“Did you watch the water jars and keep the flies away from the dinner basket, like I do?” Marshall slid from his chair and approached Shay. “Did your pa take you out to the field to help pick up weeds and kill the bugs?”
“Has he been killing bugs?” Jenny asked quickly.
Shay looked patiently at her. “All boys kill bugs, Jen. Wait till I show him how to get rid of the tomato worms.”
She shivered. “I can’t bear the things. Isabelle does that job.”
“And does she turn them loose?” Shay asked with a grin.
“You know she doesn’t.” She sniffed delicately and turned her head. “I don’t know what she does with them, and I don’t want to know, either.”
“Then Marsh and I won’t tell you,” Shay said. “We’ll just let Isabelle do something else in the garden when the worms start chewing on the leaves.”
“Marshall, go on out and call the chickens in for the night,” Jenny said, having heard enough of worms and bugs to last for a good long time. “The pan for their feed is in the barrel. I think you can reach it if you stand on a stump.”
“All right, Mama,” he said agreeably. “But if they peck at my feet, I’m gonna whop ’em with the feed pan.”
“Don’t kill any of them,” she said with a laugh. “I’ll be canning the young roosters next week. Give them another few days to put on some weight.”
Marshall left the kitchen and headed out the screen door, the spring slamming it shut in his wake.
“I want to talk to you,” Jenny said, rising to pick up the plates and silverware. She leaned to gather his from in front of him, and he grasped her arm.
“Are you all right?” he asked quietly, demanding she look at him.
“I’m fine.” His hand was warm against her skin, wrapping entirely around the narrow expanse of her wrist, his fingers overlapping. The urge to lift that hand to her mouth was a fire within her, and she gritted her teeth against the pain of denying herself that small pleasure. To brush her lips against his tanned skin, to feel the strength of those fingers gripping her own.
She closed her eyes, and his hand did the unthinkable, lifting hers to complete the very act she’d only yearned to do. His mouth was damp against her fingers, his lips warm and gentle. And then he released her, and she rescued herself from the warmth, lest it envelop her and consume her in its heat. She picked up his plate, stacked it atop her own and walked to the sink, settling the dishes in the pan.
“Jenny? I think we need to make a decision here.”
Whirling to face him, she spoke quickly. “I do, too. I need someone to go with me to see my father, Shay. If I take Noah along, it leaves them shorthanded here, and I don’t want to leave Isabelle in charge with Eli on the rampage.”
“I’m sending Noah to talk to Doc Gibson sometime in the next couple of days,” Shay said. “I don’t know if it will do any good, but I’m willing to give it a try, and Noah said he didn’t mind riding over there.” His grin was wide as he spoke. “I offered my stud for him to ride, but he turned me down flat. Said a mule was just fine, and he wasn’t going to climb up on a big devil like my stallion.”
“Is he a devil?” she asked.
“Not with me. Maybe with someone who didn’t know how to handle him.”
“I’ve ridden bareback, when I was younger, but Carl didn’t cotton to women riding astride a horse.”
Shay’s brow tilted. “Did he expect you to ride sidesaddle?” The words carried an unpalatable connotation as he drawled them out.
Jenny felt a blush, springing to Carl’s defense. “It’s the only way for a lady to ride, he said. And I didn’t own a riding habit, so I just sat in the buggy and let the mare haul me around the place when I needed to go somewhere.”
“You’d have done better to learn how to handle a horse, just in case the time ever came when you had to get somewhere in a hurry and there wasn’t anyone around to harness the mare.”
“I harness my own animals,” she said quickly. And then she halted her words, regretting the harsh sound of her rebuttal. “I want to ask you a favor here, and I’m not going about it the right way, am I?”
“Yes, I’ll go with you to see your father. How far is it? Will we need to take a dinner basket of food along for noontime?”
“It’s two hours and better to get there. And when we get to his place, there’s no guarantee he’ll even be there. Last I knew, he was all alone in the house, the part that wasn’t burned out, and eating whatever folks brought to the door for him.”
