Feisty Heroines Romance Collection of Shorts

by D. F. Jones

  Now, she needed to quench her thirst.

  Ann dragged herself across the room, hoping the blood from her right leg didn’t stain the weathered floor, and picked up the glass, finishing it off but needing more. With a deep breath, she carried it to the countertop and lifted the pitcher.

  Pouring was difficult but she managed, and then Ann downed that glass as well, thankful that the burning in her throat had calmed to some degree. She wiped the wetness from her lips with the back of her hand and contemplated what to do next.

  The door swung open, and Jeb stepped in, his forehead wrinkled in concern. “You are bleeding?” His blue eyes bulged as he took in her hands. With a deep breath, Ann raised both arms and lifted her hand in a wave. Still staring at her in shock, Jeb waved back. Then, for once, he was quiet.

  Ann pondered how much of an explanation she should give. His eyes were wide with concern, but she did not sense judgment coming from the blue orbs. She cleared her throat, hoping the water had softened her tone, though she still felt a fire raging inside of her that wouldn’t be extinguished by the concern of one man. “I am not dangerous.”

  His eyebrows rose, and she assumed he was taking into account the fact that he had to be almost two feet taller than her. His broad shoulders and muscular arms strained against the fabric of his white shirt. Even sopping wet as she was now, Ann didn’t weigh more than eighty pounds. Of course, she was not dangerous to him.

  He didn’t mention that, though. “You should sit. I will go fetch the medicinal kit and some tools.”

  Ann looked down at her bound wrists. She’d been wearing the iron so long, she’d almost forgotten what it was like to be able to move freely. The idea that he would rid her of them soon was enough to send her heart racing.

  Jeb backed out the door, and Ann made her way to one of two chairs at the small table a few steps away. A glance back at the floor let her know she’d have some cleaning to do when she was free of her chains. Her leg was bleeding worse than she’d realized.

  The door opened, and Jeb came in with an ax, a saw, and another tool she didn’t recognize. He dropped them on the table and then disappeared through the other door. It was a decent sized bedroom with sparse furniture, the bed larger than she’d imagined considering he was alone.

  He came back with a small wooden box. “My mother insists I keep this stocked, though none of the others that have washed up have benefited.” He set it on the table. “May I?”

  Though unsure of exactly what he wanted permission to do, Ann nodded, and Jeb gently guided her wrists up to the table, inspecting the iron. “It is worn. It should not be too difficult to work through.” He picked up the saw, but Ann looked away, not wanting to watch in case his hand slipped.

  It didn’t, and in a few moments, her hands were free of each other. How he would get the shackles off of her wrists, she didn’t know, but he used the tool she hadn’t recognized to bend and break the binding until her right hand was free and then her left hand. “There,” Jeb said, satisfied with his work.

  Ann massaged one wrist and then the other, the raw, red skin smarting from where the iron had dug in time and again. Her arm muscles ached from the strain of her swim and from the restraint she’d endured for months.

  Jeb cleared his throat, removing his hat and wiping his brow before he settled it on his head again. “I am assuming you have leg shackles as well?”

  “Yes.” Ann realized she hadn’t even said thank you for his first effort. Having missed the obvious opportunity, she’d wait until he was done with her ankles.

  He drew in a deep breath, more perspiration dotting his brow beneath the brim of his hat. “Pardon, miss, but I will need to see them.”

  Realizing then he was nervous about the fact that she’d have to lift her skirts, Ann tried not to smile. She wondered how long he’d been on this island alone.

  The hem of her dress had dried some in the August heat, but it was still damp. She only wore a few layers, nothing like what a proper lady would’ve been wearing, but gathering the fabric and raising it out of his way without being immodest was a challenge, especially with her sore wrists. Ann managed, and Jeb looked relieved to see her chains were placed low so she wouldn’t have to lift her gown any higher. His face was a slight shade of crimson as he dropped to his knees, taking the tool he’d used on her wrists with him. “They are tight,” he noted.

