Loving Linsey (11 page)

Thank goodness
she
was immune to his charms.

Linsey shook her head again. After a final study of her choices, Linsey draped both dresses over her arm. Just as she started for the register to pay for her purchases, the music box Caroline had been coveting made Linsey pause. She studied the pastel-painted box for a minute, then, pressing her lips together in a stubborn line, plucked it off the shelf. Caroline would bear a healthy baby this time; Linsey refused to think otherwise. Especially not now. She did have a romantic evening to arrange, after all.

Daniel stood on the veranda and stared at the brass knocker of one of the finest houses in
the county. Damn his father for doing this to him. After tending to one severed foot, a case of atrophy, and an ear infection, the last thing he felt up to was supper in the house of perpetual catastrophe.

Yet here he was, stuck here alone, performing his “social duty.”

Well, he'd stay an hour, and by God, not a minute past it.

Squaring his shoulders, he gave the knocker a curt rapping. Louisa Gordon opened the door a moment later, looking resplendent in a cream-colored dress with a cameo broach pinned to the lacy jabot at her throat.

“Daniel, how good to see you. Let me take your overcoat.”

He shrugged out of the calf-length cape and passed it over. After hanging it on the coat rack beside an entrance table, Louisa peered around him and asked, “Isn't your father with you?”

“He asked me to send his regrets, but he was unexpectedly detained.”

“A patient?”

Daniel nodded. “Pete Morris down by the Triple J got kicked by a horse.”

“Oh my, what a shame. I hope it isn't anything serious.”

“So do I.”

“Well, perhaps he'll make it next time.”

Daniel doubted it, but didn't see any gain in telling Louisa that his dad could rarely attend any function without being called away to tend a patient. Daniel hadn't understood that as a boy, but as a physician himself, he'd
quickly learned the way of the life. Even if the old man had the time, social forays weren't high on Daniel Sharpe, Sr.'s, list of priorities.

His sole purposes in life were equally split between driving himself into the ground and making Daniel as miserable as possible.

And speaking of misery . . .

A glimpse of the woman strolling along the upper balcony almost made Daniel say to hell with social responsibility and walk out the door.

Until she stepped onto the landing at the top of the stairs.

“Jesus,” he whispered, his mouth going dry.

Daniel felt as if he'd taken a blow to his midsection. Linsey looked . . . incredible. Her hair was pulled back from her temples, held in check by a circular band with dangling charms, and a mass of fat curls spilled down her back. A black velvet choker circled her slim neck. An off-the-shoulder gown hugged her cinched waist and rounded hips like skin, and the drape of her gown pulled tight across the front of her thighs . . .

Daniel tried his damnedest not to appreciate her beauty, but he'd have to have been made of stone not to notice how the copper threads of her gown brought out the highlights in her hair, or the creamy swells of breasts pushed up from her bodice.

The familiar surge in his groin made him painfully aware that he was far from being made of stone. But this was Linsey: the albatross around his neck, the thorn in his side, the blot in his otherwise clean slate.

That didn't stop his mouth from going dry as charcoal as she gracefully descended the stairs. Each fluid movement seemed designed to fuel a man's imagination. It for damn sure fueled his. If his heart beat any harder, it would burst through his chest.

He hadn't even noticed the woman standing behind Linsey until she reached the bottom of the staircase and tugged her sister forward.

“Doesn't Addie look lovely this evening?” Linsey asked him with a pleased sparkle in her eyes.

Actually Daniel thought she looked quite sickly, but kept his opinion to himself. The shiny green-blue of her gown only augmented the pallor of her complexion. He hoped she wasn't on the verge of fainting again. “Yes, lovely. Your arm is better, I hope?”

She shared an inscrutable glance with Linsey, as if asking permission to reply, then looked down at her hands. “Much better, thank you.”

Daniel bit back a scowl. He'd always had a hard time dealing with timid females. He much preferred women with a bit more spunk. That had been the one thing he'd appreciated about Charlotte, at least. She might not have had much loyalty, but he'd never have caught her bowing to anyone or cowering behind someone else's back.

Neither did Linsey, come to think of it.

Except for that one time in the Haggar's house, he couldn't recall an instance when she'd shied away from anything.

