The Seduction of Shay Devereaux

by Carolyn Davidson

  Jenny stood abruptly, the swing rocking wildly at her movement. “I’ve wasted half the morning already,” she said, refusing to meet Shay’s look of amusement. “I have vegetables to pick for dinner, and a kitchen to clean up.”

  Marshall slid to the ground, looking after his mother’s retreating figure. “I don’t like pickin’ vegables. Can I go workin’ with you today—” his hesitation was brief and then a grin curled his lips as he glanced back at Shay “—Papa,” he said softly, tasting and testing the word, as he did all newly discovered additions to his youthful vocabulary.

  Shay rose and offered his hand, pleased when the boy grasped hold and they set off toward the barn. From deep within, where only a cold vacuum had taken possession of his deepest emotions for the past years, a trickle of warmth penetrated the icy terrain. Woman and child alike had brought to life an aching breach in his defenses, and his first thought was to retreat from their advances. And yet, he could not bring himself to cause pain to either of them, especially not the child, whose disarming innocence even now was weaving tendrils of caring within Shay’s breast.

  Noah eyed the pair of them, his smile aimed at Marshall. “I’m headin’ for the field with the wagon, boy. You want to ride along with Noah?”

  Marshall glanced up at Shay, indecision alive in his face. Riding on the wagon was a treat. “Are you goin’ along?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. Am I, Noah?” A challenge rang in his tone of voice, and Noah slanted him a measuring look.

  “I reckon, if you’re gonna ride up front with me. Marshall can look out from the back end.”

  Shay nodded, then followed Noah through the barn to the gated area beyond the back door. The wagon stood ready, with tools arranged on the bed. Shay hoisted Marshall on the rear and shot him a warning look.

  “No jumping down, and no standing up,” he said distinctly. “Understand?”

  “Yessir,” Marshall answered, his head nodding a quick accompaniment.

  Shay opened the wide gate, allowing Noah to drive on through, then closed it behind them before he climbed onto the seat. “Is there a problem?” he asked, propping one foot on the front of the box.

  Noah snapped the reins and the vehicle lumbered toward the acres of cotton, beyond the acreage where corn awaited harvest. “Now what makes you think anything’s wrong, Mr. Shay?” Noah’s voice was mild, his gaze trained on the track ahead.

  “You’re looking at me like I’ve made off with the family treasure,” Shay said dryly. “And all I’ve done is make an honest woman out of Jenny.”

  “She was plenty honest before you got here.”

  “I thought you were encouraging me to marry her, not too long ago, if I remember right,” Shay said, nudging Noah’s memory.

  “And that’s all well and good, if you’re plannin’ on stayin’ here. My woman seems to think you married up with Miss Jenny just so’s she’d—” Noah looked over his shoulder to where Marshall was humming a tune and kicking his heels.

  “I married Jenny because she asked me to,” Shay said abruptly. The truth might not be welcome, but he suspected Noah would recognize it as such.

  “You stayin’ on?” Noah asked. “I need to tell you, if Miss Jenny gets hurt, there’ll be hell to pay.”

  “Sounds like we’re on the same side,” Shay told him with a laugh.

  “She know about you?” Noah’s gaze was swift, his narrowed eyes piercing beyond Shay’s swiftly erected wall of humor.

  “Know what?”

  “My boy, Caleb, tells me you got kin close at hand. Isabelle said Eli called you a Devereaux. If you go home to where your folks are, maybe you’ll take Miss Jenny with you.” His gaze returned to the narrow tracks that ran the length of the cornfield. “We’d be in a peck of trouble should that happen. Miss Jenny might need to sell off the place.”

  “I’m sure Jenny plans on keeping her land for the boy,” Shay said firmly. “This is Marshall’s heritage, from his father. I’ve got nothing to do with that.”

  “Miss Jenny gave us deeds to some of these acres, but we work ’em all, all of us together. I suspect it don’t sound right to you, but we’re as much a family here as any bunch of folks livin’ under the same roof.”

  Shay nodded, grasping for assurances that Noah would accept. “All I can tell you is that everything will be as Jenny wants. This is her place, and her word goes.”

