“She’s out of my class, Noah.” And yet he could not resist another look in her direction. She’d halted by the pasture fence to talk to the mare, and her dress was hiked up, exposing slim ankles. How he knew they were slim from this distance was a mystery, yet Shay would have gambled his bank account on the fact. “She deserves a gentleman, someone worthy of her.” If his words sounded harsh Noah paid no mind, but chuckled beneath his breath.
“She deserves more than that, Mr. Shay. But what she needs is a man to bring her to life, somebody who’ll put a spark in her eye and roses in her cheeks.” As if he’d said more than he intended, Noah lowered himself to the ground once more and shifted his hat over his eyes, his body visibly relaxing like a sleepy hound dog in the sun.
Jenny fanned herself with a hand-painted, pleated-paper specimen she’d found in the attic. “Do you think the corn is tall enough to cultivate?” she asked idly.
“Yeah, I’d say so,” Shay answered. “Up past my knees already.”
They sat on the porch, watching as Noah’s boys carried dishes back to the house. Isabelle fed them nightly in the cabin she shared with her husband, and then the young men, whom Noah still considered his boys, brought the pots and dishes back to the house for washing. It was a complicated procedure, one Jenny had decried as a waste of time and energy, but Isabelle would not be dissuaded. And so the nightly procession continued, with Isabelle washing up after both tables were cleared.
Jenny ate, as usual, in the kitchen, with Marshall serving as a buffer between Shay and herself, his childish questions amusing Shay, and providing Jenny with time to enjoy her meals. She’d long since decided that a five-year-old child was the most inquisitive creature on earth, but Shay seemed to enjoy the boy. Their evening walk was a favorite time for Marshall, and today was no exception.
They’d marched down the lane between overhanging oaks, and Jenny had watched them go, her thoughts in turmoil as she saw Marshall offer his hand to the man who slowed his steps to a child’s pace. Shay looked down at the outstretched fingers for a moment, his hesitation brief, then took the small hand in his own, strolling slowly as though his entire world was circumscribed by the realm of her child’s universe.
What would happen to Marshall when his idol left? she wondered. For sure as the sun rose in the morning and set in the western sky every night, that day would come. Maybe not for a few months, but sooner or later, wanderlust would grip the dark, scarred man who had invaded their lives, and he would leave as he had come. The vision of that tall stallion galloping down her lane, with Shay in the saddle, was enough to bring tears to her eyes.
And that was ridiculous. He was here to help. He’d said he would lend a hand, get them on their feet. He’d talked about picking cotton, harvesting corn and cutting the second crop of hay sometime in August or September. Beyond that, he’d made no promises.
Beyond that, she saw only the bleak days of winter, chilly mornings, a Christmas without funds to buy gifts, save for a few handmade items she and Isabelle would put together. And yet, she could expect nothing more from the man than what he had promised he would give. Carl sent me here…there’ll be four men in the field.
Her chin lifted and she gritted her teeth against the tears that overflowed her lashes, rolling down her cheeks and dampening her bodice. “He’s not gone yet,” she scolded herself quietly. “Land sakes, the man’s only been here two months, and you’re blubbering already about him leaving.” She laughed, a rusty sound with no humor, and from the kitchen behind her Isabelle made a scoffing sound.
Jenny swung her head to find her friend at the door, visible through the screen. “You might’s well dry those eyes,” Isabelle said, her low voice grating out the words. “He’s a man, with a man’s ways, and he’ll try to get past your bedroom door if you let him, Jen. He’ll leave you with another young’un ’neath your apron if you don’t take care.”
“No.” It was softly spoken, but held the steel of her mother’s upbringing in the single syllable. “I’ll not take a man in my bed without a marriage certificate hanging over the headboard, Isabelle. My mama taught me better than that.”
“And that one—” Isabelle waved her hand in the direction of the two male creatures who meandered down the long lane “—that one’ll sweet-talk you with promises and make you forget everything you ever learned about men. Mark my words, Jen, you’re no match for a man like that.”
Jenny turned away, pierced to the heart by the truth of Isabelle’s predictions. “Maybe not,” she admitted. “But wouldn’t it be grand, even for a little while, to know that sort of loving?” She laughed aloud. “Listen to me, Isabelle. I’m spinning dreams out of shadows.”
“Watch your step,” Isabelle said glumly. “You can’t say I didn’t warn you, missy.”
The two figures, one tall and straight, the other small and somehow vulnerable, even from this distance, turned and headed back to the house. Then they halted, and Shay bent low, picking up the boy and lifting him high, only to settle him on his wide shoulders. One arm raised in a broad wave and Marshall called out in a clear piping voice, “See me, Mama? I’m taller than anybody!”
The walk back was taken at a faster clip, with Shay trotting the last several yards, depositing Marshall on the porch with a flourish. “There you go, Marsh,” he said, lifting his hand to smooth back his hair. Marshall had ruffled it, running his fingers through the dark length as he held tightly to his makeshift steed. Now, Shay’s long fingers combed it into place, and Jenny watched each movement of his hand.
Marshall snuggled next to her on the edge of the porch and looked up with a grin that squinted his eyes and brought out the dimples in his cheeks. “Did you see me, Mama? Did you see me riding on Mr. Shay’s shoulders?”
She nodded, wiping at a speck of dirt on his cheek, then allowed her hand to cup his nape. “I saw you, sweetheart. You were the tallest man on the place.” She looked up at Shay and was lost in his gaze. “Thank you,” she murmured. “Marshall has missed having a man around the place. He trots after Noah, but I’m afraid he gets in the way much of the time.”
“He won’t be in my way, Miss Jenny,” Shay told her quietly. “Never.”
She smiled and felt an unmistakable tremble in her lower lip. Lowering her head, she buried the telltale sign of emotion against Marshall’s hair.
“Jenny?” Shay spoke her name, a questioning lilt in the syllables. And then he touched her, one hand reaching to press carefully on her shoulder. “I won’t hurt you, Jenny.”
She felt Marshall’s head swivel, heard his indrawn breath, and closed her eyes as he spoke words that dropped from his lips like hot coals. “Don’t you ever hurt my mama. That big man did, a long time ago, and he made my mama cry.”
Jenny swallowed a gasp and lifted Marshall to his feet. “No one is going to hurt your mama, Marshall,” she said firmly. “Now run in the house and let Isabelle get you ready for bed.” Marshall’s soft lips pressed a damp kiss against her cheek and he hugged her neck tightly.
“I love you, Mama.” It was meant as a whisper, but his reedy tones vibrated in the silence, and she was hard put not to shed tears of thanksgiving for the tender heart of her child.
“I love you, too,” she answered, turning him in the direction of the door. “I’ll be up to hear your prayers in a few minutes.”
And then she turned back to Shay.
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