Loving Linsey (12 page)

Used to, hell. The old fantasy had been creeping into his thoughts more and more lately since his brief encounter with her in the Hagger kitchen. No matter how much he wanted to forget, Linsey had the disturbing ability to make him remember the scent of lavender, the suppleness of her figure, the thud of her heartbeat against his ribs.

Under his breath, Daniel cursed both his head and his rapidly hardening groin. So
much for being in control of her effect on him. No woman should have the power to arouse a man just by a memory. Why could he recall all those tantalizing details about a smart-mouthed, wild-scheming, trouble-stirring vixen? What kind of fool did that make him?

The biggest one in Horseshoe, no doubt.

Daniel lurched to his feet in sudden panic. “Miss Louisa, my thanks for supper and the fine company, but it's getting late.”

She glanced at him, surprised. “You're leaving before dessert?”

Damned right; he had to get out of here before his condition became too noticeable. “I have a long day ahead of me.”

She started to rise from her chair. Fearing that she'd topple over if she stood, Daniel quickly said, “I can see myself out, ma'am.”

“Give my regards to your father, then, won't you?”

“Of course.”

“Oh, and Daniel, be careful going home.”

He paused at the cryptic remark, then, with a nod to both ladies, excused himself before Linsey returned. He all but tore his overcoat off the rack in his haste to make it out the door.

Once on the veranda, he dragged in a breath of air so deep it stung his lungs. He released it, then sucked in another one, and yet another still . . .

Gradually his tight muscles began to loosen and his blood started flowing a little more freely.

Jesus, he thought—or prayed—he wasn't sure which. How could he desire a woman
who'd ruined everything he'd spent years working for?

He crossed the veranda, determination in his stride. All right, so she stirred up his lust. So he hadn't gotten over his weakness for her—there was no use denying it. But just because she aroused him physically didn't mean he'd soften toward her; it only meant that he couldn't trust his body not to betray him. There was one way to fix that—stay the hell away from her.

As he reached the bottom step, the faint, lilting sound of his name drifting out of a window stopped him cold.

Ignore it
, Daniel told himself.
It doesn't matter if she's talking about you
. The evening had been mercifully uneventful for the most part; no need to test its generosity. But as his feet began moving toward the sound in complete defiance of his will, Daniel realized he could no more resist the lure of Linsey's voice than he could walk out in the middle of a tricky operation.

Besides, he reminded himself, Linsey had mischief up her sleeve—mischief that in some way involved him. He'd be damned if he'd sit on his hands, waiting for her to plunge the knife into his back. The more he learned about what she was up to, the better prepared he'd be.

Keeping to the shadows, Daniel stole around the corner of the veranda. A door slammed open. He threw himself back against the wooden skirting just as two figures emerged from the back door. Moonlight outlined
their shapes as they moved past a shed to a box on stilts, located a good distance from the house. He couldn't hear their words, but from the gestures he'd become witness to some disagreement. He saw Linsey turn her attention to the bucket in her hand, picking through the contents.

Daniel crept closer to the flat-roofed shed near the cage, his footsteps muffled by the thick grass.

“I just don't understand it,” he heard Linsey say. “The evening was progressing so nicely! Why would he leave?”

“All I know is that he said he had an early day tomorrow,” Addie replied.

“There must be more to it than that. Did you say anything to him?”

“Of course not!”

“Well, that explains it,” Linsey cried in exasperation. “What did you do, faint again?”

“There's no need to be cruel—I'm not the one who came up with this ludicrous idea!”

“It wasn't ludicrous; it was a perfectly good idea that just didn't turn out as I'd hoped. That doesn't mean we should give up.”

“Oh, Linsey, you are impossible!”

Daniel almost gave away his presence by laughing. Impossible? A mild description compared to those he'd come up with in the past, yet not entirely inappropriate.

Impossible she was. And reckless. And too damn tempting for her own good.

Or his.