  Noah snorted in derisive laughter. “You know as well as me that once you married the woman you got the say-so over her property, Mr. Shay.”

  “Well, then,” Shay said mildly, “I guess you’ll just have to trust me, won’t you?”

  “Noah?” Marshall called loudly from the back of the wagon, looking over his shoulder, careful not to move from his chosen seat. “Noah? Did you know that my mama married Mr. Shay and he’s gonna sleep in her bedroom now? And he said he’s not my really papa, but I can still call him that if I want to.”

  “I reckon I knew most all that, Mr. Marshall,” Noah said loudly. And then added under his breath, “all but the part about sleepin’ in Miss Jenny’s bed.”

  “You hadn’t figured that out?” Shay asked with amusement coloring his words. “I’d have thought a smart man like you had figured out the most important part.”

  “Taking good care of her and the boy had better be on the top of your list,” Noah told him, his hands flexing as he gripped the reins, shifting them in his grip. “And now I’ll say no more, Mr. Shay. I already overstepped, I expect.”

  “No, I don’t expect you did, Noah. Jenny would have been up the creek in a dry riverbed without you and Isabelle here to look after her and Marsh for the past few years. It’s been a load on y’all. I’ll do my share from now on. Jenny and Marsh are my responsibility.” He looked out over the field where row upon row of sturdy cotton plants were hilled in neat array.

  “I made a promise to Carl.” That the promise had not been spoken until a matter of months ago was a fact Shay was not about to confess. He’d carried the shame and guilt from Elmira in his gut for years. And for the first time, he felt at peace with the memory of Carl Pennington.

  “I figured as much,” Noah said, drawing up on the reins, halting the mules beneath the trees at the edge of the field.

  “Can I get down now, Papa?” Marshall called from his perch.

  “Your mama and Isabelle are needing some nice young corn for dinner when we go back in a couple of hours,” Noah told the boy. “You can pick a few at a time and bring them back to the wagon, boy. Do you know how many fingers you got?”

  Marshall jumped down and ran to the front of the wagon, peering up at Noah. “I got four fingers and a thumb on each hand. See?” He held them up, his pudgy fingers spread wide so that Noah could inspect their number.

  “Well, you get that many ears of corn, twice over, you hear?” Noah told him. “And then go back and get one hand more. That’ll be twenty-five, all told. Can you do that?”

  Marshall looked thoughtful. “I can remember if I lay them out on the wagon, and keep track of how many hands full I picked.”

  “Don’t go too far,” Shay warned him. “Just make sure you can see the wagon, no matter where you are, son. You can get all the corn you need from the first two rows. And make sure you feel the ears real good and get the biggest ones.”

  “All right,” Marshall agreed, his shoulders squared and his steps long as he set off to accomplish his mission.

  “I think we need to build a long table to use in the yard,” Shay told Noah. They sat on the edge of the back porch, plates in their laps, as they gnawed at the rows of corn on the ears they held. Butter dripped from the golden kernels, splattering the potatoes on their plates, and running downhill to where the collard greens caught the flow. A plate of corn bread sat between them, more butter spread on each piece, and four pork chops edged that plate.

  “You want to be sittin’ at a table, go on inside and put your feet under Miss Jenny’s,” Noah said, tossing a barren ear into the yard, scatterin
g a clutch of hens. They turned back to investigate the offering and pecked at the few remaining kernels, sidestepping and clucking their approval.

  “It’s hot in the kitchen, with the stove going,” Shay said. “If we make a trestle table and a couple of benches, we can eat under a tree and catch a breeze most days.”

  “Where you gonna get long planks for that?” Noah asked. “We about used up all the big pieces of wood when we put the rest of the hayloft floor down last year. That stuff you made the swing out of was just bits and scraps. Not much of anything else left.”

  “There’s a sawmill in town, isn’t there?” Shay asked, sending his second stripped ear of corn toward the gathering of chickens. “I’ll take the wagon in and see what I can find.”

  “You want me to do it?” Noah asked mildly. He picked up a pork chop and examined it. “Sure am glad we got us a young pig to butcher. I had Joseph fire up the smokehouse real good for the hams and sides of bacon.”

