A Bride in the Bargain Part 19

"I'd like to continue now," she said, pleased her voice sounded so steady.

He lifted his gaze from her lips to her eyes. What she saw there frightened her more than anything Hoke had ever said or done. For what she saw in him mirrored what she felt deep inside. And she wanted nothing to do with it.

"How long will it take me to pay off my debt to you?" she asked.

"A very long time." Joe's voice was low, rough, husky.

Panic rose like a living creature.

"Now I'm going to ease you up against the tree," he said. "That way you can lean against it while I go to the next springboard. All right?"

She didn't acknowledge him one way or the other. Merely followed his prompting, taking baby shuffle steps until her back connected to the solid base of the tree.

"That's a girl." He removed one hand and put it next to her on the trunk. After another moment, he did the same with his other, penning her in. He was going to kiss her. Oh no. Oh no. Oh no.

"I'm really all right now," she said sharply, not wanting to look at him, but not wanting to look down, either. "You can go to the next step."

He blinked, his eyes clearing. He looked around as if to get his bearings, then leapt to the next level. Sucking in her breath, Anna pressed herself firmly against the trunk.

"Here we go, now. Reach out and take my hand."

It took her a minute to release the tree and slip her hand into his. And not just because she was scared of falling.

"That's the way." He reached out with his other hand.

She accepted it, and he a.s.sisted her onto the last board.

"Keep going. We're there."

Slipping his hands around her waist, he lifted her onto the top of the tree stump. She sat down with a thud and scrambled back away from the edge.

He stayed on the springboard. "You all right?"

She nodded.

"I'm going back down to get the lunch bucket."

"Don't jump," she said.

"Don't jump?"

"Please."

A corner of his mouth lifted. "All right. Sit tight. I'll be back."

He hopped down the boards one foot at a time and was back up with the pail in no time.

Squatting down beside her, he rested one knee on the stump's surface. "Still have an appet.i.te?"

She hadn't dared to move.

Joe smiled. "It's a pretty view, if you think you can look."

She slowly swiveled her head, then caught her breath. The valley spread out before them while snowcapped Mount Rainier dominated the far horizon. She could see streams and the skid road they dragged the logs down and . . . "What's that?"

He looked in the direction of her gaze.

"A chute. I'm building a log chute. It's almost finished. It'll go to the river; then we'll be able to float the logs to Yesler's Mill rather than hauling them down Skid Road."

She looked at it again. "Good heavens."

Settling onto the stump, he pulled out their lunch and spread it before them.

"How are we going to get back down?" she asked.

"One step at a time. But there's no rush. We can stay up here for as long as you like."

Taking a deep breath, Anna took a bite of her sandwich, wondering if he realized just how long that might be.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

They stayed up on the stump for hours. Talking. Laughing. Sometimes doing no more than enjoying the view.

He learned she liked to make things with seash.e.l.ls.

She learned he'd never read Pride and Prejudice.

He spoke of his family with affection.

She hardly spoke of her family at all.

He told her he began to support himself at age nine.

She claimed to have earned a share of her family's living at five.

"You did not," he scoffed. He lay facing her on his side, his elbow propping him up, his head resting in his hand.

"I most certainly did." She'd long since discarded her boots and sat with her legs tucked up under her skirts, feet on the stump.

"What a young robin you are-all mouth and no tail."

"I'll have you know I supplied our home with all the wood my mother could possibly use."

He grinned. "You were a lumberjack?"

"Of course not."

He shook his head. "Then just how is it, missy, that a puny female of only five years supplied wood for her entire family?"

"We were still living in New Bedford at the time. And next door to us was a great, burly shipbuilder. Bigger than you, even."

He quirked a brow.

"Every morning he'd toss me up onto his huge shoulder and take me with him to the shipyard. Day after day, I'd imitate the workers around me with my dull but serviceable hatchet and saw."

"In your petticoats? You sawed away at wood in your petticoats?"

Looking out over the valley, Anna hugged her knees to her chest, a fond smile touching her lips. "Actually, my petticoats got in the way, so my friend had a little boy's suit made for me. Thus emanc.i.p.ated, I never left his side."