“Let's retire to the dining room, shall we?”
Louisa suggested, pulling Daniel from his reverie.

He stepped forward to take Louisa's arm, but Linsey beat him to the punch, leaving him to escort Addie. Even through the thick cotton of his shirt, he could feel the cold and clammy imprint of her fingers against his forearm.

Though he'd paid several visits to Briar House over the years, he'd never ventured into any of the downstairs rooms. The dining room, with its cream wallpaper and brass fixtures, was smaller than he'd expected it would be and had a simple elegance reminiscent of Louisa. A table big enough to seat eight people had been formally set for five with blue-leafed china and enough silverware to finance a dozen medical students through school. A soup tureen surrounded by dried rose petals acted as a centerpiece. Braces of flickering candles on the sideboard and on stands in each corner lent the room an intimate atmosphere. It was all a little too feminine for Daniel's taste, but he couldn't help but be impressed that they'd gone through so much trouble for a supper guest.

Daniel assisted Louisa to the seat at the head of the table, then politely pulled out the scroll-backed chair to the right of her. Linsey and Addie began whispering and shuffling, elbowing each other in the arms, acting more like children than grown women. When Linsey caught him watching their antics, she stopped abruptly, straightened, then with all the dignity of a queen, marched around to the other side of the table. Daniel bit the inside of his
cheek. She really was a contradiction: half imp, half lady . . .
all woman—

He gave himself a sharp shake.

Then, aware that the only place settings vacant were the one next to Addie or the one next to Linsey, he hesitated, feeling as if he'd been given the choice of sitting beside a shrinking violet or a Venus fly trap: one fragile, safe, and unassuming; the other a sight to behold with a sweet scent that lures in the bait and snaps it up.

With a spear charge of rebelliousness, he moved to the seat next to Linsey. She might have turned his head years ago, but not any more. He was stronger than he'd been back then, more in control of her ability to affect him. If he had to endure an evening sitting beside her to prove it, then so be it.

Louisa started ladling the soup, which was the cue for engaging in light conversation about work, weather, and the townspeople. The topic steered toward Emmaleen Haggar, and how she was coping with Bleet's passing, and Daniel's thoughts once again strayed back to the stunned look on Linsey's face the afternoon of the wake.

It wasn't exactly a suitable topic for supper, but Daniel knew that curiosity would hound him until he learned what had driven her from the house in such a state. He leaned back in the chair and rubbed his chin with his forefinger. “Linsey, why were you running out of the Haggar house, anyway?”

Silence.

Daniel studied the women from beneath
narrowed brows. Addie looked nervous as a cat in room full of rocking chairs, and though Daniel wouldn't have thought it possible, her complexion seemed even more ashen. Even Linsey's cheeks seemed to have lost color.

His instincts went on full alert. These two were hiding something, on that he'd bet his degree. But what?

“She was avoiding Mrs. Harvey,” Addie finally stated—a little too forcefully, in Daniel's opinion.

“Again?” Louisa exclaimed. “My lands, I wish that woman would get her boy married off and leave my Linsey be.”

Louisa might have missed the gratitude in Linsey's eyes, but Daniel didn't. Whatever secret these two shared, they were keeping from their aunt. Not for long, though; he felt sure of that. Not much escaped Louisa Gordon's eagle eye. The thought almost made him smile. It ought to be interesting to see how long they had to dig their graves before one of them fell in.

“I've always told these girls that hasty decisions make for needless divisions,” Louisa said. “They'll settle down when they've a mind to settle down.”

Daniel smothered a cough. If Linsey got a mind, he wanted a warning so he could run for cover. She was dangerous enough when she didn't think.

“But if you ask me,” the old woman went on, “it's just a cryin' shame when a girl isn't even safe at a wake.”

He didn't dare offer his opinion on that remark. If they asked him, Linsey wasn't safe anywhere—she was a born catastrophe.

“I didn't marry until I was twenty-four, and not for an instant do I regret waiting for my Wayne, rest his sweet soul. He gave me forty wonderful years before his heart gave out.” Louisa sniffed the cork on a bottle of chilled wine. Seemingly satisfied, she passed the bottle to Daniel.

