I been braggin’ on your chicken stew to Carmichael.”

The men hung their hats on the hooks near the back door. Letty smiled shyly at Philip, noting that he’d washed and donned a clean shirt. He smiled in return . . . until his gaze landed on her wet hair. A red stain spread around his neck, and he immediately diverted his attention to the table, offering a compliment on how good the food smelled.

She reached a hand up to check her bun. Had some of it fallen? Surely Susanne would have said something. Sliding a surreptitious glance toward the glass-covered hutch doors, she took a quick inventory. Nothing seemed amiss. Shrugging off his odd reaction, she took her place at the table, and soon the conversation with the Bullocks erased the awkwardness that had sprung up between them.

Letty helped Susanne with the dishes while the men had a final coffee and chatted about game trails and hunting in the area. Philip had an uncanny way of pulling information from people without giving away much of his own. Never once did he mention what direction they were traveling or where their final destination would be, only that they were on their way to visit family, and since Letty refused to leave her wolf behind, they’d been forced to stay off the beaten path.

She caught his eye after he made that explanation and raised a gloating brow. Let him try to deny that Rusty had been a good addition to their party, now.

Philip grinned with his eyes and gave a tiny dip of his chin, not enough for Mr. Bullock to notice as they continued conversing, but enough to convey his concession to the lady looking for it.

Chest filled with sweet satisfaction and something a tad bit warmer, Letty turned back to drying, only to find that no dishes remained.

“Better let these two get to bed, Lincoln. You’ve got an early morning fetching that doctor, after all.”

Mr. Bullock pushed away from the table. “That I do.”

Susanne untied her apron and hung it over the back of a chair. “I had Lincoln fix up the back stall for you two. Plenty of fresh straw and a couple quilts to keep the night’s chill at bay.”

“Thank you.” Letty did her best to fight off the blush that rushed to her cheeks.

No need to be embarrassed. They’d been sharing a campsite for the last several nights. Sharing a barn stall would be no different.

Only, when she and Philip made it to the stall in question, she discovered that all the fresh straw Susanne had mentioned wasn’t lying about ready to be conformed to separate sleeping areas. No, it had all been stuffed into a single tick mattress, prepared for a fictional married couple that didn’t exist.

19

Philip stumbled to a halt at the front of the stall and stared at the mattress taking up nearly the entire stall floor. His wits vanished, leaving an empty void where strategy and problem-solving usually resided. A flood of improper imaginings rushed to fill the void, but he slammed the door shut, barring them entrance.

“I’ll, uh, I’ll sleep in the tack room.” There’d been a chair in there, right? He couldn’t rightly recall at the moment, but he’d make do.

He pivoted, ready to flee, but Letty took hold of his arm. “Wait.”

Heat radiated out from the origin points of where her fingers pressed softly into his sleeve. He did his best to ignore it. Wasn’t very successful.

“We can make this work.”

Her voice quavered, and something shifted inside him. The urge to shelter and protect expanded, suffocating all other thoughts.

“Mr. Bullock will surely rise early to make his trip to Longview to fetch the doctor. It will blow our cover if he finds you sleeping in the tack room.”