Anything for You (14 page)

He straightened and rubbed his lower back. His eyes remained dark with strong emotions.

As she started to speak, she coughed instead. Pain speared her right through to her back.

Worry entered his voice. “I don't like the sound of that cough.”

“It's no worse.”

“Gypsy, that cough's been bothering you for quite a while.” He pulled on his coat and set his hat on his head. Reaching for the door, he said, “You should be resting.”

She laughed. “That's a wonderful fantasy, and I think I'm going to enjoy it.”

He stepped in front of her and took her arm as she was about to walk to her bedroom door. When she glared at him with an iciness that always cowed the other flunkeys, he asked, “Why run off? We can do something about your fantasies right here.”

She yanked her arm away.

“Don't go, Gypsy.”

When he teetered on his crutch, she started to reach out to him. She drew back as his hand tried to capture hers. “This is my kitchen, Mr. Lassiter. Don't give orders. That's my job. Why don't you do yours?”

“It'll wait. You look as if you could use a friend at the moment.”

Gypsy fought the temptation to agree. The door to the past must not be opened. Somehow she almost had convinced herself that her pain was only memory.

“I don't need anyone,” she said.

“No?” His mouth covered hers. When she pulled away with a laugh, he frowned. “What's funny?”

“This. It's bumped me twice.” She tipped up the brim of his hat. It sailed off his head and rolled across the floor. She was amazed she could laugh as he chased it awkwardly.

When he turned, she saw his mischievous smile, and she knew he had been acting like a buffoon to get her to laugh.

“You're going to have to pay for that, Gypsy.” His arm snaked around her waist, and he tickled her side.

“N-n-no,” she gasped, trying to pull away.

“Oh, yes. First we'll get rid of this.” He tossed his hat toward the peg.

She did not see where it fell; she could not escape the probing fire in his eyes. When he touched the buttons closing the front of her blouse, she shivered. His fingers spread across her breast, and she gripped his coat.

“No, Adam,” she murmured. “This is far too public a place. One of the flunkeys could … could …” Her words faded into a sigh as his tongue brushed her ear.

The heat of his breath became a cyclone twisting through her. She was caught by the cobalt yearning glowing in his eyes. He did not have to tell her how much he wanted her. His craving showed on his face.

His mouth scalded her lips. She gasped as she was engulfed by sensations which stripped her of all thought. Her fingers slipped beneath his coat to delight in the muscular expanse of his back as his tongue explored her mouth. Each rapid breath brushed her body against his.

He raised his mouth, and his lips tilted as his fingers moved along her breast. With a slow, tender caress, he encircled it, seducing every bit of its pleasure into his possession. Even through her clothes, his caress against its tip made her writhe with a need which refused to be fettered.

“No!” she gasped. “Please, Adam, no!”

Regret drooped his mustache. “If you want me to stop, honey …”

“No, I don't want that.” She pushed him aside. “I don't want you to stop, but you must. There are some things I can't compromise, Adam, and one of them is myself.”

He lifted her hair and kissed the back of her neck. “Compromising you was not what I intended. Making love with you was.”

“Being tumbled like one of Nissa's girls isn't for me.”

“I know.”

Glancing over her shoulder, she repeated, “You know? Then why—”

“Because I intend to keep asking, Gypsy, until you say yes. I'm going to ask you here in the cook shack and in the stable and in the wanigan and in Farley's office, if necessary.” His eyes twinkled with devilment as, his fingers curving along her breast, he whispered, “Again and again until you know what I know.”

Fighting the enchantment threatening to send her on an endless spiral of wanton delight, she managed to murmur, “What do you know?”

“That I've wanted you since I first saw you glaring at me in Farley's office. You looked like an angel that day, but I've discovered you aren't an angel. You're the most desirable woman ever put on earth to tempt a man.”

“Adam, I—”

He put his finger over her lips, which were soft from his eager kisses. “No, honey, just let me enjoy having you alone and in my arms. Who knows when we'll have a time like this again?” He bent to tease her neck.

