Ilsa:

by Shanna Hatfield

  “How about we set our lunch out and I’ll tell you what I know after we eat?” Tony suggested, grasping Ilsa’s elbow and guiding her farther back into the shade of the trees.

  Spreading the quilt, he set the basket of food on one corner then offered his hand to Ilsa as she sank down on the covering.

  She set aside her fan, removed her gloves, and placed her hands on her lap, waiting for Tony to present the food. Spicy aromas delighted her nose and she watched with interest as he set out a platter of meat and cheese slices along with a jar of olives, crusty bread, peaches, and a tin of cookies.

  Handing her a plate, he placed a little of everything on it then filled his own before bowing his head and offering thanks for their meal. Removing his jacket and tie, he set them aside and unfastened the top button on his shirt.

  “I can breathe again,” he said, running a finger around the inside of his shirt collar, making Ilsa grin.

  Taking a jar of lemonade from the basket, he unscrewed the lid and offered it to Ilsa. She took a drink and handed it back to him. He made sure his mouth covered the exact spot where her lips touched the rim as he took a drink, keeping his eyes on her face.

  She felt as if he’d somehow touched her with that intimate look. The sensation it created made her shift uncomfortably on the blanket under his gaze.

  “We’re eating and you promised to tell me the story,” she said, dabbing at her mouth with the napkin he offered her.

  “So I did. Is your food to your liking?” he asked, still not ready to tell Ilsa the story she should hear from her sister.

  “It’s wonderful. Did you do all this?”

  “It’s not hard to cut up meat and cheese, or grab a jar of olives and a peach or two. Caterina did make the cookies and bread, as well as the lemonade.”

  “It’s all delicious.” Ilsa enjoyed the salty, thin slices of cured meat and the tangy cheeses. “Is this the type of food you ate growing up?”

  “Yes. My uncle owned a restaurant close to my parents’ store, so we always had plenty of good Italian food to eat.” Tony broke off a piece of the bread and took a bite, chewing thoughtfully as Ilsa daintily ate her lunch. “My mother is a wonderful cook and Caterina, of course, is a great cook, too.”

  “My mother was a good cook, at least what I remember. I miss some of the foods she used to make.” Ilsa popped an olive in her mouth and savored the briny flavor.

  “Doesn’t Aundy make the same things?” Tony asked, taking a drink of the lemonade. He held the jar out to Ilsa but she shook her head, declining.

  “Sometimes.”

  “I’ve eaten some of her Norwegian food. I like those flat pancake things she makes,” Tony said, demonstrating with his fingers the thickness he was describing. “What are they called again?”

  “Lefse. They are my favorite, too, especially when served warm with sugar and cinnamon sprinkled on top.”

  “If there is something in particular you want to eat, why don’t you just make it?”

  “I can’t cook,” Ilsa admitted with great reluctance. Shouldn’t all women be able to cook? She somehow felt as if she’d not only failed her mother and herself, but all of womanhood with her inability.

  Glancing up, she noticed Tony smiling at her and relaxed. “I can’t even boil water without scorching the pan.”

  “Everyone can boil water.” Tony took a bite of his peach and looked at her, wiggling his eyebrows.

  “Maybe I can boil water, but that’s about it. If you don’t believe me, ask Aundy.” Ilsa finished her meat, cheese and bread, brushing breadcrumbs from her lap.

  “You helped her cook during harvest, didn’t you?”

  “I provided assistance by doing whatever she told me. I mostly washed, peeled, and cut produce. Aundy and Nora did all the baking and cooking.”

  Tony shook his head. “I’m not sure I’ve ever met a female who couldn’t cook before. We might need to commemorate this day with a plaque or something.”

  Ilsa wrinkled her nose at him and took a bite of her peach. The juice from the fruit threatened to run down her chin, so she wiped at it with a napkin. “That’s very good.”

  “It should be. It came from Nash’s Folly and according to everyone around here, the peaches there are the sweetest and the best.” Tony’s eyes twinkled with humor.

  Ilsa took another bite of the peach. Tony’s gaze seemed to fasten to her mouth. Wondering if she had food on her face, she started to reach up with the napkin when his hand caught hers.

