walked to the side of the barn and stopped when Jesse came into view.
His back was to her, his shirt hanging loosely over a nearby bush, his hat resting on top of it. His bronzed back glistened with the sweat of his labors as he swung the ax into a hunk of wood, brought the wood to the stump, worked the ax free, and with one deliberate swing, split the log into two pieces. Bending over, exposing a narrow band of white flesh as his pants strained with his movement, he picked up the pieces and tossed them onto a large pile of split logs before swinging his arm yet again and claiming more wood.
His actions were fluid, purposeful. Maddie had always thought poetry was restricted to words written upon a page, flowing smoothly, but watching Jesse work, she realized poetry existed in many forms. The rhythm of a man’s body, the rippling of his corded muscles as he labored could be as poetic, as pleasing as a well-written poem, could evoke emotions that touched one’s heart.
“I brought—” She stepped back as he spun around, his chest heaving with his exertions, his arm hanging loosely by his side, the ax held with the grip of his strong hand. With his free hand, he combed the damp hair back from his brow, his expression unreadable. She extended the tin cup. “I brought you some coffee.” She took a small step forward. “Since the coffee wasn’t made this morning when I went to the kitchen, I assumed you hadn’t had any.” She advanced another step. “I didn’t want you—”
“To spend the day in a foul mood?” he asked, raising a brow and one corner of his mouth.
She nodded, grateful for the slight teasing tone in his voice.
Jesse took the coffee, his fingers brushing against hers, taking note of the trembling cup, not certain if it was caused by her or him. He gulped some coffee, regretting that action as the steaming dark brew burned his tongue and scorched his throat. But the brief moment of pain served to take his mind off things he didn’t want to be thinking about: the reason for the pale blue half moons resting beneath her eyes, the reason she looked as though she hadn’t slept much during the night.
He didn’t want to acknowledge the envy coiling around his insides like a rattler preparing to strike whenever he thought about his brother lying in bed with this woman. He’d spent most of the night standing by the creek, watching the muddy waters, alone with his thoughts. He hadn’t wanted to be sleeping in his bed where the sounds of passion might ease out of one room, whisper along the hallway, and enter unwelcomed into his dreams.
He lifted the cup. “’Preciate it.”
Maddie’s gaze strayed to the damp hairs on his chest, the sweat visible beneath. How could she find something like sweat so appealing on this man? She lifted her gaze back to his. “I wanted to thank you for preparing the bath.”
A slight breeze rose up and brought the scent of forget-me-nots hovering around Jesse. He wondered how she could smell so fresh after a night of what was certain to have been unbridled passion. If she had come to him, smelling so sweet, her hair cascading around her …
He downed the remainder of the coffee, wishing it would bum his thoughts away as easily as it burned his tongue. Holding the cup out to her, he watched her small, delicate hand take the cup from his larger, coarse one.
“Yeah, well …” He turned back to the pile of wood he’d decided to tackle that morning in hopes of relieving the frustration that had haunted his night. “Any time you want a bath, just let me know, and I’ll haul the water up for you.”
“The surprise is over. I’m sure in the future, Charles won’t mind doing it.”
He slammed the ax into a piece of wood. “Charles doesn’t need to be hauling stuff around.”
“But Charles is my husband. He should—”
“He’s the owner,” Jesse said, turning on her. “I do the labor around here. He takes care of the books. If you need something lifted or
His back was to her, his shirt hanging loosely over a nearby bush, his hat resting on top of it. His bronzed back glistened with the sweat of his labors as he swung the ax into a hunk of wood, brought the wood to the stump, worked the ax free, and with one deliberate swing, split the log into two pieces. Bending over, exposing a narrow band of white flesh as his pants strained with his movement, he picked up the pieces and tossed them onto a large pile of split logs before swinging his arm yet again and claiming more wood.
His actions were fluid, purposeful. Maddie had always thought poetry was restricted to words written upon a page, flowing smoothly, but watching Jesse work, she realized poetry existed in many forms. The rhythm of a man’s body, the rippling of his corded muscles as he labored could be as poetic, as pleasing as a well-written poem, could evoke emotions that touched one’s heart.
“I brought—” She stepped back as he spun around, his chest heaving with his exertions, his arm hanging loosely by his side, the ax held with the grip of his strong hand. With his free hand, he combed the damp hair back from his brow, his expression unreadable. She extended the tin cup. “I brought you some coffee.” She took a small step forward. “Since the coffee wasn’t made this morning when I went to the kitchen, I assumed you hadn’t had any.” She advanced another step. “I didn’t want you—”
“To spend the day in a foul mood?” he asked, raising a brow and one corner of his mouth.
She nodded, grateful for the slight teasing tone in his voice.
Jesse took the coffee, his fingers brushing against hers, taking note of the trembling cup, not certain if it was caused by her or him. He gulped some coffee, regretting that action as the steaming dark brew burned his tongue and scorched his throat. But the brief moment of pain served to take his mind off things he didn’t want to be thinking about: the reason for the pale blue half moons resting beneath her eyes, the reason she looked as though she hadn’t slept much during the night.
He didn’t want to acknowledge the envy coiling around his insides like a rattler preparing to strike whenever he thought about his brother lying in bed with this woman. He’d spent most of the night standing by the creek, watching the muddy waters, alone with his thoughts. He hadn’t wanted to be sleeping in his bed where the sounds of passion might ease out of one room, whisper along the hallway, and enter unwelcomed into his dreams.
He lifted the cup. “’Preciate it.”
Maddie’s gaze strayed to the damp hairs on his chest, the sweat visible beneath. How could she find something like sweat so appealing on this man? She lifted her gaze back to his. “I wanted to thank you for preparing the bath.”
A slight breeze rose up and brought the scent of forget-me-nots hovering around Jesse. He wondered how she could smell so fresh after a night of what was certain to have been unbridled passion. If she had come to him, smelling so sweet, her hair cascading around her …
He downed the remainder of the coffee, wishing it would bum his thoughts away as easily as it burned his tongue. Holding the cup out to her, he watched her small, delicate hand take the cup from his larger, coarse one.
“Yeah, well …” He turned back to the pile of wood he’d decided to tackle that morning in hopes of relieving the frustration that had haunted his night. “Any time you want a bath, just let me know, and I’ll haul the water up for you.”
“The surprise is over. I’m sure in the future, Charles won’t mind doing it.”
He slammed the ax into a piece of wood. “Charles doesn’t need to be hauling stuff around.”
“But Charles is my husband. He should—”
“He’s the owner,” Jesse said, turning on her. “I do the labor around here. He takes care of the books. If you need something lifted or
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