Biding His Thyme: 4 (4 page)

Brother Rick marched from the room without
looking left or right. At the door, two of the men followed him while the
others ambled in the direction of the recreation room. Jake memorized the two
men, leaving with Rick. Brothers Felix and Tyrone were around the same age as
Rick and wore robes with the maroon bands on the sleeves. Both had shaved their
heads, and if they’d worn jeans and T-shirts they would’ve fit a thuggish
category. Not even the robes disguised their beefy builds.

Jake stepped outside, welcoming the
coolness of the summer breeze. He glanced back over his shoulder and noticed
the woman—Bitter—was clearing the table. None of the other women were helping
her, and Jake wondered why. Pity swelled inside him, his every instinct to
help.

But the fact everyone was ignoring her,
told him something else was amiss. He’d talk to her later, once she returned to
her workshop. Meanwhile, he’d reconnoiter, wander the grounds and poke his nose
into the buildings—get the lay of the land and ferret out the strengths and
weaknesses of the compound in regards to security.

Luke was waiting for his report.

Hell, maybe he’d even get lucky and find a
pen full of cattle. He lifted his nose and sniffed. When he caught a whiff of
animal, he ambled in that direction. The sooner he found viable proof, the
sooner he was out of here. The beach, beer and babes beckoned.

* * * * *

Sorrel hustled from the table to the
kitchen and back as she cleared the tables. The other men, taking their cue
from Brother Rick, left their plates and walked away too.

The women didn’t help her, although their
sympathy buffeted her in silent waves. Brother Rick made no secret of the fact
he hated her, but she had no idea why he detested her so much. She hadn’t acted
rude or done anything else to attract animosity from him.

She’d been close to Brother Samuel, the
first leader of the cult and Brother Rick’s father. Maybe Brother Rick was
jealous of their close relationship. But no, it couldn’t be that. Brother
Samuel had treated everyone equally.

She scraped and stacked the plates, sorted
the cutlery and glassware all the while thinking and worrying about how to
produce enough stock for the shop. Maybe bath salts. They were less
time-consuming to make, and she had adequate supplies of perfumed oils to make
different types. They had a glut of fruit in the orchard. She could make a
batch of natural face masks. They’d need refrigeration, but the Sloan women
appeared willing to try new products.

By the time she’d finished, almost an hour
later, she had a plan of how to make enough stock to fill her handcart. And if
she had a helper tomorrow, even if he only chopped or stirred ingredients, it
would free her to make extra products. She might even have time to make more of
her cream.

She hurried across the compound, her worn
sandals slapping the dry track made by many feet over the years.

A large form separated from the shadows
without warning.

“Oh.” She clapped her hand to her thundering
heart, backing up before realizing she was in no danger.

“Forgive me. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Concern furrowed his forehead, and the sentiment echoed in his brown eyes. His
black hair was loose and shaggy now, tossed into spikes and unruly waves by the
breeze, his beard crying out for a trim. Up close, he towered over her and the
robe hung on his thin frame. Despite his size, once she’d identified him her
heart settled to a more normal beat.

“I was miles away.” She settled into a
brisk walk and spoke over her shoulder. “I must go. I have a lot to do
tonight.”

“I’ve come to help.”

She halted abruptly and turned to face him.
“But Brother Rick said you should start tomorrow.”

“Brother Rick isn’t here to reiterate
otherwise.” He thrust out his hand. “My name is Jake Ramsay.”

Sorrel stared at his hand before she took
it. His palm, large and warm, wrapped around hers, squeezing a fraction but not
to the point of pain. A bolt of sensation streaked up her arm, and her breath
caught. She had to swallow before she could speak again. “Sorrel Thyme.”

He cocked his head a fraction, still
retaining her hand. “Why do they call you Bitter?”

“A joke,” she said, a flash of heat
sweeping her face. “My name means
bitter
. One of the women had a book of
baby names. The men checked my name, and now Brother Rick and the others call
me Bitter.” She shot him a swift glance before concentrating on her feet again.