  He reached up his other hand and his long, tapered finger traced across her bottom lip.

  “You had a little drop of juice,” he said, sticking his finger in his mouth and giving her such a heated look, she felt her own temperature begin to rise.

  Dropping her gaze, she quickly finished eating the peach then wiped her sticky fingers on her napkin.

  Pretending something charged and powerful hadn’t just passed between them, she moved her legs and settled her skirt then pulled the pin from her hat and took it off, setting it on top of her fan and gloves.

  “I’m ready to hear all about Dogwood Corners,” she said, raising her gaze to his.

  “I really think Aundy and Garrett should be the ones to tell you.” Tony repacked all but the cookies and jar of lemonade in the basket then leaned back on his elbows with his legs stretched out in front of him.

  “You promised to tell me. I didn’t take you for a man who goes back on his promises.”

  “I’m not.” He sat up and realized she was goading him. Leaning back again, he let out a sigh. “If you insist on hearing the story, I’ll tell you, but don’t blame me if you don’t like it.”

  “I won’t,” Ilsa said, primly folding her hands in her lap and offering him an encouraging look.

  “A man named Ashton Monroe moved to Pendleton several years before Aundy arrived in town.”

  “I remember her mentioning him in a few of the letters she wrote after she first moved here, but then she didn’t write of him again.” Ilsa wondered how she’d missed that detail. Probably because she’d been too wrapped up in her own worries and problems to pay attention to what was going on with her sister.

  “Ashton built this place, had all kinds of staff working here. According to what people said, he traveled on some sort of business frequently. It was later discovered his business enterprises included cheating and stealing.”

  “Oh, my goodness!” Ilsa’s hand flew up to her throat and she gave Tony an astonished look.

  “One of the men Ashton encountered before he came to Pendleton told him about a rich vein of gold and how it filled a creek full of nuggets. Ashton got it in his head the creek of gold was the one that runs through Nash’s Folly. At that time, Erik Erikson owned part of the land with the rest held by J.B. At first, he spent his time establishing himself in the community, building the house and having the dogwoods brought in and planted. He’d been here a few years before he tried to get both Erik and J.B. to sell their property to him and neither of them would. Not long after that, J.B. had a terrible accident on his horse. So bad, they weren’t sure he would live. Garrett lived in Portland then. He came home to help on the ranch and decided to stay.”

  “But J.B. seems fine,” Ilsa said, thinking of the jovial rancher who treated her like a daughter.

  “He is, now. From what I understand, it took about a year for him to be able to walk again. Anyway, once Aundy became a widow, Ashton started poking around, acting friendly. Nora said Garrett turned red every time he saw the two of them together.”

  “I can only imagine.” Ilsa giggled, thinking of her brother-in-law in a fit of jealousy. He was so laid-back and easygoing it was hard to imagine.

  “It was about that time Aundy bought the sheep. Someone wrote threatening notes and even killed one of the lambs and hung it in a tree, trying to scare her.” Tony sat up and took Ilsa’s hand in his at her horrified expression. “Are you sure you want to hear the rest of the story?”

  “Yes. You have t
o finish telling me now.” Although unaware of her actions, Ilsa scooted a little closer to Tony. “Please, go on.”

  Hiding his grin, he continued. “One morning, they heard gunshots and found five sheep and Nik’s dog dead in the pasture. Nik was shot in the chest and one of the hands had been beaten and left unconscious. Ashton arrived at the house not long after it happened and kidnapped Aundy, determined to marry her and lay claim to her farm.”

  “How did she get away?” Ilsa clenched Tony’s fingers tightly in her own, fearful for her sister even though she knew her safety was no longer threatened.

  “Li knew Ashton and knew what he was capable of. He just happened to see him ride off with Aundy and told Garrett. Ashton brought Aundy here to Dogwood Corners and sent for Pastor Whitting, planning to have him perform a quick marriage. Garrett and Kade, along with a few of the hands, rode to the rescue. Aundy managed to free herself and run out of the house, but before anyone could stop him, Ashton shot Garrett in the arm. Kade arrested him and they got a full confession of all his crimes. He had to pay restitution to the victims and the county seized his property, selling it for the taxes due on the place. That’s when Garrett and Aundy purchased it.”