Shay frowned. “Why didn’t you make him come here?”
Jenny shook her head. “There’s never been any way of making my pa do anything he doesn’t want to. Since my mama died, I’ve heard he’s turned into a hermit of sorts. I wrote to him, several times in fact, but he wouldn’t read my letters. He used to be so easy to deal with, and so full of common sense, and now, he’s a different man. I want to go to him, but I’m not sure what I’ll find when I get there. It sort of scares me.”
“Grief does some folks that way,” Shay said. “Other people work it out and put their energy into day-to-day living, and then there’s those like your father who just crawl in a hole. You’re one of the strong ones, Jenny.”
At his words of praise, she looked up quickly. Eyes dark as midnight took her measure and his mouth was soft, his lips relaxed. If she took just three steps, she could bend to him and place her lips just so against his, and then…
“When do you want to go?” he asked. The mood shattered as though it had never been.
“Let’s wait and see what Doc Gibson says to Noah. Maybe we’ll be able to get away before too long.”
Shay nodded, and rose from the table. He was halfway to the door when the sound of chickens squawking and Marshall yelling at the top of his lungs sped up his steps. He cleared the porch step and his long legs covered ground with a rate of speed Jenny had never before seen. And then he pulled up short, as Marshall’s actions halted Shay in his tracks.
In the middle of the chicken yard, the child spun like a top, the empty feed pan held at arm’s length. Hens scuttled for cover, loudly voicing their displeasure with the boy. Shay’s laughter rang out and he bent over double outside the gate, hands on his knees, gulping air. Jenny scurried past him and, dodging the metal pan, secured Marshall by the collar.
“Hold still, you’re scaring the chickens half to death!” she scolded.
Marshall turned to her, dissolving in tears against her apron. “Mama, they was peckin’ at my feet, and I was just chasin’ them away.”
“You shouldn’t be in here barefoot anyway,” she said, willing the humor of Marshall’s predicament from her mind. “The hens won’t lay if they get upset, Marshall.”
Shay stood erect, one hand clinging to the chicken wire fence. His eyes were moist, his laughter still audible.
“It’s not funny,” Jenny told him. “I can’t afford to lose my eggs because Marshall got mad at my hens.”
“And you’re not laughing?” Shay managed to whimper.
“I don’t think Marshall’s amused,” she said hedging a bit. One young rooster stood next to the coop, shaking his head, then wobbling as he walked a few feet.
“I think I hit him with the pan,” Marshall said between hiccups. “I shook the pan, and the chickens heard the noise, and they came inside the fence, and then I tried to get out the gate, but they kept chasin’ me.” He bent to point at the top of his left foot. “See? That’s where one of them got me.” He bent low to inspect his dusty feet. “Lookie there, Mama. On my other foot, too, in two different places. He made me bleed, Mama.” His tone was mournful, and Jenny bent to pick him up.
His feet dangled to her knees, and he hung on for dear life as she carried him out the gate. Shay stood ready and fastened the latch quickly, even though the hens were busily pecking at the ground, searching out the prime bits of feed. Jenny’s mouth twitched as she lowered Marshall to the ground.
“You should have tossed the
feed away from you, sweetie. When you dumped it all around your feet, the chickens couldn’t tell the difference between your toes and their supper.”
Marshall peered up at her doubtfully. “Are you laughin’ at me?” he asked.
Shay scooped him up and lifted him high over his head, settling Marshall on his broad shoulders. He lifted one small foot and inspected it closely. “Looks like you need a peck of soap on these feet, Marsh. And then we’ll put some salve on your sore spots. How’s that?”
“Can we go for a walk after that?” Marshall asked hopefully. “I could just ride on your shoulders so my feet won’t hurt.”
“I suspect he’s going to milk this for all it’s worth,” Jenny murmured, stepping closer to the two male creatures who’d so readily formed a bond during the hot summer days.
“How about if we all go for a walk?” Shay asked, his gaze intent on Jenny.
