Page 117
Story: A Forbidden Alchemy
“Two,” Theo said. “To dry it up properly. And to find where it’s getting in.”
“Fuck me, Pat,” said Gunner. “Here we fuckin’ go.”
But that was mining. Two setbacks for every victory. An inch gained and another lost. Patrick thought they ought to be pleased they wouldn’t be bucketing it out by hand.
“Be thankful, brother,” he said, patting Gunner on the back. “The day is yours. You can sleep off that pounding in your head.”
Gunner turned for the shaft, grumbling under his breath about not being suicidal enough to return home.
Patrick turned to take Donny’s sleeve, but Nina was already there. She had threaded her arm with Donny’s. “If you topple me,” she told him, “I’ll trip you up on purpose.”
Donny grinned widely. “Shit. She sounds likeyou,” he said to Patrick, who scowled.
“If you topple her,I’lltrip you every day for the rest of your sorry life.”
“Ma would clobber you,” Donny said assuredly, his chin high. “I wouldn’t mind hearin’ the sweet sounds of wood on your arse, just like when we were kids—”
“Does he always have so much to say?” Nina asked, leading Donny onward.
“?’Fraid so.” Donny said before Patrick could answer. “Have you any interest in hearin’ a story? I’ve got one about young Patrick hangin’ by his underpants out a girl’s window.”
Nina’s eyes lit up.
“Shut up, Donny,” Patrick said. “Remember, you won’t see my fist before it hits your face.”
They clambered into the shaft, and Gunner pulled them topside, but before the lantern light disappeared from view, Patrick saw Theodore standing in all that water, watching them all with a strange, bottomless expression.
Patrick concealed the pit with the trapdoor and brushed his hands clean. Donny and Gunner were already exiting Margarite’s, taking advantage of their rare free day to do whatever they wished. Patrick ought to tend to the many outstanding concerns of Kenton, starting with the eastern mine and the reports of unstable ground.
But Nina stirred in his periphery, feigning interest in the mannequins. Not moving off immediately, but not speaking, either. She had said nothing to him since she’d arrived at the shop that morning, nor had she met his eye. In fact, she seemed gray with exhaustion.
“You didn’t sleep?” he asked, his breath swarming dust in the air.
Her cheek ticked, and still, she didn’t look his way. “Not well.”
He sighed, dread in his lungs. Best not to delay sorry news. “Do you want to pretend last night never happened, Nina? Is that it?”
He’d give her that, if it was what she wanted.
She took far longer to respond than any man could stand. He felt her grappling with it, lips parting and shutting. Finally, she said, “No. I don’t think I can.”
Lord, how he wished for a look inside her head, to watch the cogwheels turn. “Do you regret me already, then? It usually takes a little longer, I’ll admit.”
She grinned at the floorboards, and it morphed her entire face, disarming him. “Long enough to hang you out a window?”
He ran his hand over his face. “Fuckin’ Donny.”
Her grin widened. “Must’ve been quite the night.”
Patrick felt his blood rush south. The light was glancing off the ends of her curls, the tip of her nose, the side of her neck. She bit her lip to keep from laughing, and though he hadn’t found the fun in repartee of late, she seemed to enjoy teasing him, and he had begun to crave the sound of her voice.
He suddenly pictured himself trapping her against a wall again. He wanted to feel her soft body pressed once more to his. To run his hands over every agonizing curve of her.
Perhaps it showed on his face, because Nina’s cheeks flushed pink. He was beginning to crave that, too.
Patrick’s lips quirked, just slightly. “If it’s to be a night of regrets, I make sure to be very thorough.”
She cleared her throat. “And exactly how long is this line of women who regret you?”
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