That was it: it was time to haul himself out of here before his wayward lust got the best of
him again—or worse, before he was discovered. He spun away from the wall and a twig snapped beneath his sole.

“What was that?” Addie asked.

Daniel froze and cursed beneath his breath.

“What was what?”

“I heard something.”

Daniel didn't dare move.

The sounds around him seemed to amplify to an almost painful level—the harsh breaths of Linsey and Addie, the scratching of whatever they kept in the cage, and the thud of his own heartbeat.

He had no way of judging how long he stayed hidden behind the shed before Linsey finally said, “Well, I don't hear anything.”

“I'm telling you, something is out there.”

“It was probably a squirrel.”

He sensed more than heard them move away from the cage, and released the breath trapped his lungs. For chrissake, what was he doing, skulking around the Gordon property like a two-bit thief? How had he sunk to such depths? And for all the effort, he had no more clue as to what Linsey was up to now than he'd had before.

At least he could be thankful for one thing, he decided, pushing away from the wall. he'd come out of an evening spent with Calamity Linsey unscathed—

Then he stepped out from behind the shed.

Never set your hat on a bed.

T
he slops hit him full in the face.

And in the neck, and on the front, dripping down his smart-looking tie, bleached white shirt, and brocade vest.

Addie gasped.

Linsey gaped. The metal bucket she'd flung at their “intruder” fell to the ground with a clatter. “Daniel?” She didn't really need him to answer; she knew who stood there. Only one man in Horseshoe owned such a broad set of shoulders.

“Oh, heavens, Linsey. What have you done?” Addie whispered in horror.

Linsey couldn't answer. She could only stare at the man before her, potato peelings in his hair, curdled milk dribbling down his stern jaw.

She should be mortified. She should apologize immediately, and make some effort to soothe the almost tangible temper simmering behind the rigid features and stiff posture.

She really, really shouldn't . . . A choked
chuckle broke through, quickly growing into full-fledged peals of laughter. Linsey tried to pull herself together, clamping her lips tightly, and covering her mouth with her hand. But he looked so adorably pitiful, that it was all she could do not to hug him.

All the while, Daniel simply stood there, moving not a muscle, uttering not a sound.

Then, his long fingers swiped across his eyes, clearing away the mess.

Linsey's laughter dwindled.

If looks were lightning bolts, she'd have been nothing more than a singed spot on the lawn. It was amazing that eyes could be so cold and so hot at once. Even more amazing was that she wasn't used to it by now. Daniel had been looking at her in the same blisteringly frigid way ever since the day the bag of mail had been fished out of Horseshoe Creek.

Even so, Linsey had to admire his aplomb when he did nothing more than nod stiffly and say, “Good evening, ladies.” Then he spun on his heel and marched down the hill with all the pride of a military captain.

For a moment, he'd reminded Linsey of her father—a man who barked orders and strode through life as if it were to be conquered and not enjoyed. Where did men learn such emotional control?

“You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Linsey Gordon!”

Linsey turned to her sister and met a look so stern that she almost swore Addie had turned into Evelyn Witt. “Me? What for?”

“I can't believe you threw slops in Daniel's face!”

“How was I supposed to know
he
was your intruder? What was he doing sneaking around out here, anyway?”

“Daniel wouldn't sneak around—he was probably returning from the—oh, no!” Addie's gaze shot to the outhouse, a short distance beyond the shed. “We accosted the poor man for using the necessary!”

Frankly, Linsey thought he'd brought it on himself—he should have averted the bad luck.

“How am I ever to face him again?” Addie wailed into her hands.

Linsey instantly folded her arms around her distressed sister. “Oh, Addie, don't cry. Maybe the evening could have ended on a better note, but all isn't lost. We just have to come up with a new plan.”

Over the next few days, that resolve remained with Linsey as she attempted without success to bring Addie and Daniel together. Each day she and Addie returned to the old habit of sitting at the ice-cream counter after school, and though Linsey basked in this precious time with her sister, the most either of them saw of Daniel were his coattails flapping in the breeze. The man seemed to be going out of his way to avoid them.

