Anything for You (25 page)

When Stretch plied the bow across his fiddle, Adam asked, “Do you want to dance again?”

“I've had enough dancing for a while.”

“Me, too.” His hand curved around her elbow as he bent to whisper in her ear. “Would you like to hear what I'd really like to do? I'd like to lay you back on one of these bunks and make love with you until you burn all around me.”

“Adam, not here!” She glanced at the men, but they were intent on Peabody, who was clearing the middle of the bunkhouse.

His fingers inched along her arm to brush the soft upsweep of her breast. When she gasped, he smiled. “I want you, Gypsy, so bad I've forgotten what it's like to sleep all night. It's not the lice that keep me awake. It's the thought of holding you and being part of you.”

“Don't!”

“Why not?” He framed her face with his wide hands. “I want you, Gypsy. Do you want me?”

She quivered as she pulled away. Lying was impossible, for he knew how she responded when he tempted her into madness with his touch.

When she gathered up her coat, Stretch's fiddle let out a mournful groan. She paused as Peabody called, “Dancing's over for now. How about some louse races?”

“There's enough of the critters in the beds,” shouted back a jack. “I don't want to watch the bloodsucking creatures.”

Peabody surveyed the room as he crossed his broad arms over his broader chest. “We've been remiss in not welcoming the new men to Glenmark Timber Company's camp. It's time to find out who's the best among the greenhorns.”

When Adam swore under his breath, Gypsy could not help laughing. Even a man as unaware of logging camp life as he was could not miss the amused anticipation in the bull of the woods' voice.

“Let's let the newest greenhorns prove themselves.” He pointed to Bert. “You first, Sayre.”

Bert shuffled forward, grinning. Whiskey splashed from his cup, and she guessed from his weaving steps he had drunk more than his share. Peabody had him standing against the wall by the door. The flunkey held the cigar he was not allowed to smoke in the cookhouse.

“Jump forward as far as you can,” Peabody ordered.

The flunkey grinned, waving his arms. “Back away, boys. I'll be 'alfway across the room.”

His long legs did not take him halfway to the door, but he put several feet of floor between him and the wall. When he was about to look back, Peabody shook his head.

“You're only half done, lad. Now jump back.”

“Jump back?”

Laughing at Bert's astonishment, the crew chief urged, “That's right. My boys must be able to jump in any direction, fast and far, when the cry of ‘timber' goes up. Maybe you boys in the cook shack aren't as nimble.”

Yells of encouragement filled the room as Bert bent his knees. Edvard slid a pail behind him. Raucous cries hid the sound. When an arm settled around her shoulders, Gypsy glanced at Adam and quickly away. How could she resist him when he wanted what she wanted?

Bert started to jump, but his feet caught in the bucket. He toppled to the floor. The pail crashed against the bunks to appreciative laughter.

“Kicked the bucket!” crowed Hank. “Now you're a jack, Bert!”

Adam offered the Englishman a hand. With a fierce curse, Bert knocked it away. He scrambled to his feet. His glower was met with more good-natured chuckles.

Adam shrugged and asked no one in particular, “What's wrong with him?”

“Some men don't like being made a fool of,” Gypsy answered. “Others seem to have a skill for it.”

He arched a brow. “Let's get out of here before it's my turn.”

“You got your hazing when you fell off that log.”

“Don't remind me.”

As they walked out into the wintry night, she twined her fingers with his. He led her through the fragrant pines, and her feet slid through the snow in front of the cook shack. The glitter of the moonlight on the drifts made them a collection of gems waiting for some titan to wear.

“How beautiful it is tonight!” she breathed. “Wild and free.”

“That's why I wanted to bring you to the hurrah, Gypsy. So you could enhance this loveliness with your own.”

She gazed into his eyes, which were shadowed by the dark. When his arms went around her, her fingers clasped behind his neck. “You're a charmer, Adam Lassiter.”

“Part of the service, my fine lady, to lure you out of the cookhouse and charm you with sweet phrases to bring you into my arms.”

