Love Birds: The Complete Collection

by Ruth J. Hartman

  “It seems there would be things which would be of better use of you time.”

  A male voice. Not the one she longed to hear. Shiny, expensive boots stood not far from her. Without looking up, she muttered, “Hello, Conrad.”

  Foregoing invitation or returning the salutation, Conrad sat on the bench next to her. Too close. Heat from his skinny frame swept across her arm. Lucy lowered her eyebrows, this time giving the man a stare. “Pardon me, but do you suppose you could move a little to your left?”

  He harrumphed. “Whatever for? I’m in the shade here.”

  “Because you are sitting too close to me.” Anywhere in this hemisphere is too close!

  “But if I move, I’ll be in direct sun.”

  She gave him a withering glare, wishing she could cause him to disappear simply by her menacing look. “Conrad, you are sitting too close to me to be appropriate. Please move.”

  “But—”

  “Why must you always argue to get your way? Can’t you see that we would appear to be something we are not if you sit too closely?”

  He smiled. “Oh, I’d love for people to—”

  “I believe the lady asked you to move, Lofton.”

  Oliver!

  Conrad angled around and stared up at him. “Oh. It’s you.”

  “I do work here, after all.”

  “Yes. Of that I am fully aware. You work. Here.” Distaste hung on his pasty features. Although he did sport a sunburned nose from his earlier Sanctuary visit. Was it too much to hope the burn would eventually peel? And flake onto his spotless cravat?

  Why couldn’t the man simply move away from her? Not only because she didn’t like him, but because now Oliver was there. She had no wish for him to think that she and Conrad…

  A shudder ran through her. If her father had his way, that’s exactly how things would be.

  Oliver leaned forward. “Miss Ashbrook, you’ve gone white as a ghost.”

  Conrad squinted. “You do look as if you drank something akin to pond water.”

  Oh, Conrad, how aptly put. Because touching you in any form would make me physically ill.

  She smiled at Oliver. “I’m fine. Truly.” A slight tilt of her head toward Conrad.

  Oliver nodded. “Right. How about a nice long walk?”

  “Yes,” said Lucy.

  “No,” said Conrad.

  She turned toward the toad sitting next to her. “Don’t feel as if you must join us, Conrad. I’m sure you have other things that would pique your interest rather than taking another walk through the Sanctuary. That is, unless, you wished to visit your cuckoo friend again.”

  This time, Conrad shuddered. “No, I don’t wish to reacquaint myself with that. But I must insist on coming with you, Lucy.” He peered at Oliver. “As a chaperone.”

  She held up her hand in front of him. “I don’t see how—”

  “Ah.” Conrad’s smile resembled an alligator’s wide grin. “It was your father who made the suggestion.”

  “Pardon me?”

  “Oh yes. It’s true.”

  “Well, we’ll just see about that, won’t we?” She crossed her arms.

  “Absolutely, Lucy. I encourage you to ask your father. In the mean time, if you take a walk with him, just know that I will be there as well.”

  “Fine.” Lucy stood abruptly from the bench in a rustle of skirts. Conrad was stubborn enough to carry through with his threat. If she wished to spend any time at all with Oliver today, it would have to be with the skulking vulture along for the ride. But she would definitely be telling her father about Conrad’s words and actions. How dare he? And how dare he say it was her father’s idea? Yes, he’d told her many times that she would do well to marry Conrad, but he’d never forced her. Lately, though, he had seemed determined that she accept Conrad’s proposal.

  She bit her lip. It couldn’t be true. Could it? Surely her father wouldn’t do that to her. He was stubborn. But…

  “Ready, Miss Ashbrook?” Oliver smiled. That dimple on his cheek, her dimple, was her undoing. How could she ever say no to it?

  “Yes. Let’s go for a walk.”

  A warm breeze filtered through branches and over shrubs, rustling the field grass as if caressed by a giant hand. So peaceful. So tranquil. Lucy could see why Oliver enjoyed it here so much. She only wished he did it because it was simply something he enjoyed, not because he had to in order to earn a living.

