Page 17

He surged to his feet, pulling her up with him, his fingers tightening around hers as he walked away from the grave. Loree stumbled as she followed. He swung around, caught, and steadied her.

“You all right?” he asked, concern clearly reflected in his eyes.

Her cheeks grew warm, and she suddenly wished she’d spent the last five years practicing to be a lady as her mother had wanted instead of a hoyden thinking no man would ever look at her the way Austin Leigh was looking at her now.

She nodded jerkily and gave him a wan smile.

“I’m just used to ground beneath my feet instead of leather. ”

As though amused, he slowly shook his head and glanced at her scuffed shoes. Unexpectedly he dropped to one knee and slapped his raised thigh. “Put your foot up here.”

“What are you going to do?”

He grabbed her ankle and lifted her foot.

Thrown off-balance, she clamped her fingers onto his shoulder to brace herself.

She watched in amazement as he freed the buttons on her shoe.

She thought about jerking her foot back, insisting the shoes stay where they were, but he dropped his head back and she fell into the depths of his blue, blue eyes.

How many times during the past week had she caught herself staring into the flames of a fire, searching for the warmth of his gaze?

He worked her shoe off, and when she would have removed her stockinged foot from his thigh, he covered it with his palm and held it in place.

His gaze holding hers, he slowly guided his hands over her ankle, beneath her skirt, up her calf, past her knee, until his fingers grazed the bare flesh of her thigh just above her stockings.

Scalding heat shot through her, and she dug her fingers into his shoulders.

Using his thumbs, he rolled her stocking down her leg, while his fingers trailed over her skin, his gaze never leaving hers, the blue darkening until she felt as though he had ignited something within her.

Her heart beat so hard that she was certain he’d be able to feel the pounding in her toes.

He skimmed her stocking over her foot, and finally lowered his gaze to her bare foot.

He rubbed his finger over the top of her foot.

“You’ve got the cutest toes.”

“They’re crooked,” she told him as though he didn’t have a clear view of her toes as he massaged each toe thoroughly before moving onto the next.

Feeling as though every bone in her body was melting, she was surprised she still had the ability to stand.

“Did you break this toe?” he asked when he reached the toe next to her biggest toe.

“No. My pa had toes like that. He called it a hammer toe. See, it looks like a hammer.”

He gave her a grin that very nearly caused all the breath to leave her body. She was too aware of him. Memories of his touching her in the ways that a man touched a woman threatened to turn from cold ashes into a blazing fire. She jerked her foot off his thigh.

As though he knew exactly what she’d been remembering, he patted his thigh and his smile grew. “Other foot.”

She took a deep calming breath. “I can take it off.” To her embarrassment, her voice hitched, but he didn’t laugh. He just turned those blue eyes on her, challenging her. “Come on, Sugar. Give me your other foot before you break your pretty neck.”

She had never been able to resist a challenge. She stomped her foot onto his thigh. He laughed deeply, richly, like a man remembering what it was to enjoy life.

“So you’ve got a bit of a temper,” he said as he attacked the buttons.

“Sometimes.” She watched the deftness with which his fingers worked. “Not often.”

He dropped her shoe to the ground and started gliding his hands over her leg. She wasn’t certain she could survive his removing the other stocking, and when he lifted his gaze to hers, she was certain she wouldn’t.

“Where’s your father?” she blurted, to distract herself from the heavenly sensation of his fingers sliding beneath her skirt.

He blinked, halting his hands behind her knee. “He died at Chickamauga.”

“So he fought in the war.”

“Yep.”

“Who raised you then?”

“My brothers.”

He had mentioned the one. “How many do you have?”

“Two. They’re considerably older than me. Both fought in the war alongside my pa. I don’t remember my pa at all, but my oldest brother supposedly looks just like him.”

He began to massage her knee.

“Aren’t you getting tired of kneeling?”

He smiled warmly. “Nope.”

“I’m getting tired of standing on one leg.”

He barely looked contrite as he apologized and rolled down her stocking. As soon as her stocking cleared her toes, she removed her foot from his thigh. He didn’t appear offended as he stuffed her stocking into her shoe.

Loree took a moment to relish the feel of the grass beneath her soles, but it somehow paled in comparison to his warm thigh against her foot. He grabbed her shoes and unfolded his long, lanky body.

“I’ll put these in the carriage,” he offered.

She watched him walk to the carriage, wishing she didn’t have so many mixed emotions where he was concerned.

Dreading the feelings his touch stirred within her, desperately wanting the easing of the loneliness that his presence caused.

As often as DeWayne visited, he never managed to take the loneliness away.

Austin scooped Two-bits out of the box and set him on the ground, laughing as the dog scampered after a butterfly.

She liked the rumble of his laughter, the glow in his eyes as he walked to her, the slight curving of his lips, and the warmth of his hand as he wrapped it around hers before they continued their journey into his past.

Night had fallen by the time Austin brought the buggy to a halt in front of Loree’s house. He set the box containing the sleeping puppy on the table, lit a lamp, and walked through the house as though he owned it, checking all the dark corners and closets.

“Everything seems to be in order,” he said, his voice low, and Loree wondered why everyone always talked quieter at night.

Her gaze drifted toward the bedroom door, and she wondered what, if anything, he expected now. Once an intimacy had been shared, how did one establish boundaries?

“I appreciate that you went with me today.”

She snapped her gaze to his. “I enjoyed it.”

“Did you?” he asked, turning his hat in his hands.

She smiled softly. “Yes, I did.”

“Good.” He glanced quickly around the room. “I’d best get back to town, get the buggy and horses turned into the livery.”

With long strides he crossed the room and opened the door. Loree followed him onto the porch, the pale light from the lamp spilling through the doorway and across his face. Within the shadows, she saw his fingers working the brim of his hat.

“Loree …”

Her breath caught and held. She didn’t know where she’d find the strength to refuse him if he asked to come back inside. He took a step nearer and rubbed his knuckles across her cheek.

“Loree, I’m not courting you,” he said quietly.

“You told me that earlier today. I haven’t forgotten.”

“I just want to make sure that you understand that.”

“I do.”

“Good.”

His mouth swooped down to cover hers, his arm snaking around her waist, drawing her flush against his body.

Hot, moist, and hungry, his lips taunted and teased.

Of their own accord, her arms wound around his neck, and she returned his kiss with equal fervor.

She knew it was wrong. She had nothing of permanence to offer him.

When he finally drew away, Loree was surprised her legs were able to support her.

“Get inside before I do something we both regret,” he rasped in a ragged voice.

She nodded, slipped inside, and closed the door. She pressed her ear against it. It was long moments before she heard his boots hitting the porch, carrying him away, before she heard the buggy roll into the night.

She sank to the floor and buried her face in her hands, but she couldn’t hide from the truth. Had he asked, she would have invited him to stay.