He released her hand. “I don’t have
anything better to do. I’ve explored most of the compound buildings already.”

Unsure of what to say, she started walking
again, plunging toward her workshop. She opened the door and stepped inside,
flicking on the lights—thank goodness for the generator—to illuminate her
domain.

Jake stepped inside and closed the door
behind him. She was aware of him at her back, large and masculine and out of
place in her workshop full of herbs and flowers. She was certain this was the
man who was acting as spy, although she wasn’t stupid enough to ask for
details.

“Can I look around?”

“Of course,” she said. “I’ll start making a
batch of bath salts.” She watched him prowl the interior, his gaze intent and
alert. Despite his frail appearance he reminded her of a caged big cat, bearing
the same watchful air and prepared to pounce at a moment’s notice.

She pulled out a large mixing bowl and
measured out cups of baking soda and citric acid. She stirred the mix with her
wooden spoon. Once that was done she added rose oil and stirred it until
combined. A few drops of coloring and the final touch—some dried rose petals.

And still the man prowled, poking and
prodding at windows and checking the walls.

She gathered small jars and started to
spoon her mixture into them, fixing the lids firmly with the ease of practice,
despite the faint tremor of her hands. She wasn’t used to big men in her space.
Stars, she wasn’t used to any men in her domain.

From the corner of her eye, she saw him
search the containers holding her stock. He’d better have clean hands. She’d
bean him if he contaminated her supplies.

“What are you looking for?” she demanded,
her nerves at breaking point.

He didn’t answer, merely shook his head and
placed his finger to his lips in a gesture for silence.

“Pass me the labels please.” Sorrel
pointed, and he complied.

While she wiped the jars and affixed
labels, he continued his explorations. Definitely the spy, she decided, but
what was he looking for? No one came in here apart from her. She slept here a
lot of the time because it was easier than stumbling across the compound in the
small hours of the morning. The last thing she wanted to do was run into one of
the men and have him interpret her presence as an invitation for sex.

“I think we’re okay,” he said. “What do you
want me to do?”

“My handcart is in the lean-to out the
back. I need these jars packed into the boxes and loaded into the handcart
ready for me to deliver them tomorrow morning.”

He followed her instructions, not fumbling
or breaking anything, and soon she relaxed, giving him another job in order to
save her time.

“Tell me about the compound,” he said in
his husky voice. “Why should I move here?”

She looked at him them, startled by the
question. Was he not the spy? Thank goodness she hadn’t questioned him further.
“Did Brother Rick not give you a tour?”

“He told me about the facilities, but he
was busy and didn’t have time to give me a personal tour. He gave me leave to
explore on my own.”

Sorrel hesitated. What should she tell him?
She hated the place and couldn’t wait to leave. It was all she dreamed
of—departing the compound and making her own way in the world. She didn’t care
for material possessions. All she wanted was enough money to live a life of
independence.

“It’s a good place,” she said.

“You’re lying through your teeth.”

It took her a few seconds to register his
words, and when she did, she stared at him in shock. “I…I…”

“It’s all right,” he said in a low voice.
“Luke Morgan sent me. I’m here to watch and learn. I’ll help you all I can.”

Her knees buckled, and she had to grip the
corner of her worktable in order to remain upright. Relief struck first—the
knowledge she wasn’t alone. Suddenly she couldn’t see, and she realized tears
had welled in her eyes, blinding her temporarily. Sniffing, she brushed them
away with the back of her hand.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“I’ve volunteered to help you here, but I
don’t know the first thing about herbs. If anyone asks me questions I’ll blow
my cover for sure.”

She laughed then, and this time she managed
to hold his gaze, although it was so very difficult to look at a man in such a direct
manner. The brothers took this as an affront and a challenge. It attracted
attention. Better to keep her head down.

“Ask me all the questions you want. It will
be pleasant to have someone to talk to.”

“Why does everyone avoid you? Why do they
let Brother Rick treat you like a slave?”