  They tromped across a field of ankle-deep grasses.

  Past the proop-prooping ducks.

  Skirted around a nest of goslings with a watchful goose nearby.

  Up a steep hill, startling small finches of some sort.

  Down into a damp, marshy valley where some chiff-chaffs were at play.

  And over to a large grove of trees.

  Oliver stopped and tilted back his head. “There’s your little man in his cutaway coat.” He pointed up and to their left.

  Lucy shaded her eyes and squinted. The tiny bird hopped around, looking every bit as if he performed a jig. “Ah, yes. Such a character, isn’t he?”

  “They’ve been known to hang upside down on the side of a tree.”

  “Now there is something I’d love to see!”

  Conrad walked up to stand beside her. His breath came in gasps. Didn’t the man ever exert any energy? The pace of their walk had not been that brisk. “What on earth are you blathering on about? Some man is sitting in that tree? Hanging upside down? In a cutaway coat? Must be a Bedlam escapee. No one else would act so disturbed.”

  Lucy shook her head, trying not to think of Conrad running toward them that first day, waving his arms, looking every bit like a resident of Bedlam. “No, Conrad, it’s only a joke. You see that little bird up there, the blue and white one?”

  “Oh. Yes, so…”

  “It’s called a nuthatch.” Oliver seemed to barely suppressed his irritation. “They’re numerous here in the summer, and a favorite with our visitors.”

  “Humph.” Conrad grimaced. “I cannot imagine why anyone would come here to visit that.”

  Lucy gritted her teeth. What a rude idiot! “May I remind you that you are here, looking at that very same bird?”

  Pale blue eyes narrowed. “As I said, I am only here on your behalf. At your father’s suggestion.”

  Oliver crossed his arms. “But how is it acceptable for you to be a chaperone for her? You are every bit as unmarried as I.”

  Conrad held up a bony finger. “Ah, but there are very specific differences, Barrow.”

  “Do tell.” Oliver clenched his teeth, forming a solid, muscled line along his jaw.

  Reaching into his pocket for the ever-present handkerchief, Conrad wiped perspiration from his brow. “You see, Lucy and I have known each other for years. People of our, ahem, circle know this and wouldn’t bat an eye at the two of us being seen together in a public place. You, however, are a completely different story.”

  “Go on.”

  “Not only are you a recent acquaintance of Lucy, you are also of a completely different class.”

  “Don’t say that.” Lucy widened her eyes.

  Sun bounced off of Conrad’s sunburned nose. “It’s true. You can’t deny it, Lucy. He is a laborer.”

  “Ah—”

  “A bumpkin.”

  “But—”

  “A common worker of the lowest—”

  “Conrad! I must insist that you cease any further words degrading Mr. Barrow.”

  The man in question, having taken Conrad’s last words without a rebuttal, touched her sleeve. “Don’t bother, Miss Ashbrook. Some people will always look down their noses at others, no matter what they do or how much they possess.”

  “But…”

  He took a half step toward her. “No. let it be, please. Things tend to sort themselves out…” He glared at Conrad’s smirking countenance, “…in the end.”

  She shrugged. “If you wish.”

  “I do.”

  Conrad cleared his th
roat. “Can we please get on with this tedious excursion? Honestly, I don’t know how you people stand to spend so much time around the horrid winged creatures and the messes they make.”

  A wet blob splatted on Conrad's very expensive coat, leaving a white splotch.

  He gasped.

  His mouth dropped open and his eyes widened. “Of all the… Look at this, just look!”

  A gooey white splotch of something unmentionable now resided on the shoulder of Conrad’s very expensive coat.

  Lucy covered her mouth with her hand, hoping to physically restrain her mirth. “Oh… dear.”

  Oliver coughed. Lips then pressed together. But his telltale dimple appeared. “S-sorry about that, Lofton.”

  “Oh, I’ll bet you just are.” The handkerchief appeared again. Lips pursed in distaste, Conrad wiped the offending substance from his coat. But some, just enough to reek havoc, smeared across the dark fabric. “My valet will be livid when he sees this.”

