The Seduction of Shay Devereaux

by Carolyn Davidson

  His fingers squeezed hers gently and he murmured a sound of acquiescence. The barn door before them was open and even as they stood on the threshold, a light flickered, then took hold at the far end of the building. “Noah,” Shay said quietly. “He must be finishing up for the night.”

  A lantern was held high, its circle of light a beacon as they walked toward the man who was moving between the mules, and then into the stall where the mare stood, one foot lifted, her head drooping. His dark face glowed as he looked up and his smile was open and welcoming.

  “I thought you was gonna sit out there all night watchin’ the corn grow,” he said with a soft chuckle. “Y’all better be gettin’ your sleep. Tomorrow’s the day we plant cotton, Mr. Shay.”

  Jenny glanced at Shay, his face illuminated by the lantern glow. “Have you planted cotton before?”

  He reached to hang the hoes against the barn wall, where nails protruded to hold tools in place. “I’ve watched,” he admitted. “Never got down and did the deed myself.”

  “First time for everything,” Noah said smoothly, running his hand over the mare’s flank. “I suspect any man who can swing a scythe the way you do can poke holes in the dirt and plant some cotton seed in them.”

  “This is the easy part,” Jenny warned. “Even Marshall can plant the stuff.”

  “I’ll be here to help pick it,” Shay told her, even as his gaze met that of the man who watched him closely. “Once I take on a job, I don’t give up halfway through.”

  “You want your stud brought inside?” Noah asked. “He’s a mighty nice horse.”

  “You have problems with raiders?” Shay asked.

  Noah shook his head. “No, but I think that big stallion might be a heap of temptation. My boys sleep in the tack room. They’d hear should someone come around.”

  “I’ll get him,” Shay said, turning toward the back of the barn. He opened the door that led to the corral and whistled, a low, soft sound that barely left his lips before the stallion was nudging his chest. He gripped the halter, then rubbed the stallion’s long nose. Shay murmured words that appeared to please the animal, causing him to toss his head and swish his tail.

  “How’d he get over the corral fence?” Jenny asked, peering past the horse to see if the gate had been left open.

  “Jumped it,” Shay said simply. “He’s got power he’s never used in those haunches.” His tone was prideful, his eyes gleaming with pleasure as he led his horse into the nearest stall. “I’ll give him some hay if you don’t mind. He didn’t graze much today.”

  Without pause, he poked a pitchfork into a stack of hay they’d left available near the barn door, then carried it into the stall. It filled the manger and his stallion bent his graceful head to eat. Shay backed from the stall, his hand lingering against the horse’s side. Soft words soothed the animal and he whuffled, a smothered sound that made Jenny laugh aloud. Shay looked up.

  “I suppose you think he doesn’t understand what I’m saying to him.” His mouth twitched and she was reminded of his reluctance to smile. Perhaps this was the best she’d ever have from him, this movement of his lips that signified his humor. It would be enough, she decided.

  “Oh, I’m sure he does,” she said agreeably, smiling broadly. “I think I’m just surprised that you spoil him. You don’t strike me as the sort to pamper…” Her voice trailed off as his mouth became a thin line, lips compressed.

  “You might be surprised, Miss Jenny,” he murmured. And then with a final brush of his hand over his stallion’s flank, he moved from the stall. “Come on, I’ll walk you to the house,” he offered.

  “I’ll send Isabelle out,” Jenny told Noah and the man nodded.

  “Night, Mr. Shay.” He lifted the lantern to light their way from the barn.

  Shay nodded and grasped Jenny’s elbow, bending low to whisper against her bonnet. “I’ll warrant she won’t leave the house, Miss Jenny. She’ll roll up in a quilt right outside your door, if I’ve got her figured right.” His tone was amused and Jenny pulled from his grasp, irritated by his presumption.

  “I’ve spoken to her about that. She knows I have nothing to fear from you, and I told her to sleep in her own bed from now on.”

  Shay’s breath was warm against her neck as he whispered again. “She doesn’t trust me, you know.”