“And I get to ride,” Marshall chortled. His hands gripped Shay’s collar as they set off for the back porch.
“After we clean up your feet,” Shay reminded him.
“You know how to handle him,” Jenny said quietly. The sun had set and the house was quiet. Marshall was asleep, sprawled across his bed with two narrow strips of cloth serving as bandages decorating his feet. “He’s missed having a man here.”
“Noah pays him some attention, doesn’t he?” Shay asked, glancing up at her from his perch on the back porch.
“Some.” Jenny sat in a cane rocker and looked down at Shay. Marshall wasn’t the only one who’d become attached to this man, she thought bleakly. For all the good it did her. Her mind returned to the visitor Shay had sent on his way. Eli had seemed so sure, so ready to associate Shay with the man called Roan Devereaux. Should she mention the name, Shay would retreat, maybe even strike out down the lane, leaving her alone on the porch. And yet, if she ignored it, she might never know more about Shay than she did right now. Perhaps it was worth the risk.
“Whereabouts did you say your family lives?” she asked, counting the moments of silence as he picked up his hat from the porch. He’d put it on his head now, and set off by himself, she thought.
But his hands only turned the brim in a circle, touching the crown carefully to set a crease. “I didn’t say,” he said finally. The hat settled on his head then and he tilted it back as he turned to face her. “Some distance from here. They have a plantation, and I suspect my brother runs it.”
“Roan?” She tasted the name, wondering if the man in question was as tall, as dark, as inscrutable as Shay. Not likely. Shay was one of a kind.
“His name was Valderone. My mother took a fancy to strange names.”
“Valderone sounds French. Where’d she find Shay?” Her heart beat faster as he considered the question.
And then he stood, rolling down his sleeves, paying special attention to the buttoning process. “She didn’t name me Shay.” He walked past the end of the porch and around the side of the house.
Jenny closed her eyes. And wasn’t that a strange one. His mother had not called him Shay. And yet, it was his name. He’d said so, and if she knew any truth in the world, it was that Shay would not lie over so trivial a matter. Perhaps over some major issue. He might quibble about his past, and avoid her probing. He had done just that, she admitted to herself, remembering his terse replies, his evasive tactics on more than one occasion.
She waited, listening for his return, hopeful that he would sit with her again, take up his talk of crops, maybe…
A sound inside the house caught her ear and she turned her head to the kitchen door. Marshall stood behind the screen door and rubbed at his eyes with both fists. “I’m scared, Mama. I saw a big chicken comin’ to get me.”
“It was a dream,” she said, rising from the rocking chair and opening the door. Her hand rested on his shoulder as she turned him back to the main hallway, and then across to his room. “Come on. I’ll sit with you for a bit,” she told him.
He climbed into bed readily enough, and Jenny sat on the edge of the mattress, smoothing his golden hair and talking softly about the stray cat they’d found in the barn. “Would you like to take out a dish of food in the morning?” she asked. “In case the kitty is still around, maybe you could feed it and it would learn to like us.”
“Could I keep it for my own?” he asked, and then smothered a yawn with one small hand. “We could give it some milk maybe.”
“Maybe,” she said agreeably. “You’ll have to sleep now so you can check on it in the morning, Marshall.”
“Why don’t you call me Marsh all the time like Shay does?” he asked, his words slurring as he turned to his side.
“I will if you want me to.” She transferred her attention to his back and her hand set up a smooth motion, patting softly, then running her fingers through his hair as he murmured beneath his breath.
She bent low to hear, and he breathed the words again. “I love you, Mama.”
“I love you, too, Marsh.”
Shay appeared in the doorway and she glanced up at him. The dark visage was impenetrable, his gaze somber. “Is he all right?”
Jenny nodded as she rose and walked past him, her skirts brushing his trousers. He followed her toward the front of the house, out onto the veranda, where she sought the support of a wide pillar. Her back pressed against its solid strength as she turned to face him.
