The Longing (39 page)

"Has Sailor picked out his own room yet?"

"What?" Her brow furrowed. "Oh." Her
confusion melted instantly, and though she released a breath that
resembled a gasp of embarrassment, she didn't smile. "He followed
me inside while I was carting wood."

"Did he carry his share?"

Her lips pursed. "He tracked up my
floor."

Boyd pointed to several chunks of wood beside
the wood bin. "Where are your manners, Sailor? Bring in some wood
for Mrs. Ashier. Go on."

Sailor lunged out the door. He swiped Boyd's
knees then skidded to a stop before the wood scraps. After two
seconds of rooting in the pile, Sailor bit into a hefty hunk of
wood that he struggled to keep clenched in his mouth. He made it as
far as the kitchen, then dropped it on Claire's foot.

Her eyes shot open as she gasped, or maybe
Boyd did—he couldn't discern who was more shocked. Her grip
tightened on the door handle and she shifted as she extracted her
slipper-covered foot from beneath the heavy chunk of wood. Her
accusing eyes met Boyd's, but she didn't say a word.

"Claire—Mrs. Ashier—that wasn't supposed to
happen."

She didn't look convinced. "Good-bye, Mr.
Grayson."

She tried to close the door, but Boyd braced
his hand against the hard flat surface, feeling terrible that she'd
been hurt. "I'm sorry. Truly, Mrs. Ashier. Sailor lugs wood around
all the time at the saloon. I'm always tripping over pieces of
kindling that he drags out of the bucket." He reached down and
grabbed the hunk of wood before Sailor could get his teeth around
it again. He tossed it into the bin behind him then faced Claire,
who was pale. "I'd better look at your toes."

She reared back. "You will not!"

"That was a heavy piece of wood, Mrs. Ashier.
I really think—"

"My toes are fine," she said, but her voice
was thin, as if she were in pain.

"Then it must be your slipper that's
bleeding."

She jerked her gaze to her feet then gripped
the doorknob with both hands.

He caught her elbow and turned her toward a
small oak table in her "kitchen. "At least allow me to help you
into a chair." He nudged the door closed with his foot. "I hope
your toes aren't too damaged. I'm not very good at stitching."

"I fail to see the humor in this." She tried
to tug her arm free, but he maintained his grip as she limped
toward a high back cane-bottom chair at the table.

The light sheen of perspiration on her
forehead told him she was in far more pain than she was admitting.
The split piece of firewood had been heavy, with a jagged edge that
had hit her square on the top of her foot.

The instant she was seated, he knelt at her
feet. "Would you mind lifting your gown?"

She clapped her hands over her knees and
glared at him. "Take your dog and go home. I'm capable of tending
to my own toes."

"I'm afraid I can't leave without making sure
your foot isn't badly damaged."

"I told you, it's fine."

He ignored her and tugged the slipper off her
foot.

"Mister Grayson!"

"Your toes are still attached. That's a good
sign."

"How dare you be so...so impudent."

He fought to hide a grin as he sat back on
one heel.

"Now, is there really cause here to malign my
male prowess, Mrs. Ashier?"

"Your what?" As if she suddenly realized what
he'd said, her face colored. "I suggested no such thing. I called
you impudent, Mr. Grayson. That means arrogant, audacious,
disrespectful—in case you didn't know."

He did know. He'd been accused of being
impudent on many occasions, but he enjoyed getting her stirred up.
"Well, it sounded like something far less desirable." He propped
her foot on his thigh, but she gasped and yanked it away.

"What are you doing?" she asked in
outrage.

"Trying to make sure your foot isn't
broken."

"It's cut and bruised. Nothing more. Now
please leave me to tend to my personal business."

"What if your foot is broken?" he asked,
looking up at her. "If you can't walk, how will you hail the
doctor? How will you care for yourself or your boarders?"

"I don't have any boarders, thanks to
you."

"I'm sorry about that," he said, retrieving
the clean handkerchief he'd tucked in his pocket before leaving the
saloon. "Let me satisfy my curiosity, and I'll leave you in peace."
He pulled her foot to his thigh, but she jerked away.