The sound of paper crackling halted him. Reaching into his shirt pocket, he said, “Oh, I forgot to give you this before supper. Chauncey asked me to bring your mail over.”

“Thank you.”

“A love poem from my competition?”

She laughed. “Not likely. Maybe Mr. Glenmark has sent a list of things for me to do.”

“That's not from Glenmark.”

“Are you reading my mail?”

“Just the postmark. See?” His finger jabbed at the envelope. “It's not from Lansing. It's from Saginaw.”

“Saginaw? I—” In horror, she stared at the childlike handwriting.

“Gypsy, what's wrong?”

Somehow she managed to say, “Adam, put those loaves in the oven and watch them. Good night.”

“Gypsy, what's wrong?”

She did not answer. Whirling, she ran to her room. Adam called her name, but, without taking off her apron, she slammed the door. His rapping lasted only a few moments before he cursed and stamped away, his cast pounding the floor.

She stared at the letter, afraid to open it. How could she have forgotten this? Adam's kisses had drained her mind of everything but ecstasy.

She considered throwing the letter into the stove unread, but she could not. Ignoring it would not make the threat vanish, and maybe the writer had left a clue to betray his identity. Her fingers quaked as she pulled out the letter. As she unfolded the single page, her breath clogged in her throat.

Just a reminder that I know where you are. Did you think I wouldn't find you in the frozen northlands
?

You may have thought you had found the coldest place on this earth. Maybe so, but you'll soon be in the coldest place
in
the earth. Don't look for me. I shall find you when the time is right, just as I found your family one by one.

She tore the page into tiny pieces and stuffed it into the fire.

She glanced at the door. If she went to Adam and urged him to put his arms around her, his kisses would sweep aside the fear. She sighed. No one else must be drawn into the tightening web of torment. That painful lesson she would not forget again.

Gypsy wandered about her room, too taut to lie down. Since she had received the second note from Saginaw last week, she had found it impossible to sleep. The flunkeys must have noticed—she had been short-tempered and spent half the time yawning.

Each motion was a strain, for her body was as stiff as the logs around her. As she passed the window and glanced out at another of the seemingly endless snowstorms, she froze. Enough light seeped from the back door to silhouette a man who was skulking across the snow.

The tall man turned toward the window, and she pressed back against the wall. Adam! If he discovered her spying on him, she was unsure what he would do, especially when it was clear by his furtive but smooth steps that his broken ankle had been only a trick.

Cautiously she peered around the logs edging the window and wished her lantern was turned down. She wanted to be wrong, but she could not mistake the profile her fingers knew as well as her eyes.

When Adam sneaked toward Farley's office, she did not hesitate. Her dark wrapper over her shirt would protect her from being seen. If she went no farther than the garbage dump, where broken crates were scattered around the barrels, obscuring the ground, she could not be accused of anything but not sleeping.

Opening the door, she tiptoed across the empty kitchen. Warmth glowed from the stove, lighting that side of the room, but the back door was gaping open. Cold clawed into the cookhouse. She went to close it, then hesitated. Adam must intend to return.

The cold tightened around her chest. Clamping her lips together, she refused to cough. Any sound would alert Adam. She inched out the door and around the garbage heap.

She gripped the splintered edge of a log. Adam was coming out of Farley's office. No cast widened his shin. Now she understood his reaction when she had seen a crack in the cast. She might have discovered the cast was a fake.

When he disappeared into the trees, she leaned against the wall. Her breath exploded from her, and she wondered if she had been holding it since he emerged from the camp manager's office. Light-headed, she closed her eyes.

She could not imagine a single reason why Adam should have been in Farley's office tonight. She swore. Adam had entered the office easily. Farley would not leave it unlocked.

“Gypsy?”

With a gasp, she whirled to see Oscar in the doorway, bafflement on his young face. She pushed past him.

“What were you doing out there?” he asked as she took off her wrapper and shook snow from the hem.

“Just checking stuff.”

“You don't have the stove watch tonight. Adam does.”

