The Seduction Of Shay Devereaux. Carolyn Davidson
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tend to so much, if they’re going to tend it well.”
“Carl wasn’t a poor man. He must have had plenty of field hands out there.” His head nodded toward the far fields, where the land lay fallow.
“That was a long time ago,” Jenny said quietly. “Things change. I’ve never forgotten the things my father told me though, when I was growing up. He didn’t own a place like this. We weren’t poor, but…”
“You were raised to be a lady,” Shay said.
“Yes, I was. But I learned early on that life is uncertain, and tomorrow brings surprises.”
“And so you’ve managed to take hold here and keep things going.”
“I’ve done my best. For Carl’s sake, and for Marshall. Yet, even now I think of all the things my father taught me, and they’ve proven to be true. He said that if we do the hard work, God will provide the rain and sun. Corn’s the best crop we can raise to keep us from goin’ hungry.” She spread her hands in a gesture that encompassed the field. “You can’t eat cotton. With corn we use the youngest, tenderest ears for our supper table, then when it’s ready to shuck out, we feed it to our stock. The best ears we grind for cornmeal. We use the stalks for silage and plow the rest under to feed the land.”
“You’re quite eloquent, ma’am,” he said soberly. “I suppose I hadn’t thought of it that way before. I suspect your papa was an educated man.”
She laughed, the sound husky in her ears. “He had some education, but mostly he read the Bible and a whole shelf full of books he brought with him from New Orleans.” She tilted her head, the better to see beneath his hat brim, suspecting that his smile lingered at her expense. “He used common sense, to tell the truth. I remember he told my mama that with a cow and a few chickens and a few acres of corn, a family could make out.”
“I suspect your father was rather more wealthy than that though, wasn’t he?”
Jenny nodded. “Yes, he had money. Not as much as Carl. I married ‘up,’ as the saying goes. Carl had the means to buy slaves, and these fields were white with cotton by summer’s end.”
“And after the war, when the slaves were freed and released?” Shay asked quietly. “What happened then?”
“A good number walked away. I gave some of them land to work, and a few stayed on here.”
“Isabelle and Noah?” His hand released hers and he turned her toward the barn, long fingers pressed against her spine, just above her waist.
She closed her eyes, then blinked away the rush of moisture that blurred her vision. That the warmth of a man’s hand should touch some deep part of her was more than she could understand. And yet it had. Her spirit wept for the simple joy he brought her.
She relished the innocent pressure of his hand against her back, his fingers holding hers captive during the walk through the field. And now the weight of that same hand on her shoulder. Inhaling his essence, the musky scent he bore, she reveled for a moment in his protective shadow.
It was unexplainable, this tension that held her breath in abeyance. It was unbelievable, this sweetness that warmed her heart as he bent to speak her name.
“Jenny?” His tone reminded her of the question he’d asked, and the answer she’d failed to give.
“Yes, Noah and Isabelle stayed on, with their sons. They belong here, and this place belongs to them, almost as much as it does to me and my son.” She held her breath a moment and then spoke the words that might draw a line between them. “They’re my family, Shay.”
His fingers squeezed hers gently and he murmured a sound of acquiescence. The barn door before them was open and even as they stood on the threshold, a light flickered, then took hold at the far end of the building. “Noah,” Shay said quietly. “He must be finishing up for the night.”
A lantern was held high, its circle of light a beacon as they walked toward the man who was moving between the mules, and then into the stall where the mare stood, one foot lifted, her head drooping. His dark face glowed as he looked up and his smile was open and welcoming.
“I thought you was gonna sit out there all night watchin’ the corn grow,” he said with a soft chuckle. “Y’all better be gettin’ your sleep. Tomorrow’s the day we plant cotton, Mr. Shay.”
Jenny glanced at Shay, his face illuminated by the lantern glow. “Have you planted cotton before?”
He reached to hang the hoes against the barn wall, where nails protruded to hold tools in place. “I’ve watched,” he admitted. “Never got down and did the deed myself.”
“First time for everything,” Noah said smoothly, running his hand over the mare’s flank. “I suspect any man who can swing a scythe the way you do can poke holes in the dirt and plant some cotton seed in them.”
“This is the easy part,” Jenny warned. “Even Marshall can plant the stuff.”
“I’ll be here to help pick it,” Shay told her, even as his gaze met that of the man who watched him closely. “Once I take on a job, I don’t give up halfway through.”
“You want your stud brought inside?” Noah asked. “He’s a mighty nice horse.”
“You have problems with raiders?” Shay asked.
Noah shook his head. “No, but I think that big stallion might be a heap of temptation. My boys sleep in the tack room. They’d hear should someone come around.”
“I’ll get him,” Shay said, turning toward the back of the barn. He opened the door that led to the corral and whistled, a low, soft sound that barely left his lips before the stallion was nudging his chest. He gripped the halter, then rubbed the stallion’s long nose. Shay murmured words that appeared to please the animal, causing him to toss his head and swish his tail.
“How’d he get over the corral fence?” Jenny asked, peering past the horse to see if the gate had been left open.
“Jumped it,” Shay said simply. “He’s got power he’s never used in those haunches.” His tone was prideful, his eyes gleaming with pleasure as he led his horse into the nearest stall. “I’ll give him some hay if you don’t mind. He didn’t graze much today.”
Without pause, he poked a pitchfork into a stack of hay they’d left available near the barn door, then carried it into the stall. It filled the manger and his stallion bent his graceful head to eat. Shay backed from the stall, his hand lingering against the horse’s side. Soft words soothed the animal and he whuffled, a smothered sound that made Jenny laugh aloud. Shay looked up.
“I suppose you think he doesn’t understand what I’m saying to him.” His mouth twitched and she was reminded of his reluctance to smile. Perhaps this was the best she’d ever have from him, this movement of his lips that signified his humor. It would be enough, she decided.
“Oh, I’m sure he does,” she said agreeably, smiling broadly. “I think I’m just surprised that you spoil him. You don’t strike me as the sort to pamper…” Her voice trailed off as his mouth became a thin line, lips compressed.
“You might be surprised, Miss Jenny,” he murmured. And then with a final brush of his hand over his stallion’s flank, he moved from the stall. “Come on, I’ll walk you to the house,” he offered.
“I’ll send Isabelle out,” Jenny told Noah and the man nodded.
“Night, Mr. Shay.” He lifted the lantern to light their way from the barn.
Shay nodded and grasped Jenny’s elbow, bending low to whisper against her bonnet. “I’ll warrant she won’t leave the house, Miss Jenny. She’ll roll up in a quilt right outside your door, if I’ve got her figured right.” His tone was amused and Jenny pulled from his grasp, irritated by his presumption.
“I’ve spoken to her