"I'm afraid your curiosity will have to go
unquenched."

"Honestly, Claire, you would think I was
trying to ravish you." He slipped his hand over her slender foot
and smiled up at her. "Your pretty feet are most tempting, but I
can control myself for a minute or two." He pulled her foot back to
his thigh, and held firm when she tried to tug away. "If you keep
kicking and tussling you will make me impudent, or whatever that
word is."

She snorted, and he looked up in surprise,
wondering if he'd really heard the hint of a laugh. Her lips were
pursed, but her eyes...her gorgeous blue eyes sparkled.

"You look like your grandmother when you
laugh." Because he knew she would deny her laughter, or reprimand
him for using her given name, he lowered his head. "Please, Claire.
Give me a minute to look at this. I need to be certain you aren't
badly hurt." To his relief she gave in and let him feel her foot
through her stocking. It was warm against his thigh, slender, and
delicately sculpted at her ankle. He wanted to tug her stocking off
and feel the smoothness of her skin, trace the line of her shinbone
beneath his fingers.

"Is it broken?"

"I don't believe so. But I think the chunk of
wood split the skin on your hallux."

"My what?"

"Your big toe." He smiled at her. "I assumed
if you knew what impudent meant you would surely know the word
hallux."

Instead of frowning, she tilted her head to
study him.

"What truly baffles me is how
you
know the word."

He liked that she was turning the tables on
him. "I took a bad fall in the gorge when I was nine. I'd broken a
rib, but when the doctor told me I'd also broken my hallux, I
thought he meant my back. After he told me I'd only broken my big
toe, I was so relieved, I never forgot the word."

She studied him, and he returned her
scrutiny. In the sudden stillness he could not only hear Sailor
panting, but his own heart-pounding like a drum. He wanted to kiss
her. Really kiss her. The kind of kiss that burns deep in the gut,
that stops time, that makes two people cling and beg and go insane
with lust.

"You're hurting my toe."

Her whispered complaint jolted him and he
realized he'd been gripping her toes. "Sorry." He drew a shuddering
breath and released her foot. "Do you have any iodine?"

"I'll put some on after—"

"Where is it?"

She sighed and pointed toward a door on the
far wall of her kitchen. "In the water closet cabinet."

"Take off your stockings."

"I will not." She started to stand, but he
caught her hips and pushed her back down. She gasped, her
expression outraged.

"You go too far."

"I'm doing what I have to." He winked. "Stay
put. I'll get the iodine."

"You are insufferable."

"So I've been told." He stood up, and Sailor
leapt to his feet. "Stay, Sailor."

Sailor's ears drooped and he blinked at
Claire. She held out her hand. "Don't let him bully you, too."

The dog's tongue flopped out of the side of
his mouth and he ducked beneath her hand. She scratched his head
and he horned in closer.

The damned mutt was right where Boyd wanted
to be.

The unfairness of it rankled as he crossed
the kitchen to retrieve the iodine. He could barely share a civil
word with Claire, but his weasel of a dog was flopped against her
sweet curves, basking in her affection like she owned him.

Well, maybe Sailor wasn't as smart as Boyd
thought. If Boyd were a dog, he'd climb right into Claire's lap and
start licking her from the neck down.

Whoa
. The thought stopped him
mid-stride.

Claire pulled off her stocking then glanced
at him. "What's the matter?"

He stood in the middle of the kitchen,
warning himself to calm down, to rein in and slow the horse before
he frightened her away.

"Are you all right?"

He was ready to ride for the finish line, but
he hadn't even gotten Claire out of the gate yet. But he would, he
decided. If it was the only thing he accomplished in his life, he
was going to make love to Claire Ashier.

He clenched the iodine in his fist and knelt
at her feet.

"I'd like you to address me as Boyd," he
said. He repositioned her bare foot on his thigh. She didn't fight
him this time or comment on his request.

While he cleaned the blood off her toe, she
continued petting Sailor. There was a tenderness in her touch, a
warmth in the way she stroked the dog's head that was so natural
and unguarded, Boyd peeked up at her face.