  “Yes.” That had been done for her own protection, the jailer had mentioned, in order to make it difficult for anyone who wanted to lift her skirts higher than they were now. Jeb moved the chains slightly as he made his inspection, and the iron cut into her bleeding leg. Ann winced, wishing she could remain silent, but she couldn’t help it.

  “I apologize,” Jeb said, looking up at her for only a second. “I did not mean to harm you further.”

  “It is to be expected,” she said quietly. “You will not be able to remove them without some pain.”

  He held her gaze. “I apologize in advance for that. I do not wish to hurt you.”

  Somehow, she managed to find a small smile and nodded. It was evident Jeb wasn’t the sort of man who took pleasure in bringing others pain, especially women, she assumed.

  He worked carefully, taking his time, his fingers occasionally making contact just above her ankles, always gentle. As he continued to pry the iron, the sting lessened as the binding gave way. Eventually, her injured right leg was free. Ann sighed in relief, glad to have the metal away from her flesh.

  “I should clean that and wrap it before I remove the left one,” Jeb said, his hands on her ankle as he carefully pulled back the remnants of her torn stocking and looked at the wound. “Your boot and stocking will need to come off.”

  “I can do that,” Ann assured him.

  Jeb nodded, rising to move out of her way. As he did so, she leaned forward, and his warm breath grazed her cheek, sending a tingle down her spine that matched the heat of the August day. She caught his eyes, the sparkling orbs so close to hers she could see flecks of turquoise adrift in an ocean of sapphire blue. Ann drew in a breath, her teeth encapsulating her lower lip as she did her best to ignore the rush of heat that coursed to her abdomen. The scent of open sea mingled with the woodsy fragrance of cologne, and a note of his own masculine scent became an intoxicating aroma, one she had to fight as she reminded herself that he was a man, and therefore, he was not to be trusted, regardless of the kindness he had displayed thus far.

  The moment passed, though Ann was certain he’d felt a similar surge radiating through his core. His breath staggered, and when he finally stood, Jeb took two long steps away from her, the muscles in his back tense as he attempted to hide the fact that she’d made his pulse quicken.

  Ann made short work of removing her boot and her stocking, once she could concentrate on the task. She wanted the other shackle off, sooner rather than later. She inspected the wound herself. It was deep, but the blood had let up some.

  He’d left the box on the table open, so she looked through it, Jeb glancing over his shoulder while she was halfway through applying some salve but not offering to help her. She could feel his eyes on her, though, feel him inspecting the bare flesh of her leg, exposed almost to her knee. Once she finished, she wound a bandage around the cut and secured it, dropping her muddied skirts over that leg and turning to look at him.

  Whether he was disappointed or relieved that she’d taken care of the gouge herself, she couldn’t tell. Without speaking, he came back over and set about freeing her other leg while Ann stared at the hole in her stocking, wondering if he might have materials that would allow her to patch it.

  The second leg shackle came off quicker. When Ann was completely free, she leaned back in the chair, letting her skirts go, and taking a deep breath. It had been far too long, and part of her wanted to leap out of the chair and run about the small island, to stretch and race like a child. She didn’t, though, only looked Jeb in the eye and said, “Thank you.”

  “You are most welcome,
Miss....” He waited, expectantly, for her to state her name, something he hadn’t asked yet.

  She swallowed hard, not sure how to answer. A lie sprang to mind, though she had no reason to be dishonest with him. Even if he had a means of communicating with the people who knew her history, Jeb didn’t seem like the sort of person who would hold her past against her. Taking a deep breath, she said, “Ann.”

  “Ann?” he repeated, and she assumed he was looking for her surname, but she didn’t say more. “It is a lovely name.” His lips pressed into a tight, thin smile.

  Tipping her head in thanks, she said nothing, her eyes flickering to her discarded stocking and boot.

  Jeb pulled the chains off of the floor as he stood, placing his tools back on the table. “I could draw you a bath. I have a tub. It is not large, but then, neither are you.”

  Ann raised an eyebrow at him and watched his face redden once more. “I can manage.”

