A Bride in the Bargain (19 page)

His pants were the proper length today, she noticed, not the cropped-off ones. She watched as he nailed a notched board between two small trees. He then slipped the saw into the notch and began to file each tooth with a tiny picklike tool.

“Why do you wear pants of different lengths?”

He smiled. “Because when one of these giants starts to fall, we all scatter. If our pant legs get caught on something, it could slow us down just enough to be crushed by the plunging timber.” He blew some metal filings off the saw. “Since I’m not felling trees today, I don’t need to wear my sagged pants.”

Anna walked about the clearing, careful to stay away from the steep slope. A patch of fragrant twinflowers crawled up the base of an ash tree. Gathering several blooms, she wrapped them in her handkerchief and slipped them in her pocket. Perhaps she could dry them later and make a sachet.

Spotting some coral mushrooms, she examined them, then returned to her lunch bucket and emptied its contents into Joe’s. She ran across many varieties of mushrooms, wary of most of them. She opted to harvest only the coral ones, since she knew them to be edible, and their unique twiggy shape was so easy to identify.

She had just begun to head back when she heard Joe call her name.

“I’m here.” She returned to the clearing and set her bucket down.

“Berry picking?” he asked, wiping his neck with a handkerchief.

“No. Mushrooms.”

He glanced into her bucket. “Are you ready to eat lunch, then?”

“I’m starved.”

“I don’t have a blanket to sit on.”

“That’s all right.”

He looked around. “Hold tight for just a minute.” Trundling down the slope, he gathered several boards that were all of a uniform size—about five feet long and eight inches wide—then tucked them under his arm and carried them and an ax back to the top of the slope.

“What are those?”

“Springboards.”

He stopped by one of the huge stumps that stood over two stories high. Swinging his ax into the side of the trunk, he cut a narrow notch, then inserted a board into the notch so that it protruded out of the trunk like a pirate’s walking plank on a ship. Climbing up onto it, he stood and made another notch, inserting yet another springboard into the new notch.

When he had assured himself the springboard was secure, he jumped atop it, then repeated the action until he’d made stairsteps of the springboards all the way to the top of the tall sawed-off tree.

Once he’d reached the flat platform of the stump, he stood like the captain of a ship looking down at her. A breeze feathered his golden curls. “Care to join me?”

Anna eyed the springboards. They were spaced much farther apart than normal stairs. “You’re jesting.”

He tossed down his ax and leaped to the ground. She caught her breath, but he landed with a roll and sprung back up, using a technique he’d obviously performed so many times he didn’t even think about it. Joe offered her a hand.

She looked again at the makeshift stairway. “I really don’t mind eating on the ground.”

“But the view from here doesn’t compare to the view from up there on the stump.”

She stood in indecision.

“I’ll go first, then help you with each step.” He jumped from the first springboard to the second, then squatted down and stretched out his hand. “Come on. It’s easy.”

She placed her hand in his, lifted her skirt, and tested the springboard with her foot. “It’s loose.”

“No, it’s springy. It’s supposed to do that. Come on, now. Up we go.” He tugged on her hand.

She stepped up onto the first board.

“Good, now come on up here with me.”

“Will it hold us both?”

“Yes. But I can go up one if you’d rather. You’ll have to let go of me, though.”

“No!” Anna shook her head. “No. I’ll come up there with you.”

He stood on the end, squeezing her hand while she placed a foot next to his.

“See?” he said, pulling her up. “Simple.”

They made it up several more without incident until she looked down.

“Oh!” Her eyes widened and she began to sway.

He wrapped his hand around her arm. “Easy, there.”

She grabbed his shirtfront.

“Are you afraid of heights?”

“I didn’t think I was.”

Chuckling, Joe loosened his hold. “Well, don’t look down, then, and you’ll be fine.”

She crinkled his shirt into her fists. “What are you doing?”

He paused. “I have to go up to the next one.”

“I don’t want you to go to the next one.”

“You want to go up without me?”

“No.”

“Then you have to let go.”

“No.” Her heart raced. “Please. Don’t leave me.”

