very helpful to her. The locals were always wary of strangers in any case, and thanks to Joss Restarick's "muck spreading" she had even less chance of making a good impression. But she kept her head high and soldiered on, that little boy's hand clasped firmly in hers— much to the lad's apparent irritation and frustration. He was constantly pulling in another direction, but she did not allow him to go farther than her arm's reach.
"Ma, there's Mr. Deverell!"
She looked just once over her shoulder and caught Storm's eye. Annoyed to be discovered staring and measuring the sweetly curved shape of her— distracted yet again by her feminine wiles— he quickly looked down at a bag of seed as if that was far more interesting. The next time he glanced her way, she had tugged her son closer and walked on.
Storm's frown deepened. Aye, stay away, woman . Stay well away .
But, as it happened, he had to walk in the same direction to conduct his own business, and before too long they were facing each other when she made a sudden, unexpected turn to find him directly behind her.
"Mr. Deverell," she muttered on a sharp intake of breath.
"Mrs. Kelly." Polite conversation, a small voice urged inside his head. Why give her anything else to turn her proud nose up at? "I see you are recovered from your cold."
"I am, sir."
There was a pause while Storm resolved to say absolutely nothing about how well she looked. Nor to expect thanks for his curative wine.
But apparently she had been searching for polite subjects too. "I am much obliged to you for the weed poison."
He frowned. " Weed poison ?"
"The bottle you sent over with your shepherd. I poured it on the weeds and it shriveled them immediately to little brown clumps. Most effective." Her eyes were very wide and clear. He couldn't be sure whether she was innocent or laughing at him.
"It was wine, madam," he said carefully. "For your cold."
She drew back. "Oh."
"But at least you got some use out of it. I suppose I should be thankful for that." And now he'd discovered something else his wine was good for.
"I simply assumed—"
"That anything I'd send you must be poison?" He gave a short, curt laugh and shook his head. "Madam, you are a indeed a piece of..." Art , he wanted to say. Instead he settled for, "... work."
Another awkward pause followed, before she took her leave of him, still gripping her son's hand tightly.
A moment later Joss Restarick appeared at his side. Absorbed by his ideas about Mrs. Kelly, somewhat cheered by the fact that she'd actually managed to thank him for something— even if she completely misunderstood the purpose of his gift—Storm hadn't noticed his other neighbor in the market square. Other folk tended to disappear when she was in his thoughts.
"Well, what are we going to do about her?" the fellow demanded. "She can't be allowed to take that property and land away from men who will make better use of it. 'Tis a travesty. An injustice!"
"We? Are you suggesting we join forces to get her out?"
"Why not? We're both men of business, and you know, as well as I do, that she can't run that place."
He gave a wry sniff. "I thought you'd long ago declared me to be your mortal enemy."
"When we were boys, Deverell, and we used to scrap anytime the wind changed. We've grown up since then."
"Have we?"
"I know you agree with me that she's not fit to manage the Putnam farm." He paused a moment, looking over at her again. "There's other things she's fit for, to be sure. An attractive widow with a bit of money put by. A fine prospect for a man of a mind to get a wife. And she needs a man now, doesn't she?"
His throat suddenly felt very dry and tight. "I'd suggest you leave her be. If she thinks she can manage a farm, she'll soon realize she's made a mistake."
"By which time she'll have let the place fall further into disrepair until its unsalvageable?"
"You just need patience, Restarick."
"Pah! I might have known you'd take the smooth path, lay down and
"Ma, there's Mr. Deverell!"
She looked just once over her shoulder and caught Storm's eye. Annoyed to be discovered staring and measuring the sweetly curved shape of her— distracted yet again by her feminine wiles— he quickly looked down at a bag of seed as if that was far more interesting. The next time he glanced her way, she had tugged her son closer and walked on.
Storm's frown deepened. Aye, stay away, woman . Stay well away .
But, as it happened, he had to walk in the same direction to conduct his own business, and before too long they were facing each other when she made a sudden, unexpected turn to find him directly behind her.
"Mr. Deverell," she muttered on a sharp intake of breath.
"Mrs. Kelly." Polite conversation, a small voice urged inside his head. Why give her anything else to turn her proud nose up at? "I see you are recovered from your cold."
"I am, sir."
There was a pause while Storm resolved to say absolutely nothing about how well she looked. Nor to expect thanks for his curative wine.
But apparently she had been searching for polite subjects too. "I am much obliged to you for the weed poison."
He frowned. " Weed poison ?"
"The bottle you sent over with your shepherd. I poured it on the weeds and it shriveled them immediately to little brown clumps. Most effective." Her eyes were very wide and clear. He couldn't be sure whether she was innocent or laughing at him.
"It was wine, madam," he said carefully. "For your cold."
She drew back. "Oh."
"But at least you got some use out of it. I suppose I should be thankful for that." And now he'd discovered something else his wine was good for.
"I simply assumed—"
"That anything I'd send you must be poison?" He gave a short, curt laugh and shook his head. "Madam, you are a indeed a piece of..." Art , he wanted to say. Instead he settled for, "... work."
Another awkward pause followed, before she took her leave of him, still gripping her son's hand tightly.
A moment later Joss Restarick appeared at his side. Absorbed by his ideas about Mrs. Kelly, somewhat cheered by the fact that she'd actually managed to thank him for something— even if she completely misunderstood the purpose of his gift—Storm hadn't noticed his other neighbor in the market square. Other folk tended to disappear when she was in his thoughts.
"Well, what are we going to do about her?" the fellow demanded. "She can't be allowed to take that property and land away from men who will make better use of it. 'Tis a travesty. An injustice!"
"We? Are you suggesting we join forces to get her out?"
"Why not? We're both men of business, and you know, as well as I do, that she can't run that place."
He gave a wry sniff. "I thought you'd long ago declared me to be your mortal enemy."
"When we were boys, Deverell, and we used to scrap anytime the wind changed. We've grown up since then."
"Have we?"
"I know you agree with me that she's not fit to manage the Putnam farm." He paused a moment, looking over at her again. "There's other things she's fit for, to be sure. An attractive widow with a bit of money put by. A fine prospect for a man of a mind to get a wife. And she needs a man now, doesn't she?"
His throat suddenly felt very dry and tight. "I'd suggest you leave her be. If she thinks she can manage a farm, she'll soon realize she's made a mistake."
"By which time she'll have let the place fall further into disrepair until its unsalvageable?"
"You just need patience, Restarick."
"Pah! I might have known you'd take the smooth path, lay down and
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