anger her like he had. Standing in the shade of the linden tree, gazing at the garden, she longed for a return of tranquility to her life. But not even the peaceful, nodding heads of her flax flowers could calm her today. She wondered how she would ever endure that odious man until he was well enough to walk out of here on his own. He was the crudest creature she'd ever encountered. She almost had to laugh now at the memory of Doc worrying about her
"tender sensibilities." If only he knew how those sensibilities had been outraged by the man she'd freely allowed into her house.
Miss Abigail's mother and father had been people with faultless manners. Cursing and raging had been foreign to her life. She had always been taught to hide anger because it was not a genteel emotion. But Mr. Cameron had managed to elicit more than just her anger. She was smitten by guilt at all she'd done
—withheld a bedpan from an invalid, then thrown it at him, then abused his leg, causing him intentional pain, and slamming out of the house like a petulant child. Why, she'd even made one unforgivable ribald comment! The memory of it scalded her cheeks even now.
But the one who had precipitated it all would not allow her escape, not even out here in her garden. His voice riveted through the still summer air, abrading her once more.
"Miss Abigail, what's the railroad paying you for, half a job? Where's my breakfast?" he needled.
Oh, the gall of that man to make demands on her! She wanted nothing so badly as to starve him out of here. Loathsome creature! But she was caught in a trap of her own making. All she could do was gather her ladyhood around her like a mantle while she returned to the kitchen to prepare his meal.
When she came in with the tray, the first thing he noticed was that there was no linen napkin lining it like before.
"What? Don't I get flowers like old Melcher did?"
"How did you know…" she said before she could think; He laughed.
"Sounds carry in your house. Is that a real blush I see on the woman's cheek? My, my, I wonder if old Melcher knew he had what it takes to put it there. He certainly didn't look as if he did." The way he said
"old Melcher" made her want to smack him!
"Remember our truce, sir ?" she said stiffly.
"I only wondered why I don't get equal consideration around here," he complained in mock dismay.
"You wanted food, sir. I've brought you food. Do you wish to lie there and blather all morning or to eat it?"
"That depends on what you've chosen to poison me with this time."
It didn't help her temper any to recall all the warm, appreciative comments Mr. Melcher had made about her cooking. She brought a pillow to boost up that black devil's head, wishing she could use it instead to smother him. The thought must have been reflected in her face, for he eyed her warily as she spread a cloth on his chest and picked up the spoon. The glimmer in his eye warned her she'd better look out for those precious, sparkling teeth of his!
"Would you rather do it yourself?" she asked brittlely.
"No, it doesn't work when I have to lie so flat. Besides, I know how you enjoy doing it for me, Miss Abigail." A slow grin began at the corner of his mouth. "What is this stuff?"
"This… stuff … is beef broth."
"Are you determined to starve me?" he asked in that horrible, teasing tone she found more offensive than his belligerent one.
"At dinner time tonight you may have something heavier, but for now, it's only broth and a coddled egg."
"Terrific." He grimaced.
"You may consider it terrific when you taste what will follow your breakfast."
"And what's that?"
"I'll prepare a decoction of balm of Gilead, and while you may find it quite bitter, rest assured it's very fortifying for one of your debility." He considered this while she poked a few more spoons of broth into him, carefully avoiding his teeth.
"Do you ever talk like other people, Miss Abigail?" he asked then.
Immediately she knew he was trying to rile her
"tender sensibilities." If only he knew how those sensibilities had been outraged by the man she'd freely allowed into her house.
Miss Abigail's mother and father had been people with faultless manners. Cursing and raging had been foreign to her life. She had always been taught to hide anger because it was not a genteel emotion. But Mr. Cameron had managed to elicit more than just her anger. She was smitten by guilt at all she'd done
—withheld a bedpan from an invalid, then thrown it at him, then abused his leg, causing him intentional pain, and slamming out of the house like a petulant child. Why, she'd even made one unforgivable ribald comment! The memory of it scalded her cheeks even now.
But the one who had precipitated it all would not allow her escape, not even out here in her garden. His voice riveted through the still summer air, abrading her once more.
"Miss Abigail, what's the railroad paying you for, half a job? Where's my breakfast?" he needled.
Oh, the gall of that man to make demands on her! She wanted nothing so badly as to starve him out of here. Loathsome creature! But she was caught in a trap of her own making. All she could do was gather her ladyhood around her like a mantle while she returned to the kitchen to prepare his meal.
When she came in with the tray, the first thing he noticed was that there was no linen napkin lining it like before.
"What? Don't I get flowers like old Melcher did?"
"How did you know…" she said before she could think; He laughed.
"Sounds carry in your house. Is that a real blush I see on the woman's cheek? My, my, I wonder if old Melcher knew he had what it takes to put it there. He certainly didn't look as if he did." The way he said
"old Melcher" made her want to smack him!
"Remember our truce, sir ?" she said stiffly.
"I only wondered why I don't get equal consideration around here," he complained in mock dismay.
"You wanted food, sir. I've brought you food. Do you wish to lie there and blather all morning or to eat it?"
"That depends on what you've chosen to poison me with this time."
It didn't help her temper any to recall all the warm, appreciative comments Mr. Melcher had made about her cooking. She brought a pillow to boost up that black devil's head, wishing she could use it instead to smother him. The thought must have been reflected in her face, for he eyed her warily as she spread a cloth on his chest and picked up the spoon. The glimmer in his eye warned her she'd better look out for those precious, sparkling teeth of his!
"Would you rather do it yourself?" she asked brittlely.
"No, it doesn't work when I have to lie so flat. Besides, I know how you enjoy doing it for me, Miss Abigail." A slow grin began at the corner of his mouth. "What is this stuff?"
"This… stuff … is beef broth."
"Are you determined to starve me?" he asked in that horrible, teasing tone she found more offensive than his belligerent one.
"At dinner time tonight you may have something heavier, but for now, it's only broth and a coddled egg."
"Terrific." He grimaced.
"You may consider it terrific when you taste what will follow your breakfast."
"And what's that?"
"I'll prepare a decoction of balm of Gilead, and while you may find it quite bitter, rest assured it's very fortifying for one of your debility." He considered this while she poked a few more spoons of broth into him, carefully avoiding his teeth.
"Do you ever talk like other people, Miss Abigail?" he asked then.
Immediately she knew he was trying to rile her
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