  “Jenny and I were talking about that yesterday. We’ll need another one and a side of beef before long,” Shay said. “I hate to hang a whole beef in this heat. Maybe I can find somebody to share one with us.” He’d sent Noah to buy the pig and supervised the butchering, Jenny having a fit when he’d given Marshall the bladder to play with.

  “We can go in together,” Noah said. “Doc Gibson said Eli’s done throwin’ fits, and he’s kinda gettin’ used to the idea of Zora bein’ gone. Maybe we won’t have any more trouble from him.”

  Shay hesitated, his senses alert. The idea of leaving the women with only Caleb and Joseph for protection didn’t sit well with him, and he wasn’t sure why. “I still don’t feel right about things. I’ll go this time. Maybe tomorrow.” Another idea struck him and he grinned. “I’ll take Jenny and the boy along. We’ll buy Marshall a new pair of boots, and get some clothes for my wife.”

  The general store had seen better days. A scant supply of clothing on the shelves gave little to choose from, but Jenny’s smile was wide as she considered the selection available. “I can get along with one dress,” she whispered, fingering the percale fabric of a simple gown.

  “It looks too big for you,” Shay said doubtfully, scanning the width of the waistline.

  Jenny shrugged. “I can sew. I’ll take it in a bit. By the time I tie an apron around my middle it won’t matter anyway.”

  “Which dresses do you like?” he asked her, shifting from one foot to the other, glancing past her to where Marshall eyed a jar of hard candy.

  “This will do,” she said, picking up the simplest of the three dresses she’d dithered over before her. “I can get along just fine, Shay.” She looked wistfully up at the shelf behind the counter. “But I’d really like a new nightgown.”

  His snort was subdued, and he bent low to whisper in her ear. “You don’t need one for my benefit, sweet. You can just wear one of my shirts if you need something to cover up with. I kinda like the way it looked on you.”

  She felt a rush of warmth cover her cheeks, and her hands moved briskly, folding the dress she had chosen.

  “What’s the proprietor’s name?” Shay asked, looking around the nearly empty store for a likely prospect.

  “Herb Duncan,” Jenny answered. “But I don’t see him here. That’s his wife, Tillie, coming out of the back room.”

  “Ma’am?” Shay held up his hand to gain the woman’s attention. “My wife’s going to take all three of these dresses. And she’ll need to see a sleeping gown.” He cleared his throat and patted Jenny’s hand. “I’ll go on over and help Marsh find a pair of boots while you take your pick,” he said.

  “Well, Jenny Pennington.” Tillie Duncan said in a bemused voice, looking after Shay’s retreating figure. “I hadn’t heard that you remarried.” Her gaze was admiring as she watched Shay’s tall figure amble across the store, yet Jenny detected a hesitation as she spoke.

  “Yes, I married Shay just recently,” she said.

  “Haven’t seen him hereabouts before,” Tillie said, turning to reach for a small stack of white gowns. “I’m afraid we don’t have much of a selection. Things are still hard to come by. And the prices are awfully dear.”

  “I really don’t need three dresses,” Jennie said quickly. “I’ll just take the one, and a plain gown.” She looked to where bolts of fabric were stacked. “How about those bolts of material? Is any of that suitable for a nightgown? Perhaps I can just sew one up and save a bit on it.”

  Tillie pulled a bolt from the middle of the pile. “This here is real nice bleached muslin. It’d make up pretty. Kinda plain, but the material’s soft, and you could sew a little lace around the neck to dress it up.”

  “Give me enough for two gowns then,” Jenny said quickly, thinking of Isabelle. What the woman wore to bed these days was probably no better than the shredded gown she’d torn up for rags just today.

  “Mama?” Marshall marched across the floor, leather boots sounding loudly against the wide planks. “Look what we found over there. Mr.—” He halted abruptly and a grin creased his face. “My new papa said I could have these.” Pulling up his trouser legs, he stuck out one foot for inspection.

  “Haven’t been married very long, have you?” Tillie asked archly.

  “No, not long,” Jenny told her, then stepped closer to Marshall. “Are they plenty big, Marsh? I don’t want you to outgrow them before winter’s over.”

  He looked puzzled. “It’s still summertime, Mama.”