By the third day, Linsey realized that they were wasting time they didn't have. Sitting around waiting for Daniel to notice Addie was clearly not working. She had to do something,
and if she didn't do it fast, Addie would wind up alone and lonely for the rest of her life.

But what could she do?

With a knapsack filled with horseshoes slung over her shoulder, a pocketful of nails weighing down her skirt pocket, and a hammer banging against her hip, Linsey pondered her options on her way to town.

It would be so much easier if she could simply tell Daniel how Addie felt about him, and hope it would open his eyes to the possibilities of happily-ever-after. However, she had a feeling that one whisper of marriage would send him fleeing faster than a spooked horse.

The only other option was nothing short of manipulation: to get Addie and Daniel together in a compromising situation where he would have to marry her for the sake of honor. But that plan didn't sit well, for what if he resented being forced to wed and took his misery out on her sister?

No, it was best to stick to the original strategy—putting them together where he couldn't help but notice her. The trouble was, whenever she did manage to get them together, Addie swooned, Daniel left, or someone interrupted them.

What she needed was to get them together in the same place, at the same time, where neither could escape.

But how?

The question preyed on Linsey's mind as she moved from building to building, adjusting crooked horseshoes already tacked above door frames and fastening the iron charms
where none existed to bring good fortune to her neighbors. It gave her a good feeling to know she'd done something to brighten their lives.

When she reached the apothecary, it didn't surprise her to find nothing but a bare shingle above the door frame. Obviously Daniel believed in good fortune as much as he believed in forgiveness.

And therein lay her biggest obstacle. His lack of faith—in laughter, in life, in love. She began to wonder if he closed off his emotions so easily because he had no reason to believe in happily-ever-afters. If so, was that a result of his strict upbringing, as Jenny presumed? Or had the woman he'd planned to marry hurt him so badly?

The possibility preoccupied her as she tapped a nail into the horseshoe above the Sharpes' door and gathered her belongings. Just as she started around the bend fronting the church and school, a stray cat strolled out of a line of bushes. Linsey paused and held her breath. She loved cats, but she was also aware of the power of fortune they held. Especially black ones. She crouched low, and keeping her gaze locked with the brilliant green eyes staring at her, softly coaxed the animal over. “Here, kitty, kitty, kitty. . . .”

It blinked a slow, lazy blink. Then it dipped its head and strolled toward her with a graceful, rolling gait.

Linsey grinned jubilantly and scratched the cat between its ears. If it had dashed away from her, it would have taken its luck with it;
but by approaching her, it gave Linsey the first ray of hope that the day would be filled with good fortune.

Her spirits felt light as air as she rose and continued toward Puckett's Merchandise. Only then did it register that she was the only person in town. She glanced around in puzzlement. Where had everyone gone? Only a second ago, Madame Cecilee had been visiting with Hazel Mittermier in front of her shop, and Mr. Puckett had been sweeping the front walk of his store.

A burst of distant laughter brought Linsey's attention swerving to her left, where a splash of brilliant color peered over the hedge tops. What in the name of Gus was it?

Linsey joined the crowd of townspeople that had already gathered in the empty lot beside the school, where people were pointing and chattering at the peculiar sight.

“Well, glory be. Would you look at that!” Linsey breathed, approaching closer than anyone else dared to venture. It looked like a bubble lying on its side, and was at least fifteen feet wide and God only knew how long. Scads of ropes were stretched out on the ground, and Robert Jarvis appeared to be attaching some sort of basket to the mouth of the slowly swelling bubble.

“What is this thing?” she asked him.

He twisted around and his thick brown eyebrows pulled into a frown. “It's a hah-dro-gin balloon I ordered months ago. Now go away, Linsey. I don't need you jinxing it before I even get a chance to use it.”

She ignored him. “What do you do with it?”

“You ride in it, of course!”

“In that?” She gestured toward the panels of purple, green, and gold silk.