  “Why in the world would they want this place?” Ilsa asked, looking around at the beautifully landscaped yard and massive house.

  “It’s got rich pasture land and gives J.B. and Garrett extra room to run their cattle.” Tony smiled at the way Ilsa still clung to his hand. “Garrett said someday the right owner for this place will come along. Until then, he pays someone to maintain the grounds and keep watch over the house.”

  “What about the gold in the creek?” Ilsa wondered why Aundy never told her about the kidnapping. It must have been awful for her sister, especially being all alone when it happened. Then again, she had Garrett and her new friends to take care of her.

  “It’s actually pyrite. A lot of people call it fool’s gold,” Tony said, watching emotions race across Ilsa’s lovely face. She was unsettled by the story and no doubt curious why Aundy hadn’t told her. He wondered that himself, but it wasn’t any of his business.

  Aundy had her reasons for keeping it a secret and most likely just wanted to protect Ilsa, since there was nothing she could have done anyway.

  “That seems appropriate for this particular story,” Ilsa said, picking up a cookie and nibbling on it for something to do. Sitting so close to Tony, she could see golden flecks floating in his honey-colored eyes as his masculine scent filled her nose. She wasn’t sure if the man or the story left her feeling anxious and troubled. “What happened to Mr. Monroe?”

  “Apparently, the crimes he committed here were nothing compared to what he’d done in Virginia, where he was originally from. The law transported him back there to a state prison. Last Kade heard, Ashton’s been sentenced to the death penalty.”

  “How terrible.” Ilsa looked pale as she considered a death sentence.

  “It is terrible, but so are the things Ashton’s done. He’s the one who caused J.B.’s injury. He’s the reason Erik died. He admitted to spooking the horses and causing them to run away. It was a man he hired who killed Aundy’s sheep and shot Nik. Ashton cheated, stole, and murdered people without any hint of regret,” Tony said, thinking they needed to change the subject before Ilsa became completely distraught.

  “I shouldn’t even think it, but if Erik hadn’t died, Aundy would have been married and she and Garrett wouldn’t have fallen in love. I can’t imagine anyone making her as happy as he does.” Ilsa wondered if perhaps things hadn’t worked out for the best, despite Ashton’s involvement.

  “I’ve thought the same thing a time or two,” Tony admitted, picking up a handful of cookies and munching on them. He and Ilsa sat quietly for a while as they ate cookies and relaxed in the cool respite provided by the shade of the trees.

  When Ilsa grew unusually silent, Tony glanced down and smiled. She rested on her side with her eyes shut and her lips slightly parted. A bent arm beneath her head created a makeshift pillow.

  Wanting to kiss her in the very worst way, he studied her for a while, grateful for the opportunity to gaze his fill without her admonishment that staring was improper. Thinking how upset she’d be if she knew he’d watched her sleep, he swallowed down a chuckle.

  Packing up the last of the picnic things, he carried the basket back to the buggy and picked up a small box he’d stowed beneath the seat.

  Walking back to where Ilsa rested in a sweet repose of slumber on the blanket, Tony took out the small camera Caterina and Kade gave him for his birthday and proceeded to take a few photos of her.

  Aware that Ilsa would complain, quite emphatically, at having her photo taken while she slept, he put the camera away and stowed it back beneath the buggy seat.

  Returning to Ilsa’s side, he stretched out beside her and closed his eyes, deciding he might as well enjoy a few moments of rest.

  “Oh!” Ilsa gasped, opening her eyes to find Tony right beside her. She didn’t remember drifting off to sleep, but evidently, she had. It appeared she wasn’t the only one if Tony’s slack features were any indication of his restful state.

  Deciding she didn’t need to be in a hurry about moving away from him, she held perfectly still and studied the dark stubble starting to sprout along his jaw and firm chin. She stared at his kissable lips, straight nose, and the scar that creased his eyebrow.

  Before she thought about what she was doing, she reached out and lightly traced the line of the scar with her forefinger.

