in meek acquiescence to her boss. “I’ll be gone a half hour, no more.”
“
I’ll
keep track of the time you miss, thank you very much,” Abigail flung back. Then, with a sniff, she disappeared and slammed the door behind her.
David shot Brianna a commiserating look. “Well, now, she’s all-over unpleasant. Working for a termagant like her must be a constant trial.”
“Positions of respectable employment for ladies are few and far between in Glory Ridge, Mr. Paxton.”
“I know. You mentioned that in your letters.”
She shot him a wary look over her shoulder before steppingthrough the parted curtain to collect her wrap. As she stooped over, the way she moved struck him as odd. There was no curve of her back, no dip of her head, and she bent slightly at the knees to prevent her posterior from protruding. That was a shame. The limp folds of her wash-worn skirt did little to hide her figure, and in his estimation, she had a very fetching backside.
As she returned to the main room, she drew a tattered black shawl around her shoulders. Judging by her complexion, green eyes, and given name, David guessed her to be of Irish descent, and he found himself wondering if she had a temper as fiery as the shimmer of red in her hair.
“Shall we?” she asked.
David noticed faint blue shadows of exhaustion under her lovely eyes, which were the deepest green he’d ever seen. He knew from Daphne’s letters that Brianna turned her hand to any honest toil she could find in order to support their daughter, but judging by her appearance, she spent precious little of her earnings on herself. In addition to being rail thin, she wore a gown that was faded, badly worn, and too snug across the breasts. Her kid boots were old and battered. He had an awful suspicion that she slept little, ate infrequently, and did without other basic necessities. The very thought made him feel like a lowdown skunk. If not for him, she wouldn’t be in such a pickle.
When they exited the dress shop, the breeze had picked up, and it had a sharp bite. Brianna clutched her shawl close and walked ahead of him along the uneven, sagging boardwalk until she reached a break between the buildings, whereupon she vanished into the narrow alley. David followed her into the shadowy chasm, where the weather-beaten structures on either side provided a windbreak. And a sound barrier. No passersby would overhear them, and he suspected that was why she’d chosen this secluded spot, despite her obvious wariness of him.
She turned to face him, her countenance pale, her eyes gleaming with purpose. “You’ve made a huge mistake by coming here, Mr. Paxton. I told you in my last note that Daphne isn’t your daughter.”
David tried to take a mental step back and keep his temper.He had seen the child in question, and if she wasn’t a Paxton, he’d eat his boots and have his hat for dessert. Still, he needed to hear the woman out. Having him show up unexpectedly had to be unnerving for her. One tryst, a resultant pregnancy, and so many years of separation didn’t make them lovers, close friends, or even acquaintances. He was, to all intents and purposes, a total stranger.
“Look,” he said, trying to inject a gentle note into his voice, “I’m not here to cause you any trouble. I only want to do right by you and the little girl.”
She blinked and, as if her lashes were attached to a drain-plug chain, all the remaining color slipped from her face. “Did you not hear me, Mr. Paxton? This isn’t about your doing the right thing. It’s a case of mistaken identity. You bear my husband’s name, but you are not my husband, and you are
not
Daphne’s father. Can’t you
see
that? You can’t honestly say you’ve ever met me before.”
David bent his head and dug at the dirt with the heel of his boot, a habit of his when he grew angry or tense. It gave him a chance to think before he stuck his foot in his mouth. She looked scared half to death, and he sure as
“
I’ll
keep track of the time you miss, thank you very much,” Abigail flung back. Then, with a sniff, she disappeared and slammed the door behind her.
David shot Brianna a commiserating look. “Well, now, she’s all-over unpleasant. Working for a termagant like her must be a constant trial.”
“Positions of respectable employment for ladies are few and far between in Glory Ridge, Mr. Paxton.”
“I know. You mentioned that in your letters.”
She shot him a wary look over her shoulder before steppingthrough the parted curtain to collect her wrap. As she stooped over, the way she moved struck him as odd. There was no curve of her back, no dip of her head, and she bent slightly at the knees to prevent her posterior from protruding. That was a shame. The limp folds of her wash-worn skirt did little to hide her figure, and in his estimation, she had a very fetching backside.
As she returned to the main room, she drew a tattered black shawl around her shoulders. Judging by her complexion, green eyes, and given name, David guessed her to be of Irish descent, and he found himself wondering if she had a temper as fiery as the shimmer of red in her hair.
“Shall we?” she asked.
David noticed faint blue shadows of exhaustion under her lovely eyes, which were the deepest green he’d ever seen. He knew from Daphne’s letters that Brianna turned her hand to any honest toil she could find in order to support their daughter, but judging by her appearance, she spent precious little of her earnings on herself. In addition to being rail thin, she wore a gown that was faded, badly worn, and too snug across the breasts. Her kid boots were old and battered. He had an awful suspicion that she slept little, ate infrequently, and did without other basic necessities. The very thought made him feel like a lowdown skunk. If not for him, she wouldn’t be in such a pickle.
When they exited the dress shop, the breeze had picked up, and it had a sharp bite. Brianna clutched her shawl close and walked ahead of him along the uneven, sagging boardwalk until she reached a break between the buildings, whereupon she vanished into the narrow alley. David followed her into the shadowy chasm, where the weather-beaten structures on either side provided a windbreak. And a sound barrier. No passersby would overhear them, and he suspected that was why she’d chosen this secluded spot, despite her obvious wariness of him.
She turned to face him, her countenance pale, her eyes gleaming with purpose. “You’ve made a huge mistake by coming here, Mr. Paxton. I told you in my last note that Daphne isn’t your daughter.”
David tried to take a mental step back and keep his temper.He had seen the child in question, and if she wasn’t a Paxton, he’d eat his boots and have his hat for dessert. Still, he needed to hear the woman out. Having him show up unexpectedly had to be unnerving for her. One tryst, a resultant pregnancy, and so many years of separation didn’t make them lovers, close friends, or even acquaintances. He was, to all intents and purposes, a total stranger.
“Look,” he said, trying to inject a gentle note into his voice, “I’m not here to cause you any trouble. I only want to do right by you and the little girl.”
She blinked and, as if her lashes were attached to a drain-plug chain, all the remaining color slipped from her face. “Did you not hear me, Mr. Paxton? This isn’t about your doing the right thing. It’s a case of mistaken identity. You bear my husband’s name, but you are not my husband, and you are
not
Daphne’s father. Can’t you
see
that? You can’t honestly say you’ve ever met me before.”
David bent his head and dug at the dirt with the heel of his boot, a habit of his when he grew angry or tense. It gave him a chance to think before he stuck his foot in his mouth. She looked scared half to death, and he sure as
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