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W-O-R-K. Youll be doing some today if you want supper tonight. Unless you think its time to just move on . . . "
"Now, Miss Throckmorton, I wouldnt want to disappoint you. "
"Believe me, Mr. Stone, thats impossible. "
He crossed the small field of grass that separated them and came up beside her.
Close. With her on the ladder, they were of equal height. She stiffened, but didnt draw away, although he was certain she wanted to. "Are you ready to begin working?" she asked, careful to avoid eye contact.
"Yeah, Im ready. " With a sigh, he yanked the shirt over his head and tossed it on the ground.
Her eyes bulged. She looked at his bare chest for a second—maybe two—then quickly looked away. "P-Put your shirt back on, Mr. Stone. "
He was so close, he could see the tiny pulse beating frantically in her throat. She was afraid. He could see it in her eyes, in the sudden flaring of her nostrils. But she didnt try to move, didnt back against the ladder. She looked him square in the eyes.
Afraid. . . of him. Mad Dog felt an unfamiliar stirring of shame. Silence stretched between them. From somewhere came the chattering cadence of a small bird. A breeze came up, rippling her heavy skirts.
He wanted to say he was sorry, but the words stuck in his throat. Instead, he picked up his shirt and put it on.
He heard her sigh of relief.
"So," he said, "what do you want me to do out here?"
She stared at him for a heartbeat longer, a small, frightened frown lingering in the corner of her mouth. Then she tilted her chin and turned toward the ladder. "You reach for the apple like this, and take hold of it with your thumb and middle finger. It comes off with a gentle twisting motion. Ripe fruit parts easily from the stem. If you have to try too hard, let it go. Its not ripe. "
"Sorta like sex," he said without thinking.
She jerked back as if shed been struck.
He winced. "I didnt mean to say that—"
Slowly she turned to him. Her face was as cold as carved marble, and there was no hint of emotion in her eyes at all. "Im sure you find yourself very amusing, Mr.
Stone. No doubt whores from here to Abilene think of you as God. But here in Lonesome Creek, things are a little different. "
"Really? Hows that?"
She ignored him and plucked the apple. Tasting it, she nodded. "Its ripe, Mr.
Stone. You may pick the tree. "
An hour later, Mariah was finally ready to begin the laundry. She dumped the last bucketful of boiling water into the metal washer. Steam spiraled upward, pelted her face as she added the soap. A film formed on the surface. Gradually the water turned a dull, opaque gray.
She pulled a heap of petticoats, undergarments, and shirts from the wicker laundry basket at her feet. One by one, she dropped the garments into the soapy water.
As she waited for the blob of white to submerge, she glanced toward the orchard.
Mad Dog was about sixty feet away from her, half-buried in the big apple tree. Hed been working steadily for the last two hours.
It was the fir
st time shed actually watched him work, and she had to admit, she was surprised.
But then, everything he did surprised her. It surprised her that he was here at all, and it downright floored her that he stayed. A man like him never stayed on a nowhere little farm like this for three days. Hadnt she learned that truth the hard way?
He moved away from the tree, saw her staring at him, and he waved.
Without thinking, Mariah waved back.