  “I know, but they’ll have to last for a good long time,” she explained. She looked up as Shay approached. “Did you allow enough room for him to grow?” she asked.

  “When they start pinching his toes, we’ll buy new ones,” he told her patiently. “I can afford them, Jen.” Looking past her to the counter, he lifted a brow. “Where’s the other two dresses?”

  “I only need one,” she said hastily. “I picked out enough muslin for nightgowns for myself and one for Isabelle, too.”

  Shay stepped up to the counter. “We’ll take all three dresses and whatever else my wife needs.” He turned to Jenny and she fell silent, recognizing the masculine arrogance in his tone and stance. His mouth formed a thin line and his jaw was set. “Did Isabelle tell you what we need for the kitchen?”

  Jenny stuffed her hand deeply into her pocket, drawing forth a small bit of paper she’d written on. “Only a couple of things, Shay. Coffee and sugar, and a bag of flour.” She peered at the list and glanced up at the waiting Tillie. “Maybe some lard.”

  “Let me see.” He held out his hand and she nodded, giving over the list with scrawled notations filling each iota of space. His look was perplexed as he turned it over in his hand, and then he handed it back to Jenny. “Read me everything you wrote on there,” he said politely. Pointing at one item, he bent low, his head beside hers. “Does that say p-c-h?”

  Jenny blushed anew. “I didn’t have room to write whole words, Shay. It means peaches, you know, the ones in cans. Sometimes Tillie has dented cans and she marks down the price for Noah to buy them a little cheaper.”

  “Do you have any?” he asked Tillie.

  She nodded her head, her smile denoting her enjoyment of Shay’s tactics.

  “I want my wife to read her list aloud, since I’m having some trouble deciphering her writing, and then you fill it for us, will you?”

  “I surely will, sir.” Tillie bustled back and forth, only shaking her head twice as Jenny read the list. “Things are hard to come by these days, but we get whatever we can.” The stack grew, and Shay watched quietly as Tillie added up the total. The sum brought a gasp of dismay from Jenny and she placed her hand on Shay’s arm.

  “That’s too much. Really, we can get along without all those things. I always write down more than I plan on having Noah bring home, and Tillie knows to send the most important things first.”

  She turned to the storekeeper’s wife, her eyes pleading. “Tell him, Tillie. I don’t ever expect to buy everything, just the things you have in st
ock.”

  “Well, today we’re in pretty good shape,” Tillie said expansively. “I had most everything.”

  “Fine,” Shay said. “Do you have a box to put the small things in?” He hoisted the large sack of flour to his shoulder and picked up the five-pound pail of lard. “I’ll take these out and come back for the rest.” His look at Jenny was a warning. “Bring your dresses and have Tillie cut off the material you need. I’ll be right back.”

  The two women watched as Shay stalked to the door, Marsh ahead of him to open it wide. “That’s quite a man you’ve got yourself,” Tillie said emphatically. “My, oh my, he does have a way about him, doesn’t he? And even with that nasty scar, he’s quite a looker.”

  “He’s arrogant,” Jenny said sharply. “You’d think I didn’t know what we can afford.” Her hands were reluctant as she picked up the three dresses, and yet her heart sang as she thought of putting her old ragtag clothing to better use. “I guess you’d better cut the muslin for me,” she said. “I think about twelve yards will be fine.”

  “I’ll just get a big box for your husband and then get right at the yard goods,” Tillie said, hurrying into the back room for an empty crate. Shay took little time loading it while the muslin was measured and folded, and then he pulled a black, leather purse from his back pocket. A gold piece touched the counter for only an instant before Tillie snatched it up.

  “We don’t get much hard cash like this these days,” she said, weighing the coin in her hand. “I’ll give you script in change, if that’s all right.”

  “Why don’t we just run an account, Miss Tillie,” Shay said. “Put us down in your book and you can let me know when I need to pay more on the bill.”

  “That’ll work just fine, sir,” she said brightly, slipping the coin into her pocket. Her eyes were bright as she waved goodbye to the trio, and then she hurried to the door behind them. “You didn’t introduce me to your new husband, Miss Jenny.”

  Shay turned back to her and slid his hat from his head. “I’m Shay Devereaux, ma’am. It’s been a pleasure to do business with you.”