“Marshall loves you, Shay. He’s been a different boy these past months, following you around and learning to help with the chores.”
“I enjoy him, Jen.” He turned his back to her, looking across the wide vista, where oak trees and long grass formed the neglected approach to the plantation house. “I’ve tried not to let him get too attached, but he’s hard to resist.”
“He’s already attached,” she said flatly. “He needs a father, Shay.” If he couldn’t respond to that blatant invitation, she’d push even further, but her instincts shrank from the bold tactic.
“All boys need a father. Some of them have to make do without one.” His words were bleak, his hands lifting to thrust deeply into his pockets as he spoke.
“Marshall’s made do all of his life. I think he’s pinned his hopes on you.”
Shay inhaled and his shoulders squared, forming a barrier he reinforced with his reply. “Someone will come along one of these days. A man worthy of you and the boy. I won’t be here much longer.”
“I know that,” she told him, feeling despair wash through her veins. And knew that she was not being fair to the man. “I figure you’ve given me a respite, and that’s more than I’d hoped for when you arrived,” she told him quietly. “I’d thought this would be the last crop, that I’d have to auction off the place this winter. I didn’t see how I could afford another year. But, with the crops we’re looking to harvest, the extra cotton we’ve planted and the good corn crop, we might be able to make it a little longer.”
“Have you thought about putting your profit in cattle?” he asked. “Raising beef cattle is a hell of a lot easier work than chopping cotton. A man can tend to a good-size herd if he’s got pasture and a decent hayfield.”
“I wouldn’t know where to begin,” she said, frustration rising within her. “To tell you the truth, I’m sick of being in charge of this place, tired of being responsible for all of us.” Hot tears rushed to the surface and she bowed her head, clenching her jaw to keep them at bay.
He took a step toward her and she lifted a hand, shaking her head. “No, don’t touch me. I can’t do this anymore, Shay. I want you to leave before I make a fool of myself.”
He was like a statue before her. “All right, if that’s what you want. I won’t stay if you really mean that.”
She took in great gulps of air, her lungs aching as she suppressed the tears, her heart rent with the pain of loving this man. “What I want doesn’t have much to do with it, I’m afraid.”
“What do you want, Jenny?” She looked up at him, her eyes feasting on the taut line of his jaw, the straight bla
de of his nose and the dark secrets hidden in the depths of his eyes.
“I want you to stay here, Shay. Not just for now, or the next two months, but for the rest of my life. I want to go to bed with you and wake up with you and see you across the supper table every day. I want—” Her voice broke and she repressed the urge to bow her head, uncaring now that her tears streamed, that her mouth quivered.
“I want you to marry me and be Marshall’s father. And I know I can’t have that. I know I’ll live the rest of my life wondering what it would have been like…” Her arm swept toward the shaded, grassy lawn. “I almost wish I hadn’t stopped you,” she whispered.
“Would you stop me now?” So softly she could barely hear the words, he whispered temptation in her ear. Leaning forward, ignoring the hand she thrust against his chest, he bent to her, his breath warm against her face.
She shivered, beguiled by the thought of his hands against her skin, lured by the dark splendor of his scarred face, enticed by the image of their coming together. And then she thought of the emptiness she would face, once she’d known the joy of loving Shay, only to have him walk away. It stretched before her and she closed her eyes against the pain.
“Could you do that? Take everything I’ve offered you, and then walk away from me?”
“Would you stop me now?” he repeated, ignoring her words. His hands gripped her shoulders. “Look at me.”
His face was a blurred image, and she stood no chance of reading the expression he wore. “My mama will roll over in her grave if I do this. But no, I won’t stop you.”
“I’m not worth your guilt. And I’m sure as hell not worth shedding tears over, Jenny. And I won’t haul you out there in the grass and lift your skirts like the damn Yankee who put that look of shame in your eyes.”
As though her bones had lost their strength, she sagged, leaning against him. “Then what will you do?” she asked, her words muffled against his chest.
The Seduction of Shay Devereaux Page 10