Loner's Lady. Lynna Banning
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like you’ve picked a good quarrel with the Lord.”
“I am plenty mad at him at present. I will still be mad at him when they lay me in my grave.”
Jess knew better than to pursue the matter further; he’d get her riled up and she’d be hard to handle, riled up. He studied the dark shadows beneath her eyes, her work-worn hands, the pulse throbbing at the curve of her throat. Ellen O’Brian was a fighter. He had to admire that.
But she wasn’t going to win. A sour taste rose in his mouth and he swallowed hard. “About this social tomorrow…”
“What about it?” she asked over a mouthful of tomatoes. “It’s the Fourth of July, always a big town wingding. I never miss it.”
“Think you could sit a horse?”
Her face changed. “Guess I’ll have to if I want to go.”
“There’s a doctor in town, right?”
“Yes, my uncle, Dr. James Callahan. Why? Are you ailing?”
“Thought he might put a plaster on your broken leg. A plaster cast is easier to walk around on than a splinted limb.”
Her face lit up as if somebody had turned up a lamp flame inside her. “Then maybe I could even join in the dancing. That’s the best part of the social.”
“Maybe. First have to figure out how to get you there.” He’d think it over later, after she went to bed. “You got something else needs doing tonight?”
“Boiling up my cake frosting. Just butter and sugar and some cold coffee. They call it Araby icing. Takes exactly seven minutes from start to finish, but you have to keep stirring it. Do you think you could…?”
“Thought you’d never ask,” Jess said dryly.
“Thought I’d let you wear my apron again, too,” she said with a laugh.
“Thanks.”
“Mr. Flint?”
“Yes, Mrs. O’Brian?”
“Think you could also manage to iron my clean petticoat? The one you washed this morning?”
“I guess if you can ride a horse with your leg splinted, I can figure out how to iron your petticoat.”
“Mr. Flint?” she said again. This time her blue eyes pinned him where he stood.
“Yes, Mrs. O’Brian?”
“There’s some reason why you’re here. I want to know what it is.”
Jess looked away toward the purpling sky. “First off, it’s plain you need help. You can’t keep up the chores with a broken leg.”
She nodded, but when he turned his head toward her she sought his gaze again. “And second?”
“Second…” He drew in a full breath and exhaled. “Maybe I’m…looking for something.”
The instant the words were out he knew he’d said too much. The trick to lying was to stick close to the truth, up to a point. But she was the kind of woman who looked beneath the surface of things. Sooner or later, she’d smell him out.
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