  Jenny stalked ahead, irritation rising within her, that he should so mock himself. “I think Isabelle’s a little overprotective, that’s all. She’s looked after me for years, and it’s hard for her to stand back and let me fend for myself.”

  She climbed the single step to the back porch and glanced back to where he stood, one foot on the riser, the other still on the ground. “And you, Miss Jenny? Do you trust me?”

  Did she? Could she cope with his masculine presence in her home? In the room almost directly over her own?

  Did she trust him? Probably, she decided. Maybe even more than she trusted her own tangled emotions.

  Her jaw firmed as she pondered his query, and with a shrug she turned away. Then she opened the screen door and entered the kitchen. Isabelle sat at the table, only a candle on the buffet casting a circle of light. “You can go on home to Noah,” Jenny said, walking to the sink to wash her hands beneath the pump.

  “I don’t like leavin’ you alone in the house,” Isabelle said stubbornly. “I know you said you’d be just fine, but that man looks at you like he’s been without water for six months and you’ve got the only water bucket for miles around.”

  Jenny laughed softly at Isabelle’s words. “You have a big imagination, my friend. Shay is here to help Carl’s wife and Carl’s child. He’ll stay long enough to be sure we’re in good shape for the winter, and then he’ll be gone, like a breeze blowing through the place.” And I’ll be left alone…again.

  The cotton was planted, a task lasting almost two weeks, sandwiched in among the everyday chores. Between cooking and carrying meals to the field, Jenny found herself left out of the process, and wondered if that was Shay’s intent. The sun was hot, early May bringing summer heat, and she toted quart jars of water several times a day to the laboring men. They left the jars in the shade, beneath tall trees at the edge of the fields, and it was near there that she waited at high noon, with thick slabs of buttered bread and slices of leftover ham from the night before.

  The smokehouse was almost empty, last year’s butchered hog having been rationed over the months when game was not plentiful. Noah and his sons brought down a deer several times through the colder weather and she’d managed to catch decent-size catfish in the river beyond the last of their tilled fields.

  Cleaning fish was a simple matter these days, and she cringed when she remembered the reaction of her weak stomach the first time she’d peeled the tough skin from an ugly catfish. Jenny Pennington had done a heap of growing up over the past years, she decided. Swinging the bucket she’d carried from the house, she waited until the working men reached the end of the row they’d just planted, and then waved her free hand. The tallest of the four looked up, his gaze penetrating even from this distance.

  Shay pushed back his hat and used his kerchief to wipe his forehead. She’d walked across the pasture, then down the hedgerow to the far end of the field where they toiled in the sun. His eyes had swerved in her direction between each hole he pushed into the soil. Her hair caught the sunlight, shimmering and drawing his gaze like a magnet. Even from a distance, he knew the exact shade of her eyes, knew the shape of her mouth, the tender slope of her bosom.

  He cleared his throat as she deliberately caught his eye and waved, pleased at the small smile she made no effort to conceal. “Noah?” The man looked up and motioned toward Jenny, his sons following his lead. Their steps were eager as all four of them turned in her direction. Jenny settled her pail on the ground, spreading the small tablecloth she’d brought from the house. “Come and eat,” she invited them, placing the platter she’d prepared in the center.

  “Isabelle made cake.” She lift
ed, lifting the lid from a tin box with a flourish. Inside, squares of golden pound cake awaited, a thin glaze coating each piece. “She said it was especially for you, Noah,” she told him as he stood beside the food she’d arranged. “Sit down, won’t you? I’ll go and get your water.”

  Shay watched her walk away, to where they’d left the last of the water. Two jars remained of the four she’d brought earlier, and she carried them back, one in the fold of each arm. Her skirts brushed the grass and swayed with each step she took. Her sleeves were rolled to her elbows and the summer sun had left its signature behind, toasting her skin to a golden brown. He imagined the pale flesh above the rolled sleeves, and below the V of honeyed flesh at her throat. She was fair, if he was any judge, with that copper-colored hair. Where the sun had touched her face, she wore freckles, just a smattering across her nose and cheeks, and more of the same blended with the tan on her forearms.