The shadow of loneliness dulled her eyes.
He'd seen that same forlorn look in his mirror for years, but to
see the pain and emptiness in Claire's eyes bothered him. In that
brief glimpse, he knew that she'd experienced loneliness, that
she'd suffered loss, that she knew fear.

What tragedy was it that left the residue of
those emotions in her eyes?

"I know it's going to sting," she said. "Just
get it over with."

He ducked his head and saturated a corner of
his handkerchief with iodine. "You like Sailor," he said, trying to
distract her from the sting as he dabbed at her toe.

"Does that surprise you?"

"Maybe."

"Why? I had two dogs when I was a girl, and I
trained both of them myself. I could make them lie down just by
snapping my fingers. I named them Shakespeare and—ouch."

"Sorry. Just a touch more," he said.
"Why?"

"Because I want to make sure it doesn't get
infected. I think you're going to have a bruise on your
instep."

"I was asking why you're surprised that I
like Sailor?"

He finished wiping her toe, replaced the cap
on the bottle and rose to his feet. "Because he's a weaseling,
ill-mannered maniac. And because you seem to prefer your own
company. "

Her lashes lowered like window shades, and
Boyd knew he'd struck a vein.

He set the bottle of iodine on the table. "Is
it too forward of me to ask how long you've been a widow?"

"Yes." Her chin lifted and she met his eyes,
but he sensed that behind her brave front she was hiding something.
"It's not that I prefer my own company, Mr. Grayson. It's that I
prefer not to subject myself to the games, petty judgments, and
humiliating exchanges that most relationships contain."

"Relationships also contain companionship and
joy." "That's why I like Sailor. Despite being clumsy and a bit
rambunctious, I don't have to wonder if his actions are sincere."
She stroked the dog's bony back. "He just needs some training to
polish his manners."

"Would you train him? If I brought him over
each day, would you teach him some manners?"

The look on Claire's face told him she saw
right through his ploy, but she didn't order him to leave. She gave
him one of those looks women get just before they take you into the
jeweler's shop and empty your pockets.

"Are you willing to fill my wood bins each
day in return?" There it was. Her payment for services rendered. He
was used to this subtle maneuvering. And good at it.

"Of course." He could barely contain his
grin. He'd had women eager to bed him, women eager to be wooed, but
this was the first time he'd ever had to use Sailor as a
go-between. Claire Ashier was only eager to get her wood bins
filled.

Well, he would change that.

"You'll have to bring him first thing in the
morning. We can start this Friday. Before breakfast."

"Before breakfast? I'm lucky if I wake up
before lunch unless I've promised to work at the mill that
day."

"Morning is the only time I'll be able to do
it."

She was playing him, and he knew it, but he
was playing her, too, and she knew it, so the only way for him to
win—and he intended to win—was to agree to her terms. But before
breakfast? That would be dawn for a woman like Claire. Not even
Sailor got up that early.

"If that doesn't suit you—"

"It's fine," he said, then gave her his most
disarming smile. "But I was hoping we could arrange evening
visits."

"I'm afraid that won't be possible. I'll be
hosting prayer meetings in the evenings."

"Here?" he asked, unable to keep the disgust
from his voice. The thought of a hundred righteous do-gooders,
praying and caterwauling hymns only yards from his door, raised the
hair on his arms. "Claire, it's bad enough having those women visit
my saloon each day. It'll be torture having that noise seep into my
life around the clock."

Her lips curved into a pleased smile. "I
know."

For more of Boyd Grayson's story read
LIPS THAT TOUCH MINE
by Wendy Lindstrom

Electronic Books by Wendy Lindstrom

Historical Romances:

Shades of Honor

The Longing

Lips That Touch Mine

Kissing in the Dark

THE
LONGING

Upstate New York is a beautiful, timber-rich
area, populated by majestic pines and maples that explode with
color every autumn. Abundant forests sweep down across mountain
foothills and give way to miles of sweet-smelling grape vineyards
that skirt the shores of Lake Erie. Creeks cut winding paths from
mountain to shore, bringing water and power and life to towns built
along their banks. In the midst of this land you'll find the quaint
village of Fredonia, and just south of that, a small hamlet called
Laona where this story takes place.