  He adjusted his hat again. “I do not mind. I have finished my work on the lighthouse. I believe the last keeper’s wife left a trunk behind in the shed. I am not sure what is in it, but last I opened it, years ago, it appeared to be some sort of women’s garments. I can fetch it for you. Perhaps there is something useful inside that might allow your dress to be... cleaned.”

  Looking down at the navy blue skirt and white blouse she’d been wearing for as long as she could remember, Ann noticed stains and tears she hadn’t before. Part of that was due to her tumultuous swim, but the rest was because she’d been tossed in prison wearing this outfit months ago. She imagined she smelled far worse than the hint of perspiration she’d caught from him earlier—which, if she was honest, wasn’t unpleasant at all.

  She nodded, and Jeb grinned, rocking his head back and forth as well. He looked around, determining what to do first. Finally, he said, “I will get a fire lit so I can warm the water.”

  “Where can I fetch it from?” she asked, thinking she’d need to put her boot back on for such a chore.

  “I insist, Miss Ann. You sit tight and let me do the labor. I do not have house guests often, so let me practice my hospitality.”

  “I did not mean to impose.”

  He smirked at her but didn’t comment further, only went across the room to collect a bucket and then headed toward the door. She imagined the expression was his way of asking what she had expected when she washed ashore on his island. How could she have done anything other than impose?

  Ann settled back against the chair. The wood creaked and the back cut into her shoulder blade slightly, but it was far more comfortable than anything she’d rested on in the last few months, and she thought she could fall asleep sitting there, listening to the surf outside and the sound of Jeb whistling a happy tune as he gathered water for her bath.

  A bath—she couldn’t remember the last one she’d taken. The idea of soaking in a tub, even a small one, was invigorating, and Ann found herself smiling, thinking her newfound freedom was even better than she’d initially realized. It didn’t hurt that the keeper, whose island she happened to invade, was handsome and kind. Perhaps there was a chance her past wouldn’t catch up with her, and this truly would be a new beginning for her, not the start of a new life in bondage but of one filled with the happiness she hadn’t let herself dream about since she was a small girl with aspirations that matched her parents’ stature—not the state she found herself in when the bill collectors came after their demise.

  Deciding it was better not to dwell on those thoughts at the moment, Ann concentrated on the peaceful sounds of the waves and Jeb’s tune, glad she could close her eyes now with no fear of waking with unwanted hands on her. This man was a gentleman, one who would never force himself upon her, she was sure. Something told her if Jeb ever did wish to lay his hands upon her, there would be nothing unwanted about the situation at all.

  The prospect of having a house guest for any duration of time had been foreign to Jeb up until the moment he saw Ann sitting on the beach alive. Over the past several days, he’d had to make adjustments to his normal routine and his home, but having her company had been worth the imposition. Her demeanor hadn’t changed much; she was still standoffish, short with her answers, perhaps a bit sharp around the edges. But he’d gotten to know her temperament better as she’d insisted upon working alongside him in nearly every aspect of his duties on Cockspur, though she did not want to get into the small rowboat and venture to Oyster Bend. He hadn’t blamed her when she said she’d prefer not to get on another vessel until it was completely necessary.

  He had no idea when that might be. Deliveries came from the mainland every two weeks, weather permitting, but Ann had mentioned the port was closed to all entries because of the fever, and Jeb had watched boat after boat sail past only to come back a day or so later, most of them headed up the coast looking for another spot to dock, most likely. He hadn’t seen the port close for more than a day or two in all of his five years as keeper, or as a boy living in Savannah, so ten days after Ann’s arrival, when he continued to see boats turned away, he wondered if anyone would come to bring his supplies. It was possible they may, since he obviously didn’t have the fever, but they may not for fear they couldn’t get back to Savannah.

  There were other ways to reach land in a rowboat, other than the port, and it was quite possible his colleagues would come anyway and go back a different way. Or they may wait until the malady had passed. Fall storm season was almost upon them, so he was certain they’d be by as soon as they could make it. He expected them in a day or two at most and hoped no one would accuse him of any sort of impropriety, for Ann’s sake.