  Blue eyes found his and a rosy flush painted her cheeks. He’d warrant that the skin beneath her bodice held the same hue, and that thought released a rush of energy within him that stood no chance of being expelled. Not today, or tonight, or anytime soon.

  She was a woman ripe for the taking, and he’d give his eye teeth and then some if he had any chance of snatching her for himself. Instead he could only watch, and try his level best to contain the desire she inspired.

  She bent to the men, handing them the jars of water, and Noah gave the first to Shay. “Drink what you want,” he said politely. “I’ll share with you.”

  And not until I’ve had my fill, Shay thought, with a rueful nod of his head. Too many restrictions remained, even in the world where no man was a slave to another. Noah would not presume to take first place, and his easy acknowledgment of that fact of life as he knew it, made Shay cringe. He drank, long and deeply of the cool water, then handed it to the other man.

  “Here you go,” he said, “I’m fine.” And then turned to his food.

  “Are you sure, Mr. Shay? Take all you want,” Noah offered, obviously unwilling that he should offend by drinking more than his share.

  “There’s plenty more, Noah,” Jenny said quickly. “I have another jar in the basket.” Obviously used to the traditions that would take long to die out after the years of rigid separation, she had come prepared, and Shay lifted his brow as she glanced at him.

  The extra jar of water was nestled against the trunk of the tree and she settled herself in the grass beside it, watching the men devour the food she’d brought. Then as they stretched out on the grass, hats over their eyes, she piled the scant remains in her basket. Shay watched from beneath his hat brim, and his gaze traced the lines of her slender form, noting the shabby dress with a twinge of anger.

  She deserved more, and yet, should he attempt to replace her worn clothing with new, she would be offended. Of that fact, he was certain. Jenny was used to making do; she was a magician at creating clothing for her child from Carl’s castoffs, left in the attic. He’d found her sewing by candlelight one evening and scolded her for not using a lantern.

  “It wastes kerosene,” she’d told him, bending to stitch carefully at the small pair of trousers she was creating.

  It wasn’t his place to argue with her and so he’d pleased himself by moving the candle closer. Its light had shone in the tendrils of hair that fell against her jaw, glistened in the depths of her eyes as she glanced up at him, and he’d clenched his broad hands into fists lest he reach to brush the wayward lock from the fine line of her cheek.

  Now she stood and lifted the basket, waving a hand at the four men, three of whom were dozing, obviously having learned at an early age to take cat naps where they could. Shay, on the other hand, found it difficult to close his eyes without the presence of walls around him, or at least a rocky ledge at his back. He watched through his lashes as her gaze lingered on him, noted the touch of her tongue against her upper lip and suppressed a shiver that threatened to translate into full-blown desire.

  She turned away, and he sat up abruptly, jamming his hat atop his head. Less than two months here and he spent half his time teetering on the verge of snatching at her like a randy cowhand. He stood, gaining his feet in a fluid movement that caught Noah’s attention. Scooping his hat from his face, Noah rose and Shay motioned at him with one hand.

  “Rest awhile,” he murmured. “You’ve been working hard all morning. Your boys can use a break, too. I just want to walk the length of the field and back. It looks a little swampy at the other end.”

  Noah’s eyes flickered toward Jenny’s retreating form and he allowed a grin to curl the corner of his mouth. “Miss Jenny surely is a nice lady,” he said quietly. “My woman thinks you’re taken with the girl, Mr. Shay.”

  “She’s out of my class, Noah.” And yet he could not resist another look in her direction. She’d halted by the pasture fence to talk to the mare, and her dress was hiked up, exposing slim ankles. How he knew they were slim from this distance was a mystery, yet Shay would have gambled his bank account on the fact. “She deserves a gentleman, someone worthy of her.” If his words sounded harsh Noah paid no mind, but chuckled beneath his breath.

  “She deserves more than that, Mr. Shay. But what she needs is a man to bring her to life, somebody who’ll put a spark in her eye and roses in her cheeks.” As if he’d said more than he intended, Noah lowered himself to the ground once more and shifted his hat over his eyes, his body visibly relaxing like a sleepy hound dog in the sun.

