she’d foiled his attempt to interrogate Ada, he didn’t show it. But Lacie couldn’t resist a small secret grin of triumph. He thought he was so smart—most men did. But she was a well-educated woman, and well-motivated too. He might have a few tricks up his sleeve, but so did she.
7
T HE PUNGENT SCENT OF smoke and ashes lingered in the air even after the train disappeared from view. As Lacie stood on the recently built wooden platform, she felt unaccountably alone.
All around her people milled, voices boomed, and activity abounded. An elderly woman was being escorted off by a crowd of youngsters, clearly her grandchildren come to meet her; three gentlemen stood in a knot, cigar smoke circling their heads in the still afternoon. Another well-dressed man shouted instructions to four laborers as they cautiously led away two fine-looking mares that were jittery from their noisy train journey.
Everyone else had someone to greet them, or some purpose for being there and doing things. But she was entirely alone, Lacie thought morosely. She had no one, other than her students. Being a teacher was all she had. But even that was threatened now, for her life at Sparrow Hill hung on the strength of her terrible lie.
She released a long, slow sigh. How she wished Ada had stayed! She knew that if she’d only asked her to, Ada would have stayed, but that would have been unfair, Lacie acknowledged. Ada deserved to have some time with her family. There was no reason for Dillon Lockwood to ruin that, too.
The high-pitched laughter of a child brought her depressing thoughts to an end. When Lacie turned, she saw Nina and Dillon heading her way.
What an incongruous pair, she thought as she watched their approach. Nina’s bloomer-clad legs took three steps for every one of Dillon’s ground-eating strides. She was pink and white and ruffled, as opposed to his dark and simply garbed silhouette. Her bonnet strings were flying as she scurried up the steps and ran giggling over to Lacie.
“Miss Lacie! Miss Lacie! He says if I ride my pony astride, I’ll get bow legs. Is that true? Is it?”
Lacie smiled down at Nina’s eager young face. “I suppose you might.”
“But my daddy rides astride. And so does he.” The little girl looked back at Dillon. “He doesn’t have bow legs, does he, Miss Lacie?”
Lacie could not help glancing at Dillon as he stood there, tall and straight, his legs a little apart, his hat shading his face. Unbidden, a picture of that same body, but unclothed as if for a bath, came into her mind. His legs were not bowed at all, she recalled. They were long and well shaped, the muscles not disguised a bit by the even sprinkling of dark hairs.
Lacie’s eyes jerked up to his face abruptly. She would not remember such things or think such thoughts, she told herself sternly. Yet gazing into his serious green eyes was hardly a remedy for that, she realized in dismay. Still, she was unable to look away.
“Are you ready to go?”
Lacie heard his quiet words, but she was slow to respond. “I suppose there’s no reason to linger,” she finally admitted, casting a last wistful glance down the now-empty train track. How she wished she had family to go home to! Then Nina slipped a warm hand into hers, and Lacie turned away from the tracks.
“To answer your questions, Nina. I don’t know why some men develop bow legs and others don’t. But I do know that proper young ladies use a sidesaddle and never sit astride.”
“But that’s so hard,” the little girl complained as they stepped down from the platform and crossed to where the school’s carriage waited in the shade of a low spreading oak.
“Yes, it is harder,” Lacie agreed. Then she smiled conspiratorially at Nina. “I doubt either your father or Dill—or Mr. Lockwood—could ride sidesaddle nearly as well as you!”
That brought a delighted giggle from the child. “I bet you’re right, Miss Lacie. I bet I can do it better than them. But
7
T HE PUNGENT SCENT OF smoke and ashes lingered in the air even after the train disappeared from view. As Lacie stood on the recently built wooden platform, she felt unaccountably alone.
All around her people milled, voices boomed, and activity abounded. An elderly woman was being escorted off by a crowd of youngsters, clearly her grandchildren come to meet her; three gentlemen stood in a knot, cigar smoke circling their heads in the still afternoon. Another well-dressed man shouted instructions to four laborers as they cautiously led away two fine-looking mares that were jittery from their noisy train journey.
Everyone else had someone to greet them, or some purpose for being there and doing things. But she was entirely alone, Lacie thought morosely. She had no one, other than her students. Being a teacher was all she had. But even that was threatened now, for her life at Sparrow Hill hung on the strength of her terrible lie.
She released a long, slow sigh. How she wished Ada had stayed! She knew that if she’d only asked her to, Ada would have stayed, but that would have been unfair, Lacie acknowledged. Ada deserved to have some time with her family. There was no reason for Dillon Lockwood to ruin that, too.
The high-pitched laughter of a child brought her depressing thoughts to an end. When Lacie turned, she saw Nina and Dillon heading her way.
What an incongruous pair, she thought as she watched their approach. Nina’s bloomer-clad legs took three steps for every one of Dillon’s ground-eating strides. She was pink and white and ruffled, as opposed to his dark and simply garbed silhouette. Her bonnet strings were flying as she scurried up the steps and ran giggling over to Lacie.
“Miss Lacie! Miss Lacie! He says if I ride my pony astride, I’ll get bow legs. Is that true? Is it?”
Lacie smiled down at Nina’s eager young face. “I suppose you might.”
“But my daddy rides astride. And so does he.” The little girl looked back at Dillon. “He doesn’t have bow legs, does he, Miss Lacie?”
Lacie could not help glancing at Dillon as he stood there, tall and straight, his legs a little apart, his hat shading his face. Unbidden, a picture of that same body, but unclothed as if for a bath, came into her mind. His legs were not bowed at all, she recalled. They were long and well shaped, the muscles not disguised a bit by the even sprinkling of dark hairs.
Lacie’s eyes jerked up to his face abruptly. She would not remember such things or think such thoughts, she told herself sternly. Yet gazing into his serious green eyes was hardly a remedy for that, she realized in dismay. Still, she was unable to look away.
“Are you ready to go?”
Lacie heard his quiet words, but she was slow to respond. “I suppose there’s no reason to linger,” she finally admitted, casting a last wistful glance down the now-empty train track. How she wished she had family to go home to! Then Nina slipped a warm hand into hers, and Lacie turned away from the tracks.
“To answer your questions, Nina. I don’t know why some men develop bow legs and others don’t. But I do know that proper young ladies use a sidesaddle and never sit astride.”
“But that’s so hard,” the little girl complained as they stepped down from the platform and crossed to where the school’s carriage waited in the shade of a low spreading oak.
“Yes, it is harder,” Lacie agreed. Then she smiled conspiratorially at Nina. “I doubt either your father or Dill—or Mr. Lockwood—could ride sidesaddle nearly as well as you!”
That brought a delighted giggle from the child. “I bet you’re right, Miss Lacie. I bet I can do it better than them. But
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