  She was a strikingly beautiful woman. Sitting in a rocking chair he’d brought in from the shed, wearing a beige gown that was a bit too big for her, which had come from the trunk, she was reading a book from off his shelf, and he couldn’t help but look at her from time to time. His eyes didn’t stray for too long from the piece of wood he was working, but stolen glances in her direction caused his mind to wander to places it shouldn’t go. They’d both be better off if the boat came the next day and took her to Savannah where she could find work and a proper place to live; staying with a bachelor on a small island simply wasn’t suitable for a young woman such as Ann, regardless of her past.

  Not that she’d told him anything at all, not even her surname. She hardly spoke except for when she needed directions about the appropriate way to tend the light. That was the first day or two. Now, she seemed to be able to carry out all of the duties with little guidance, and he appreciated her help, even though it wasn’t necessary. Still, she was a hard worker, full of energy, never complained, assisted as much as possible in every aspect of the home and the light, and having her company was much more pleasant than he would’ve ever dreamt.

  She caught him staring at her, jade eyes flickering to his and then back at the book before they returned. He looked away, but heat climbed his neck, letting her know his gaze was more than a passing glance. It wasn’t the only time she’d noticed his attention lingering since her arrival, but it was the first time she’d acknowledged it. Ann closed her book and set it on her lap, waiting for him to look at her.

  Jeb fought it, wishing he could find a way to go back in time and take the amorous glint out of his eyes. But when he finally turned to address her again, Ann had a small smile on her face. He set the block of wood and his knife aside and wiped wood slivers over the bucket catching the debris. “Why do you not speak, Ann?”

  Her eyebrows raised as she considered the inquiry. “I do. When I have something to say.”

  “Which is not often. Why do you not have conversations? Or share your thoughts? Marvel at a particularly moving song of the seagulls, or point out a fish leaping from the water? You never say much of anything.”

  “You say enough for both of us.”

  Jeb’s mouth gaped, and Ann giggled quietly, her face barely cresting into a smile. She was teasing. There was truth to it, but she didn’t mean her comment to be inj
urious, only a fond poke in the ribs. “I do not normally. Perhaps it is only because you are so easy to talk to that I carry on the way that I do. When I am here alone, I hardly say a word for days.”

  He wouldn’t have been surprised if she didn’t respond, but she did. “I suppose it is more difficult for me to open up to people now than it once was.”

  “You have been through a lot.” The lantern flickered, but he saw her eyes cast down at her folded hands, and wished it was appropriate for him to stretch his hand over to her and brush her arm, to let her know he was sympathetic to all she’d been through. The fact that the woman had come to the island in chains meant little to him. He’d gotten to know her character and couldn’t imagine she’d committed any crime worthy of being sent away from her homeland, much less in shackles.

  “When I was younger, my father would tell me stories. I would sit on his knee, and he would weave a tale. I would be completely enthralled in whatever world he was constructing. I became good at listening, but not so well-versed at speaking. Then, when my parents were gone, I did my best to entertain my sisters with similar tales. But I was not as skilled, and they had no appetite for it anyway. We had too much to concern ourselves within our everyday lives, and they were not the sort of problems that fade away when one is listening to a fairytale.”

  It was the most she’d said to him consecutively, perhaps collectively, since she’d arrived, and Jeb found himself hanging on her every word, the lilt of her accent intoxicating. “I am so sorry you lost your parents. That must have been quite difficult for you.”

  Ann nodded and a tear formed in the corner of her eye, though he knew she’d never let it fall. “It was.”

  “And what of your sisters? Where are they now?”

  She slowly shook her head. “I did my best to care for them, but after a while, I could not do it anymore. I am ten years Scarlet’s senior and have thirteen years on Josie. They are still children and in need of a steward. I could not be that. I lost them to a home for parentless children when I was seventeen. I had managed to find a man I thought I could trust to take care of us, but when that turned out to be an abysmal mistake, we fled. With no place to go, nothing to eat, and no money, we had little choice. The home took them, but I was too old. I floated from one bad situation to another until... I was sentenced to seven years of indentured service in Australia. I was loaded aboard the ship, along with thirteen men convicted of crimes far worse than the pick-pocketing I was found guilty of.”