  “Caterina threw her shoe at me,” Tony mumbled, slowly opening his eyes and turning his warm gaze her direction.

  “What?” Ilsa hurried to push herself back, but Tony rolled on his side and wrapped an arm around her waist before she could move.

  “If you want to know how I got that scar, Caterina and I were fighting over whose turn it was to wash the dishes. I was twelve at the time, so she must have been about ten. She reached down, took off her shoe, and threw it at me. It left a deep cut and the doctor gave me three stitches. Caterina felt so bad, she took my turn at washing dishes for the rest of the summer.” Tony wiggled the eyebrow with a scar, making Ilsa smile. “She’s always had a bad temper.”

  “I should say so.” Ilsa thought the scar enhanced Tony’s looks, gave him a roguish appearance.

  “Does it make me look like a pirate?” Tony asked, seeming to sense Ilsa’s thoughts.

  “No… it, um… I was… it…” she stammered then fell silent as Tony lowered his head to hers.

  She’d dreamed of him kissing her since the first day she laid eyes on him and it was finally going to happen. The only other man who had kissed her was Delmon and she thoroughly despised his attempts at affection.

  Wondering if she’d feel anything different when Tony pressed his lips to hers, she somehow knew it would be exciting and magical.

  The warmth of his breath blew softly across her face as he drew near and she closed her eyes, ready to welcome his kiss.

  “What’s going on here?” a voice thundered above them.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Mr. Meade, your timing is impeccable, as always.”

  “I do my best, son,” a man said, grinning at Tony as he released Ilsa. Getting to his feet, he held out a hand to help her up.

  Her cheeks burned a fiery shade of red as she scrambled to her feet. Frantically shoving her loosened hairpins into her hair, she straightened her skirt, too embarrassed to look either man in the eye.

  “Ilsa, this is Arthur Meade. He’s the groundskeeper here at Dogwood Corners. Mr. Meade, this is Aundy’s sister, Ilsa Thorsen.” Tony made introductions, rolling his eyes at the wink the jolly man gave him before enthusiastically shaking Ilsa’s hand.

  “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Ms. Thorsen. Your sister frequently speaks about you and I heard you’d finally arrived in Pendleton. Welcome to our community.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Ilsa decided it was far too late to pretend she was any
thing but flustered.

  “I see Tony is showing you around the place.” Arthur tried not to laugh at the horrified expression on Ilsa’s face or the humor filling Tony’s.

  “Yes, sir. We’ve thoroughly enjoyed our repast in the shade of these lovely trees,” Ilsa said, regaining a shred of her dignity and ability to converse without stammering.

  “Would you like to see the house?” Arthur offered, extending his arm to Ilsa. She smiled and took it, leaving Tony to follow along behind.

  As they walked toward the house, the groundskeeper talked about the different flowers and shrubs they passed. “I’ve worked here since the day Mr. Monroe broke ground, but I’ll tell you, I had a feeling he was up to no good. As long as I kept his beloved dogwoods alive, though, he left me alone and we got along fine.”

  “You’ve done an admirable job making Dogwood Corners beautiful, Mr. Meade. I’m very impressed,” Ilsa said, as they walked up the many steps leading to the front door.

  Stepping inside the foyer, coolness settled around them.

  “The house is well insulated, so it stays cooler in here than you might think, especially for such a big house.”

  Arthur showed them through the various rooms on the ground floor then all the rooms on the second and third floors. Taking them down the back stairs, their tour ended in the huge kitchen where a sweet-faced woman with flaming red hair greeted them.

  “This is my wife, Shea. She keeps the inside of the house shining like a new penny,” Arthur bragged, resting a gentle hand on his wife’s shoulder. “Shea, love, this is Aundy’s sister, Ilsa Thorsen.”

  “Tis a pleasure to meet ye, miss. Aundy is full of tales about some slip of a girl bearing a beauty rare and wondrous to behold. I see for meself they weren’t tales at all, but the glorious truth. What a lovely thing ye be.” Shea gave Ilsa an affectionate hug.

  Immediately liking the lively woman and the lyrical way she spoke with an Irish brogue, Ilsa smiled broadly.