“They’re frightened,” Sorrel said. “A few
months ago someone tried to stick up for me, and he disappeared one night. No
one has seen him since. Brother Rick announced that Brother John caught him
stealing supplies. They turned him out, shunning him. No one has seen him
since.”

“You think Brother Rick had him killed?”
Jake’s alert eyes narrowed, the focus on her so powerful her gaze automatically
shot to her feet, her belly lurching with anxiety. “Look at me, damn it. I’m not
going to strike you. I’ve never hit a woman in my life.”

Sorrel swallowed. “The man they said they
turned away was a gentle soul. He wasn’t the type to steal. He was pure and
always had a good word for everyone. There’s always a first time.”

“First time for what?”

“To hit a woman.” Again she couldn’t
maintain eye contact.

His hand shot out, and she flinched, half
expecting a blow. Instead, he gripped her chin and lifted her face. She stared,
swallowing while a host of butterflies stampeded inside her stomach, charging
around like a herd of crazed cattle.

“I’m here to help. No one will hurt you
while I’m here, but you’ll have to help me in return. I need to know the ins
and outs. What the hell did Brother Rick’s announcement mean? I get it’s some
sort of celebration, but other than that I’m clueless. Fill me in on the
details. Help me understand the inner workings of the place so I can decide how
to attack this mission.”

Her shocked mind fastened on his last word.
“Mission?”

His lips kicked up into a crooked grin. It
echoed in his eyes and turned his expression into one of boyish charm. It made
her wonder how he’d look without the beard. “See,” he said. “I’ve slipped into
soldier talk already. I need you to help me so I don’t make any other
mistakes.”

“You’re a soldier?”

“Yes.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” she promised.

“Good. Now we’d better get working on these
things you need to make. What’s next?”

Her mind full of hope, she started him on
peeling fruit to make the face masks. She chopped and measured and dreamed of
freedom.

“This celebration,” he reminded her.
“What’s it about?”

The fear came back again and she
concentrated on measuring one scant cup of Fuller’s earth. She leveled it
precisely, even as heat crawled up her neck and into her face. From experience
she knew the patches of color would be ugly and startling against her blotchy
skin.

“Sorrel?” His voice held curiosity, a
silent demand for answers.

“The purpose of Children of Nature has
always been to encourage the growth of children in a natural environment. We’re
against birth control, which means there are a lot of children.” Somehow, the
heat in her face intensified. She measured another cup of Fuller’s earth and
tapped it into her mixing bowl.

“And?” he prompted, his stillness
unnerving.

“Brother Rick wants Children of Nature to
prosper. He arranges gatherings where couples—people—come together for the
purpose of procreation.” She chose her words with care and managed to get them
out before she choked on them.

She shot him a swift glance, noted the furrow
between his eyebrows and his eyes. Those eyes would feature in her dreams
tonight. They were a deep, dark brown and intense. When he looked at her it
felt as if he saw every secret she kept close. His gaze stripped her of
pretense yet made her feel safe too—secure in a way she hadn’t felt for months.
The inky-black lashes surrounding his eyes were lush, the kind women desired
but were often bestowed on the male of the species. A tremor shook her, a spear
of heat darted through her lower belly. She swallowed, alarmed by the unusual
sensation.

“Let me get this straight. Brother Rick
arranges gatherings to encourage sex between the adult members of the cult.”

“We’re not a cult,” she said automatically.

“Brother Rick is organizing an evening of
sex complete with drugs and alcohol to lower the inhibitions of those who are
less welcoming of the idea. He’s organizing an orgy.”

Sorrel pressed her lips together, gave one
swift nod.

“And everyone over the age of twenty-five
is expected to participate.”

Another nod.

“Jesus,” he ground out. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-four. I turn twenty-five this
year.”

“Jesus,” he said again. “They can’t even
get him on underage sex. Has it always been like this?”

“No. Brother Samuel died without warning,
but it was well known he was grooming Brother Rick as his successor. No one
disagreed when Brother Rick took over running of Children of Nature.”

He blew out a sigh. “Okay, what do you want
me to do next?”