He tilted his head to the side. “You really are scared, aren’t you?”

She trembled, embarrassed at discovering this weakness in herself. One she’d not been aware of before. But then, she’d never had occasion to stand suspended twenty-five feet in the air with no railing, no brace, and no protection whatsoever—other than the man beside her.

Spreading his wide hands around her waist, he pulled her against his chest, then patted her shoulder as if she were a child. “We’ve only one more to go, but if you’d rather go back down, we can.”

“I can’t.” Squeezing her eyes shut, she clung to him. “I can’t go up or down.”

“Then we’ll just stay here awhile. There’s no rush.”

Murmuring soothing words to her, he stroked her back and nuzzled her hair. She slowly began to relax. And with that relaxation came realization. She was clinging in a most inappropriate manner to her employer.

And he felt absolutely wonderful. Smelled absolutely wonderful.
Was
absolutely wonderful. His massive arms enfolded her as if she were a pearl and he was the clam.

She frowned. If his hands were around her, what was he holding on to? She stiffened. He wasn’t holding on to anything. Good heavens.

“I’m ready to go the rest of the way up,” she whispered.

He brushed her hair back from her face and tilted her chin up. “You sure?”

There were golden flecks in his eyes. The same color as his hair. And they were surrounded by a blue that began to darken.

His thumb scraped across her lower lip. “You smell good.”

Her mouth parted. The twinflowers. He was smelling the twin-flowers in her pocket.

She snapped her mouth shut. She needed to squelch this burgeoning attraction. Even if he weren’t betrothed—which he was—the feelings were unwelcome. Attraction led to love and love led to responsibility. A responsibility she’d failed at so miserably that everyone she’d loved was dead.

“I’d like to continue now,” she said, pleased her voice sounded so steady.

He lifted his gaze from her lips to her eyes. What she saw there frightened her more than anything Hoke had ever said or done. For what she saw in him mirrored what she felt deep inside. And she wanted nothing to do with it.

“How long will it take me to pay off my debt to you?” she asked.

“A very long time.” Joe's voice was low, rough, husky.

Panic rose like a living creature.

“Now I’m going to ease you up against the tree,” he said. “That way you can lean against it while I go to the next springboard. All right?”

She didn’t acknowledge him one way or the other. Merely followed his prompting, taking baby shuffle steps until her back connected to the solid base of the tree.

“That’s a girl.” He removed one hand and put it next to her on the trunk. After another moment, he did the same with his other, penning her in. He was going to kiss her.
Oh no. Oh no. Oh no
.

“I’m really all right now,” she said sharply, not wanting to look at him, but not wanting to look down, either. “You can go to the next step.”

He blinked, his eyes clearing. He looked around as if to get his bearings, then leapt to the next level. Sucking in her breath, Anna pressed herself firmly against the trunk.

“Here we go, now. Reach out and take my hand.”

It took her a minute to release the tree and slip her hand into his. And not just because she was scared of falling.

“That’s the way.” He reached out with his other hand.

She accepted it, and he assisted her onto the last board.

“Keep going. We’re there.”

Slipping his hands around her waist, he lifted her onto the top of the tree stump. She sat down with a thud and scrambled back away from the edge.

He stayed on the springboard. “You all right?”

She nodded.

“I’m going back down to get the lunch bucket.”

“Don’t jump,” she said.

“Don’t jump?”

“Please.”

A corner of his mouth lifted. “All right. Sit tight. I’ll be back.”

He hopped down the boards one foot at a time and was back up with the pail in no time.

Squatting down beside her, he rested one knee on the stump’s surface. “Still have an appetite?”

She hadn’t dared to move.

Joe smiled. “It’s a pretty view, if you think you can look.”

She slowly swiveled her head, then caught her breath. The valley spread out before them while snowcapped Mount Rainier dominated the far horizon. She could see streams and the skid road they dragged the logs down and . . . “What’s that?”

He looked in the direction of her gaze.