She wanted to thank him for his quick defense, although he reminded her that six nights had passed without her finding an escape in her dreams.

The sensation of being cared about was pleasant, but she had no time to enjoy it. The tightness in her chest threatened to suffocate her.

Without looking at him, she said, “He's busy, so I thought I'd make sure Hank tightened the lid on the barrel.” She coughed and choked out, “I don't want any critters knocking on my door.”

“You shouldn't be out there.” He scowled, then ran to the stove, poured a cup of the strong coffee, and shoved the mug into her hand.

She dropped her wrapper and raised the cup to her lips, but did not drink. Letting the steam stroke her face, she fought to breathe past the iron chains around her chest. Pain pierced her.

“Gypsy, if you get sick, the jacks'll close the cookhouse until we can get another kingbee cook.”

“You'd get by.” Her voice was a toad's croak.

Plucking the cup from her weak fingers, he poured sugar into it. “My granny used to give us tea with honey. Maybe coffee with sugar will help.”

“Thank you.” She sipped and grimaced. All she could taste was sugar.

He scowled. “Be more careful!”

“Oscar—”

“You'd say the same thing to me.”

“I would.” She sat gingerly on a bench. Glancing past him, she saw he had closed the door, but had not dropped the bar into place. “What are you doing here?”

He grinned sheepishly. “I needed some time to think, so I took a walk.”

“At this time of night?”

Shrugging his thin shoulders, he said, “I can't think when everyone's snoring. I saw the lights on here and thought I'd jaw with Adam for a while.”

“As you can see, he isn't here.”

“Are you sure everything's all right?”

“Of course.” She ignored his astonishment at her sharp retort. The problems of a lovesick flunkey would have to wait. She needed to figure out what Adam's scheme was.

Oscar mumbled something before saying good night. When the door closed behind him, she sighed for what seemed the hundredth time that night. She would apologize to Oscar in the morning for not having compassion for his young heart.

Rising, she went to the back door. She peeked out, but saw only the snow, which was dirtied by the night. When she realized she feared something would happen to Adam, she wanted to laugh. He must be involved in something wrong. Why else was he creeping about in the middle of the night?

Cold air struck Gypsy's nape, and she looked over her shoulder. “Bert!”

“Where's Adam?” He kicked the other door closed as he walked toward her with his hands clasped behind his back. His eyes glittered oddly. “'E didn't sneak out and leave you with the stove watch, did 'e?”

“What's wrong?”

He smiled. “Nothing, Gypsy. Nothing at all.”

She stepped backward as he continued toward her. There was something different about him. Since he came to work in her kitchen, she never had been uncomfortable with him … until now.

When she bumped into the wall and winced, he smiled. Not his friendly grin, but a satisfied smile. Pleasure sifted into his voice. “What's wrong with you, Gypsy? Something spooked you?”

“Nothing's wrong. If you'll excuse me—” Her words ended in a gasp as he grabbed her arm.

“We 'ave a few things to talk about.”

“Things?” No liquor fumes tainted his breath. He could not be drunk. Then what? Trying to keep her voice even, she said, “If you're still angry because I stopped your fight with Oscar, I can tell you that—”

“Don't worry about Oscar and 'is whore. I 'aven't thought of 'im since I popped 'im as 'e should be popped.”

“Then what do you want?”

He laughed softly as he took another step toward her. “Let me tell you—”

Stamping feet interrupted. As one, they looked toward the back door. When Adam stepped into the kitchen, Gypsy choked as she saw the crutch under his arm and the filthy cast on his leg. Looking from Bert's grin to Adam's surprise, she wanted to shout that the whole world had gone insane in the middle of a heartbeat.

“Didn't expect to see you here so late.” Adam dropped the bar on the back door. “Having a problem, Bert?”

“Not any longer.” Sticking his hands in the large pockets of his coat, he nodded toward Gypsy. “Saw the light and thought I'd come over and see what was 'appening. Everything seems to be fine, so I'll go back to bed.”