  Lucy took a deep breath. Concentrate. Do. Not. Laugh. “Per-perhaps he will have something with which to remove the, uh, spot. And, after all, it’s only just the one—”

  Another blob fell from above.

  Eyes widening further, Conrad yelped. A second white blob, larger than its brother, appeared on his boot. “These boots are handmade! How dare that son of a—”

  “Conrad!” Lucy stomped her boot, sorry that this time there was no mud on the ground with which to splatter his pants. Such a pity.

  “I’ve some old towels in the shed that might be of some—”

  “No thank you.” Conrad cut off Oliver’s offer. “I will not have anything of yours or this place touch me or anything of mine.”

  Lucy glanced at his boot. “But it’s already—”

  “No. I will not.”

  A sigh escaped her lips. Why couldn’t the annoying man simply go away? Most people would have left when it was made clear they weren’t welcome. And even stubborn, obtuse people, like that of Conrad’s ilk, would have removed themselves from the premises when bombarded by an angry bird.

  But no. Not him. Why was he still there? It had to be more than just honoring her father’s supposed request to chaperone Lucy. Something was going on. Something she was sure she didn’t like.

  But what?

  A third white drop, this one larger and more repulsive than the first two, landed on Conrad’s hat. He frowned. And looked up. “Why it’s that… that hideous cuckoo bird. Why does he keep—?”

  Splat.

  Lucy’s eyes widened. Even though she couldn’t stand Conrad, she’d never wish that on anyone.

  So unfortunate that when the fourth, and largest, deposit landed on Conrad’s face, his mouth happened to be wide open.

  Chapter Ten

  Oliver nodded toward the retreating Conrad. “It’s unlikely he’ll return now, don’t you think?”

  “Who knows?” Lucy shrugged. “He’s a tenacious sort.”

  “May I ask you something, Lucy?” He held up his hand. “And please, if I’m being too forward, just let me know. You don’t have to answer, if you don’t wish to.”

  What in the world will he say? Her heart thudded. Did he no longer wish to be of her acquaintance? “No. Please. You may ask me anything, Oliver.”

  A smile. That dimple. He took a deep breath. “Is Lofton, that is to say, is he… are you and he…?”

  It was her turn to hold up her hand. “No. Definitely not. I have been of his unfortunate acquaintance for several years. Our fathers were contemporaries. But that is all. There are times I wish he’d move north to Scotland and never return.” Her eyes widened. “Oh dear. That sounded cruel.”

  Oliver laughed. “Sometimes, there are people in this world who elicit those types of feelings from us, are there not?”

  Heat rose to Lucy’s cheeks. “Yes. I suppose, but…”

  “Don’t feel as if you must censor your words from me. I’m glad we are… friends. I know we haven’t spent much time together, but in that short time…”

  She nodded. “Yes. Yes… we…” Could her face get any warmer? She would surely combust!

  “I’m truly grateful that I saw you that day.” He glanced toward the ground. “That day you were sketching the nuthatch.”

  “As am I.”

  He looked up and met her eyes. “It makes my work here all the sweeter for it.”

  “Th-thank you, Oliver. I feel the same… about you. Not the work.” She smiled. “Still, I would feel terrible if something happened to your position because of time spent with me.”

  “Worry not, Lucy. It’s of no concern.”

  “But surely your livelihood depends upon it.”

  Laughter. “Ah… no.”

  She frowned. “It doesn’t? So… you have another…?” How was it she could have this conversation with this man? Such personal questions. “Forgive me. It’s none of my concern.”

  “On the contrary. You and I are friends. And don’t friends speak of things of importance to them?”

  “Well, yes. I…”

  “Please. It warms my heart, your concern for my wellbeing. Thank you.”

  “I do. That is, I do… care…” The words for you sat on her tongue, longing to leap out of her mouth, but she couldn’t. Not yet.

  “As do I.” He swallowed. “Would it be acceptable for me to… hold your hand?”

  She nodded.

  “I’ve another type of bird to show you, if you’d like.”