While he poured for each of his hostesses, Linsey joined the discussion. “I understand your parents were married quite a number of years, Daniel.”

“Twenty-five.” Theirs hadn't been as blissful as Louisa's, though.

Linsey accepted her glass, took a sip, then remarked, “There is nothing finer in life than knowing you are loved, and loving in return, don't you agree?”

“For some, maybe. Others might have more important aspirations.”

“What could be more important than love?”

Did she want a list?

Supper arrived then, carried in on silver-domed plates by a boy hardly old enough to boast peach fuzz. When the lad spotted Daniel, his brows shot up in surprise. “Hey, Doc Jr.”

“Hey yourself, John. I didn't realize you were working for the Gordons.”

“Just for tonight. Miss Linsey said she wanted everything to be spec—
Ow!
”

While John hopped back into the kitchen,
Daniel looked at Linsey. Her smile held all the innocence of a cat with a canary in its mouth.

The woman was up to something. He knew it as surely as he knew his own name, but damned if he could figure out what it was.

John returned, juggling two large bowls and a gravy boat. Daniel saw disaster in the making, and apparently so did Linsey; simultaneously they dropped their spoons and reached to help John.

Once the dishes were placed safely on the table, Linsey issued a soft but delighted gasp, directing Daniel's sights to the place settings. He saw nothing unusual, even when Linsey pointed to the small plate between them, where their spoons had landed side by side.

“It's a sign!” she whispered.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Two spoons on the same saucer means a wedding will take place. See, Addie, I knew—” The table jarred, rattling the china, and Linsey shot a glare at her sister, who returned it full measure.

Daniel watched with growing suspicion. What the Sam Hill was going on? The dinner, all this talk about marriage . . .

Maybe she's taken a shine to you.

Jarvis's suggestion made Daniel choke on his wine. Jesus, they weren't looking at him as husband material, were they? Daniel caught his breath and waved away Linsey, who had instantly started pounding on his back. “You can stop beating me. I'm fine. It just went down wrong.”

After Linsey had settled back in her chair, the meal and conversation progressed. Daniel participated halfheartedly, still trying to come to terms with the staggering possibility of her developing a matrimonial interest in him. The mere suggestion worried him as much as it astonished him. He figured it was common knowledge that he had no plans to marry; his last foray down that road still left a bitter taste in his mouth.

But no matter how he analyzed it, he couldn't come up with any other reasonable explanation for her behavior of late. He knew one thing, though: it didn't bode well.

Before he realized it, the main course of glazed duck had been served and eaten, and Louisa had gotten herself more than half tipsy on two glasses of burgundy. She was just reaching for the bottle to fill herself a third glass when her hand wavered. Daniel lunged across the table to assist her, and his elbow knocked over several items.

All conversation ceased. All eyes turned on him.

Daniel glanced down. There was nothing much to see: no spilled glasses, no stains on the pristine linen—just a toppled salt shaker.

He sat down, righted the object, and then reached for his own wine.

Still they stared at him.

“What?” he finally barked, chilled by the continued hush.

“You spilled the salt,” Addie informed him.

He glanced at the tiny pile of white grains near the tureen, then at Addie, Louisa, and
finally Linsey, all of whom wore identical expressions of horror. “I beg your pardon.”

Linsey gestured toward the mess. “Aren't you going to throw three pinches over your shoulder?”

“For what?” he asked, genuinely puzzled.

“To avert the bad luck.”

The bad . . . Daniel felt his face mottle. If he had to listen to one more superstition—

“Adelaide, will you ask John to serve desert?” Louisa quickly said.

“Yes, Aunt Louisa.”

Addie started to rise, but Linsey stayed her with a hand to her shoulder. “I'll get it, Addie. You stay here and entertain our guest.”

As she carried the dishes down a hallway that separated the kitchen from the main living quarters, Daniel's gaze strayed to the sway of hips clad in copper satin, and the saucy bow centered high on her bustle. He used to wonder how much of her shape was artificial and how much was natural; used to imagine peeling away the feminine trappings to discover for himself if she was as soft as he imagined, as sweet as he dreamed, as willing as he hoped.