“A chute. I’m building a log chute. It’s almost finished. It’ll go to the river; then we’ll be able to float the logs to Yesler’s Mill rather than hauling them down Skid Road.”

She looked at it again. “Good heavens.”

Settling onto the stump, he pulled out their lunch and spread it before them.

“How are we going to get back down?” she asked.

“One step at a time. But there’s no rush. We can stay up here for as long as you like.”

Taking a deep breath, Anna took a bite of her sandwich, wondering if he realized just how long that might be.

C
HAPTER
S
IXTEEN

They stayed up on the stump for hours. Talking. Laughing. Sometimes doing no more than enjoying the view.

He learned she liked to make things with seashells.

She learned he’d never read
Pride and Prejudice
.

He spoke of his family with affection.

She hardly spoke of her family at all.

He told her he began to support himself at age nine.

She claimed to have earned a share of her family’s living at five.

“You did not,” he scoffed. He lay facing her on his side, his elbow propping him up, his head resting in his hand.

“I most certainly did.” She’d long since discarded her boots and sat with her legs tucked up under her skirts, feet on the stump.

“What a young robin you are—all mouth and no tail.”

“I’ll have you know I supplied our home with all the wood my mother could possibly use.”

He grinned. “You were a lumberjack?”

“Of course not.”

He shook his head. “Then just how is it, missy, that a puny female of only five years supplied wood for her entire family?”

“We were still living in New Bedford at the time. And next door to us was a great, burly shipbuilder. Bigger than you, even.”

He quirked a brow.

“Every morning he’d toss me up onto his huge shoulder and take me with him to the shipyard. Day after day, I’d imitate the workers around me with my dull but serviceable hatchet and saw.”

“In your petticoats? You sawed away at wood in your petticoats?”

Looking out over the valley, Anna hugged her knees to her chest, a fond smile touching her lips. “Actually, my petticoats got in the way, so my friend had a little boy’s suit made for me. Thus emancipated, I never left his side.”

A picture of her this morning without her petticoat flashed into his mind. Was that why she didn’t wear one even today? Because after helping her up the springboards, he knew for a fact she didn’t have one on now.

“I think I require some proof of this outrageous claim,” he said.

“Proof?”

Tugging her hands loose, he made a show of inspecting them. So tiny. So delicate. So incredibly soft. “All ten fingers intact. But anyone of your tender age—particularly a female—would have certainly sawed off an appendage or two.”

His fingers brushed the curve of her wrist.

She pulled her hands free, then reached for her boots and put them on, all the while keeping her feet hidden beneath her skirt. “My friend made sure I didn’t saw off any fingers. Though I did smash them often enough.”

“And this wood you sawed, you brought it home to your family?”

“No. In exchange for the pleasure of my company—which he never seemed to tire of—my friend carried home from the shipyard all the wood we ever needed.”

“With you on his shoulder.”

She smiled. “With me on his shoulder.”

He was going to enjoy being married to her, Joe realized. Whatever had brought about her hard times, the war or some other catastrophe, she was well educated. And though she didn’t speak of her family directly, he was able to ascertain that it had been a loving one.

He still resented being forced into marriage, but he would do what it took to keep his land, and a lifetime with Anna wasn’t going to be as much of a hardship as he’d first supposed.

He’d done everything she’d asked of him, even slept in the barn. The only thing he’d refused to do was chop down Lorraine’s chestnut tree. He knew he should. Not just for Anna, but because it really was dangerous. But he couldn’t make himself do it.

When news of Lorraine’s death had come, he’d held a private memorial for her at the base of that tree. He’d read some words, said a prayer, and laid out a bouquet of flowers. But he hadn’t felt any gripping sadness or overwhelming grief. What he’d felt was guilt—for the absence of those very emotions, and for knowing that if it was his land that he’d lost, he’d grieve far more.

The tree stood in the gap for him, somehow making up for his deficiencies. To chop it down would be callous and disrespectful. And he wouldn’t do it.

Pushing himself to a sitting position, he scooted forward until he bracketed her with his bent legs. The sweet vanilla scent of twinflowers aroused his senses.