  “That would be lovely.” Her hand encased in his, everything in the world seemed brighter, fuller of cheer. Surely his request to hold her hand meant they were becoming more than friends. She darted a glance around them. No one was near. She’d not want word of her handholding to reach her father’s ears.

  He tugged her a little closer as they headed for a grassy area with a few sparse trees. “This bird, a favorite of mine, is the turtle dove.”

  “It seems they are all your favorites.”

  A smile pushed his dimple into view. “Most of them, yes, although I’m not as fond of the goose thief at present.”

  She laughed. “Oh, but you were so gallant in trying to rescue my favorite hat. I’ll be forever grateful.”

  “Good to know I have a talent with which to share with the world. Rescuing hats in distress.”

  “Everyone must be accomplished at something.”

  Eyes crinkling at the corners, he turned and looked at her. “I hope that’s not the only thing at which I am accomplished.”

  She lowered her lashes. Warmth filtered across her face and down to her chest. “I suppose time will tell, will it not?”

  “Yes, I—”

  A gentle noise, not unlike the purr of her cat, sounded from above.

  Oliver turned his head and squinted into the sunlight. “Ah, there are my friends, now. Come and see.”

  They walked into the shade of a large tree and looked up into branches full of lush green leaves.

  Lucy tilted back her head. “I’m afraid I don’t see them.”

  He let go of her hand and stood behind her, leaning forward, with his cheek touching hers. His coarser skin against her sensitive sent ripples of pleasure down her face and throat. And everywhere they touched, sparks threatened to ignite.

  He pointed to the right. “See the branch there, the one with a few leaves gone? There’s a bare patch.”

  “Oh, yes! I see the nest with one bird sitting in it.”

  Moving her eyes to the left a foot or so, she spotted the second bird. “And there’s the other.”

  The birds, brownish–grey, had black and white striped patches on the sides of their necks. The neck, head, and rump were blue-grey. Cinnamon wings were mottled with black. A black beak contrasted with red-rimmed eyes.

  “They usually feed on the ground. So predators are sometimes a problem for them. But they’re pretty smart birds and mostly keep to the trees.”

  Lucy sighed. “They’re lovely. I do so love their call. So soft and pleasing.”r />
  The bird called again. A strange noise. Almost as if it rolled its tongue inside its beak, creating a low vibrating sound.

  Oliver pulled away and placed his hands on her shoulders. “They make other sounds, too, but in this case, they’re talking to each other. I love to come here and listen to them converse.”

  “What do you suppose they are saying?”

  “I imagine they’re talking of their day. The ups and downs.”

  “And of their children? The ones to hatch soon?”

  “Certainly. They might be suggesting possible names for their babies.”

  Lucy giggled. “Do you suppose so?”

  “Children need names, do they not? The doves can’t very well call them to dinner by bird one, two, and three.”

  Laughter shook her shoulders. “No. That might make number two and three jealous of the other being referred to as number one. As if he were more important that the rest.”

  “Absolutely.” He settled his chin on her shoulder, again touching his face to hers. His cheek rose in a smile.

  “Are the doves a… faithful type of bird?”

  “You mean to each other?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, yes, quite. That’s one reason they are sometimes called love birds. Because of their affinity toward each other once paired.”

  “That’s so sweet.”

  They stood for several minutes watching the doves, listening to the back and forth discussion, as warmth from the dappled sun thorough the tree branches surrounded them. Heat from his chest coursed across her back, running through her core. Thoughts of turning, facing him, holding him floated through her mind. What would it be like to do that… and more? To wrap her arms around his neck, pull him close, press her lips to his? Surely it would be heaven.

  His voice came soft as a summer breeze. “We seem to have an affinity for like things, do we not?”

  Startled out of her daydream, she swallowed hard. Thank goodness he couldn’t read her thoughts! How wanton she would seem if he could. “I believe that we do.”

  “It’s quite nice to have someone with whom to enjoy the birds. They are such a large part of my life. I do admire them so.” He pulled away and moved to stand beside her. He reached for her hand and held it tight.