“Which is where I am.”

“So I noticed.”

“It seems you've succeeded admirably with your plan, Mr. Lassiter.”

His arms tightened as he whispered with sudden seriousness, “Only with the first part, my dear Gypsy.”

Her answer was swept away by his lips capturing hers. Knowing no one would intrude, she welcomed his mouth against hers. Her breath was ragged as he tasted her cheek before bending to tease the skin along her neck.

When she shivered, he laughed and offered his arm. She put her gloved hand on it as she held her skirt out of the mud, which was frozen into oddly sculptured shapes. Snow drifted lazily toward the ground.

When she yawned, he chuckled. “I didn't mean to keep you out so late, Gypsy.”

“Usually I'd be getting up in just a few hours.” She edged around a slushy puddle.

“What made you come north?”

At the abrupt question, she glanced at him. What little she could see of his face in the light from the kerosene lamps on the bunkhouse revealed only genuine interest. “After the war, there wasn't much left for a decent woman in Mississippi.”

“Mississippi?” He chuckled. “I would have guessed you were from Virginia or maybe North Carolina by the way you barely drawl your words. Not like those folks down on the gulf.”

She hoped her face was as shadowed as his. “Maybe all this Yankee jargon has rubbed off on me. If I ever go home, they'll be more offended than they were when I left.”

“Why did you leave?”

“After the war there was nothing for a woman who didn't want to cozy up with a carpetbagger. I saw an advertisement for a cook, and here I am. I'm sorry my reason isn't more dramatic. Certainly not like yours.”

Adam stopped. When she walked past him, he called, “What's that supposed to mean?”

“If you want to continue this conversation, it'll have to be by the stove.” She turned to face him and grinned. “I'm smarter than a Yankee who doesn't know enough to come in out of the cold.”

“I want to continue this conversation, Gypsy. There're some things which need to be said between us.” He held out his hand, his voice abruptly serious. “Now.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The quiet of the kitchen was shattered by the snap of embers in the stove. When Gypsy lit the lantern by the door, light spread through the molasses darkness. Adam lifted the lamp and hung it on a rafter.

“Thank you.” She drew off her gloves and stuffed them into the pockets of her coat.

“My pleasure.” Shrugging off his jacket, he tossed it onto a bench. “Reaching the ceiling is one of the few things I can do in this kitchen better than you.”

“True.” She hung her coat on its peg between the door and the window. Everything was just as it should be, except his gaze stroked her with frank longing.

As she poured two cups of coffee, he sat at the table. “I've told you dozens of times that I'm astounded how well you handle everything in this kitchen. Why can't you accept a compliment?”

She collected a slab of cake from the counter. Putting it and a cup in front of him, she said quietly, “If I accept anything from anyone, I'll be beholden.”

“I've noticed you like to be independent.”

“You have?” She stirred sugar into her coffee before pushing the bowl toward him.

“It would be hard to miss.” He glanced around the kitchen. “Who has the stove watch tonight?”

She sipped the coffee. “Me.”

“You had the stove watch just two nights ago.”

“I know, but Oscar was supposed to be on the stove watch tonight. He should stay and have a good time.”

Lifting his cup, he said, “You're going to have to be careful, Gypsy.”

“Careful?” She almost laughed. Didn't he realize his touch was what she found the most dangerous?

“Doing something nice like letting the poor boy smile for the first time since Lolly's death is going to ruin your fierce reputation.” Lowering his cup to the table, he smiled. “I have to admit that when you're right about something, Gypsy, you're right. There was no sense in arguing out there in the cold.”

“If arguing is what you want to do, you're welcome to do it alone. Just turn down the lights before you leave.” She stood and brushed crumbs from her skirt. “I'm going to check the firebox.”

“Without getting answers to the questions I see in your lustrous eyes?” he asked as she reached for the quilted cloths to open the stove's door.

“I didn't think I'd get any honest answers, so why bother?”

“How can you be sure unless you try?” He pulled the stool next to where he was sitting and patted it. “C'mon, Gypsy. You're frothing with curiosity. Why don't you admit it?”

