let her walk all over us. Are you afraid of that little bit o' petticoat? "
Slowly scratching the back of his neck, he sighed. "I've a feeling I should be."
Joss spat on the cobbles by his feet. "As you will, then, you bloody fool. I suppose you've had no experience with her sort, because you've always gone for the easy lasses, who won't fight back. Stand aside then, and I'll show you how it's done."
"It?"
"The handling of a high and mighty madam. She just needs a firm hand is all. They pretend not to like it, but they do."
Bemused, Storm replied, "I'm eager to observe your method and learn from an expert."
With a loud huff, the other man strode across the square to strike up a conversation with Mrs. Kelly.
Genuinely curious to see how Joss expected to "handle" her, and more than a little amused by the potential outcome of this encounter, Storm watched through narrowed eyes. Assuming the notorious firebrand would resort to his usual pugnacious tactics, it hadn't even crossed his mind that more subtle and slippery plans were afoot.
Until he saw Joss Restarick, sweep off his hat, comb hasty, tongue-dampened fingers through his black hair, and prepare a smile.
Best of fortune with that , he thought. Now which of them was the fool?
But when the boy at her side tugged on her hand and turned his imploring face upward, Mrs. Kelly finally stood still and returned Restarick's gesture with a startled, but stiffly polite nod. A short conversation followed, and nobody's face came close to being slapped apparently.
"You mean to buy that, sir?"
Storm realized he had, at some point, picked up a head of cauliflower and was squeezing it in both hands.
"Because I reckon you've gone and killed it," the greengrocer added wryly.
* * * *
She hired a plowman, but he turned out to be drunk more often than he was sober and the lines in her field took on some curious waves. When she mentioned this, he announced that he knew working for a female would give him "the quincy" and promptly left, never to return, leaving her to finish the job alone.
Josiah Restarick took to riding by the house occasionally, but although he had packed away his insults and abruptly assumed a veneer of concern, she sensed these "neighborly visits" were really just his way of keeping a closer eye on the place he had not-so-secretly coveted. She treated him with the same caution as she did anyone else.
As for her other neighbor, he stayed away. Probably just as well; she had enough to contend with and didn't need his smile mocking her every move. Or his blue eyes slowly melting her buttons.
But he was a hard man to ignore.
It didn't take long to find out that Storm Deverell was a respected man of business. She'd heard him in the marketplace— in his calm voice— driving a hard bargain with the same tradesmen who tried to cheat her. Had she not been so insufferably stubborn she might have asked him to teach her that skill, but it was too late now.
He worked hard and was up before dawn most days, for when she rose to light her range the lantern in his window was already aglow. But despite the long hours he kept she never saw him in an ill-temper. He treated his farmhands in a jovial, easy-going manner and appeared to have time for anyone who stopped to talk. On her way to market she passed him as he crouched at the side of the road, helping to mend a broken wheel. Not one of his own.
Although frugal in business, he was extravagant when it came to the care of his animals. She overheard him turning down a very high offer for one of his horses.
"I won't sell this girl," he'd laughed, petting the mare's neck with a gentle hand. "I promised her a good, happy retirement when I found her and she's mine for life."
The horse whinnied and proudly tossed her mane, as if she understood her good fortune in finding such a benevolent master.
"Storm Deverell cares more for his beasts than he does for his bank account," she was told.
But it didn't seem to matter. She'd
Slowly scratching the back of his neck, he sighed. "I've a feeling I should be."
Joss spat on the cobbles by his feet. "As you will, then, you bloody fool. I suppose you've had no experience with her sort, because you've always gone for the easy lasses, who won't fight back. Stand aside then, and I'll show you how it's done."
"It?"
"The handling of a high and mighty madam. She just needs a firm hand is all. They pretend not to like it, but they do."
Bemused, Storm replied, "I'm eager to observe your method and learn from an expert."
With a loud huff, the other man strode across the square to strike up a conversation with Mrs. Kelly.
Genuinely curious to see how Joss expected to "handle" her, and more than a little amused by the potential outcome of this encounter, Storm watched through narrowed eyes. Assuming the notorious firebrand would resort to his usual pugnacious tactics, it hadn't even crossed his mind that more subtle and slippery plans were afoot.
Until he saw Joss Restarick, sweep off his hat, comb hasty, tongue-dampened fingers through his black hair, and prepare a smile.
Best of fortune with that , he thought. Now which of them was the fool?
But when the boy at her side tugged on her hand and turned his imploring face upward, Mrs. Kelly finally stood still and returned Restarick's gesture with a startled, but stiffly polite nod. A short conversation followed, and nobody's face came close to being slapped apparently.
"You mean to buy that, sir?"
Storm realized he had, at some point, picked up a head of cauliflower and was squeezing it in both hands.
"Because I reckon you've gone and killed it," the greengrocer added wryly.
* * * *
She hired a plowman, but he turned out to be drunk more often than he was sober and the lines in her field took on some curious waves. When she mentioned this, he announced that he knew working for a female would give him "the quincy" and promptly left, never to return, leaving her to finish the job alone.
Josiah Restarick took to riding by the house occasionally, but although he had packed away his insults and abruptly assumed a veneer of concern, she sensed these "neighborly visits" were really just his way of keeping a closer eye on the place he had not-so-secretly coveted. She treated him with the same caution as she did anyone else.
As for her other neighbor, he stayed away. Probably just as well; she had enough to contend with and didn't need his smile mocking her every move. Or his blue eyes slowly melting her buttons.
But he was a hard man to ignore.
It didn't take long to find out that Storm Deverell was a respected man of business. She'd heard him in the marketplace— in his calm voice— driving a hard bargain with the same tradesmen who tried to cheat her. Had she not been so insufferably stubborn she might have asked him to teach her that skill, but it was too late now.
He worked hard and was up before dawn most days, for when she rose to light her range the lantern in his window was already aglow. But despite the long hours he kept she never saw him in an ill-temper. He treated his farmhands in a jovial, easy-going manner and appeared to have time for anyone who stopped to talk. On her way to market she passed him as he crouched at the side of the road, helping to mend a broken wheel. Not one of his own.
Although frugal in business, he was extravagant when it came to the care of his animals. She overheard him turning down a very high offer for one of his horses.
"I won't sell this girl," he'd laughed, petting the mare's neck with a gentle hand. "I promised her a good, happy retirement when I found her and she's mine for life."
The horse whinnied and proudly tossed her mane, as if she understood her good fortune in finding such a benevolent master.
"Storm Deverell cares more for his beasts than he does for his bank account," she was told.
But it didn't seem to matter. She'd
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