  Jenny fanned herself with a hand-painted, pleated-paper specimen she’d found in the attic. “Do you think the corn is tall enough to cultivate?” she asked idly.

  “Yeah, I’d say so,” Shay answered. “Up past my knees already.”

  They sat on the porch, watching as Noah’s boys carried dishes back to the house. Isabelle fed them nightly in the cabin she shared with her husband, and then the young men, whom Noah still considered his boys, brought the pots and dishes back to the house for washing. It was a complicated procedure, one Jenny had decried as a waste of time and energy, but Isabelle would not be dissuaded. And so the nightly procession continued, with Isabelle washing up after both tables were cleared.

  Jenny ate, as usual, in the kitchen, with Marshall serving as a buffer between Shay and herself, his childish questions amusing Shay, and providing Jenny with time to enjoy her meals. She’d long since decided that a five-year-old child was the most inquisitive creature on earth, but Shay seemed to enjoy the boy. Their evening walk was a favorite time for Marshall, and today was no exception.

  They’d marched down the lane between overhanging oaks, and Jenny had watched them go, her thoughts in turmoil as she saw Marshall offer his hand to the man who slowed his steps to a child’s pace. Shay looked down at the outstretched fingers for a moment, his hesitation brief, then took the small hand in his own, strolling slowly as though his entire world was circumscribed by the realm of her child’s universe.

  What would happen to Marshall when his idol left? she wondered. For sure as the sun rose in the morning and set in the western sky every night, that day would come. Maybe not for a few months, but sooner or later, wanderlust would grip the dark, scarred man who had invaded their lives, and he would leave as he had come. The vision of that tall stallion galloping down her lane, with Shay in the saddle, was enough to bring tears to her eyes.

  And that was ridiculous. He was here to help. He’d said he would lend a hand, get them on their feet. He’d talked about picking cotton, harvesting corn and cutting the second crop of hay sometime in August or September. Beyond that, he’d made no promises.

  Beyond that, she saw only the bleak days of winter, chilly mornings, a Christmas without funds to buy gifts, save for a few handmade items she and Isabelle would put together. And yet, she could expect nothing more from the man than what he had promised he would give. Carl sent me here…there’ll be four men in the field.

  Her chin lifted and she gritted her teeth against the tears that overflowed her lashes, rolli
ng down her cheeks and dampening her bodice. “He’s not gone yet,” she scolded herself quietly. “Land sakes, the man’s only been here two months, and you’re blubbering already about him leaving.” She laughed, a rusty sound with no humor, and from the kitchen behind her Isabelle made a scoffing sound.

  Jenny swung her head to find her friend at the door, visible through the screen. “You might’s well dry those eyes,” Isabelle said, her low voice grating out the words. “He’s a man, with a man’s ways, and he’ll try to get past your bedroom door if you let him, Jen. He’ll leave you with another young’un ’neath your apron if you don’t take care.”

  “No.” It was softly spoken, but held the steel of her mother’s upbringing in the single syllable. “I’ll not take a man in my bed without a marriage certificate hanging over the headboard, Isabelle. My mama taught me better than that.”

  “And that one—” Isabelle waved her hand in the direction of the two male creatures who meandered down the long lane “—that one’ll sweet-talk you with promises and make you forget everything you ever learned about men. Mark my words, Jen, you’re no match for a man like that.”

  Jenny turned away, pierced to the heart by the truth of Isabelle’s predictions. “Maybe not,” she admitted. “But wouldn’t it be grand, even for a little while, to know that sort of loving?” She laughed aloud. “Listen to me, Isabelle. I’m spinning dreams out of shadows.”

  “Watch your step,” Isabelle said glumly. “You can’t say I didn’t warn you, missy.”

  The two figures, one tall and straight, the other small and somehow vulnerable, even from this distance, turned and headed back to the house. Then they halted, and Shay bent low, picking up the boy and lifting him high, only to settle him on his wide shoulders. One arm raised in a broad wave and Marshall called out in a clear piping voice, “See me, Mama? I’m taller than anybody!”