She hesitated. If he was so eager to cooperate, he did not intend to speak the truth.

“I don't think I'm the one who has anything to admit,” she said as she perched on the stool.

Resting one elbow on the table, he put his hand on her knee. He grinned as if daring her to order him to move it. “Perhaps you're right, Gypsy. I have something to admit. Why don't you tell me what you think it is?”

“Me? Why should I waste time on such a ridiculous exercise?”

“Ridiculous exercise?” His fingers strayed along her leg, spiraling pleasure from where he touched her until she ached to lean forward and steal the smile from his lips with her kiss. A soft huskiness filled his voice. “I can think of exercises with you that I'd enjoy more, but there's a lot to be said between us now.”

Gypsy batted his questing fingers away. “All right. You want the truth?”

“Always?”

“You aren't a jack. At first, I thought maybe you'd bamboozled Farley into hiring you and then keeping you on when you hurt your ankle.”

“So what do you think now?”

“I think you're working directly for Mr. Glenmark. Why? To find out something, I'd guess.”

“That's a good guess.”

“Who are you investigating, Adam? Me?”

“Not you.” His grin vanished. Rising, he put his cup on the counter. “I should have known I couldn't fool you long.”

“It might have helped if you'd had someone really break your ankle.”

He faced her. Blue sparks burned in his eyes, but they were not anger. She could not guess what he was thinking as he asked with studied calm, “So you know about that, too?”

She scraped her tongue along her arid lips. “I saw you wandering about without the cast the night Lolly was murdered.”

“You didn't say anything. Not that night or later.”

“No.”

“You didn't accuse me of lying when I told you I was chasing someone else.”

She gasped at the confessions she had not expected. “No, I didn't accuse you then.”

“Why not?”

“To be honest, I didn't think, at least not for very long, that you killed Lolly.”

“I guess I should say thanks for that backhanded compliment.”

“It's not a compliment. Just the truth.”

He chuckled mirthlessly. “The truth doesn't explain one fact. Why was she killed?”

“Jealousy?”

“Maybe, but it might be something else. If the murderer's goal were to cause trouble, for example, he succeeded. Lolly's death created chaos here.”

“Are you trying to convince me to tell Farley you're involved with that murder?”

“Along with the so-called accident on the hill?”

She shook her head vehemently. “Bobby Worth was killed by a falling tree. Accidents happen.”

“Exactly what a murderer might wish you to think.” With a sigh, he said, “I hope you're right. There's no question that Lolly Yerkes was executed by some madman.” His grin struggled to lift one corner of his mustache. “But that madman isn't me.”

“Then why are you here?” She sipped on her coffee, but its sweet flavor could not ease the bitter bile in her mouth.

“You act awfully guilty for someone who has no reason to be.”

“I'm just curious why Farley insisted on your being in my kitchen.”

Taking a deep breath, he stroked his chin reflectively. “What I'm telling you, Gypsy, can't be repeated.”

“I don't gossip like an empty-headed jack.”

He put his boot on a rung of the stool. “The truth is Farley doesn't know why I'm here. He was told by Glenmark to hire me, put me to work, and not order me to hit the hay trail in spite of anything I might do.”

“I saw the letter Mr. Glenmark sent to him. I don't understand why he wrote that letter when all you had to do was walk in and ask for a job.”

Regret dimmed his eyes. “That I can't tell you, but I promise you you're in no danger.”

She rubbed her palms together, wishing she could lessen the cold cramping them. Moving closer to the stove would not help, for this iciness came from within her. She wondered how he could speak the words which had rung through her head too many years.

No danger,
she had been told before her world vanished into horror. Then it had been summer, and she had wanted to believe the words. She wanted to believe Adam even more.

“I think you're being honest,” she whispered, “but I want you to leave.”

“Just like that?”

She stood. “Just like that. This is my kitchen.”

“You don't have any choice.”

“No choice?
I
work directly for Mr. Glenmark also. He'll listen to me.”