A picture of her this morning without her petticoat flashed into his mind. Was that why she didn't wear one even today? Because after helping her up the springboards, he knew for a fact she didn't have one on now.

"I think I require some proof of this outrageous claim," he said.

"Proof?"

Tugging her hands loose, he made a show of inspecting them. So tiny. So delicate. So incredibly soft. "All ten fingers intact. But anyone of your tender age-particularly a female-would have certainly sawed off an appendage or two."

His fingers brushed the curve of her wrist.

She pulled her hands free, then reached for her boots and put them on, all the while keeping her feet hidden beneath her skirt. "My friend made sure I didn't saw off any fingers. Though I did smash them often enough."

"And this wood you sawed, you brought it home to your family?"

"No. In exchange for the pleasure of my company-which he never seemed to tire of-my friend carried home from the shipyard all the wood we ever needed."

"With you on his shoulder."

She smiled. "With me on his shoulder."

He was going to enjoy being married to her, Joe realized. Whatever had brought about her hard times, the war or some other catastrophe, she was well educated. And though she didn't speak of her family directly, he was able to ascertain that it had been a loving one.

He still resented being forced into marriage, but he would do what it took to keep his land, and a lifetime with Anna wasn't going to be as much of a hardship as he'd first supposed.

He'd done everything she'd asked of him, even slept in the barn. The only thing he'd refused to do was chop down Lorraine's chestnut tree. He knew he should. Not just for Anna, but because it really was dangerous. But he couldn't make himself do it.

When news of Lorraine's death had come, he'd held a private memorial for her at the base of that tree. He'd read some words, said a prayer, and laid out a bouquet of flowers. But he hadn't felt any gripping sadness or overwhelming grief. What he'd felt was guilt-for the absence of those very emotions, and for knowing that if it was his land that he'd lost, he'd grieve far more.

The tree stood in the gap for him, somehow making up for his deficiencies. To chop it down would be callous and disrespectful. And he wouldn't do it.

Pushing himself to a sitting position, he scooted forward until he bracketed her with his bent legs. The sweet vanilla scent of twinflowers aroused his senses.

She drew her knees up against her chest, her eyes widening. "What are you doing?"

"I'm going to ask you again, Anna. What do you have against marriage?"

She didn't pretend to misunderstand his motive for asking. "You are betrothed."

"I'm not wed."

"It is practically the same."

"It is not at all the same. What do you have against marriage?"

She glanced around, as if searching for a way to escape, but she couldn't get off this stump. Not without his help. And they both knew it.

"Oh my," she said. "Look how low the sun is. Shouldn't we head back?"

He gently clasped her calves through her skirt. "What do you have against marriage?"

She started. "I told you. I'm simply not interested, that's all."

"Why not?"

"Can we go now?"

"I'll have an answer."

"It's a long story."

"I have time."

A slight glistening of moisture touched her eyes. Whatever her reasons, they were deep and they were very personal.

Stroking her calf with his thumb, he gentled his voice. "You can tell me."

She wrenched her legs away and stood.

Her skirts caught on his calluses. Anna yanked harder than necessary, giving him a glimpse of ankle before her hem settled into place.

"I'd like to leave now," she said. "I will go down those springboards by myself if you make me. But I'd rather have your help."

He slowly came to his feet. "I will let you fly the coop for now, little robin. But we are not done with this. Not by a long shot."

She squared her shoulders, but wasn't able to mask the vulnerability in her eyes.

She was trying to kill him. He'd asked the woman a few personal questions and she decided to do him in. He stopped milking to spit again, but it did no good. His mouth continued to froth.

She'd fried up some of the veal with the mushrooms she'd collected and served it to him for supper. But if she were trying to poison him, why did she eat it, too? He paused. Was she frothing?

He rushed through his ch.o.r.e, then jogged to the house, milk sloshing over the edge of the pails he carried. It was eerily quiet inside. He laid a cloth over the pails, then hurried from the milk room to the kitchen and lit a lantern. She wasn't there.