Read Online Beneath the Black Moon (Root Sisters) by Clara Fine - Free Book Online Page B

grateful to you,” Mrs. Charmon said, glaring at her offspring until they
obediently offered their thanks. “And to you, Mr. Anderson.”
    “Don’t
mention it,” Brent said with a charming smile. Cam wanted to hit him in the
face with her basket. She turned away instead, hoping to slip off into the
forest before he had a chance to talk to her. “Miss Johnson?” He called after
her, and she could hear hidden laughter in his voice.
    She
bit her tongue and turned to face him. “Yes Bren- I mean, Mr. Anderson.”
    His
gaze softened a little at her slip. “You may call me Brent,”
    “Thank
you,” Cam said, “but I think that Mr. Anderson will suffice.” She needed that
extra formality to serve as another wall between them. Another reminder that he
was someone to be kept at a distance. 
    “Suit
yourself,” he said, the mocking gleam returning to his eyes.
    “Farewell,”
Cam said, painfully aware of Mrs. Charmon closely watching their interaction.
    “You’re
not going off alone?” Brent asked, and he was a good actor indeed, because he
actually sounded concerned at the thought.
    Cam
sighed, certain where this was headed and hoping to cut him off at the pass.
“No,” she lied. “I have a woman waiting for me not far from here.” The last
thing she wanted was for him to offer to escort her anywhere.
    His
gaze sharpened. “You mean a slave.” The words were almost accusatory, and Cam
bristled.
    “My
father’s,” she said, disliking the defensive tone in her own voice. He didn’t
know her. He had no idea what she and Diana did some nights when Mattie
Deveraux asked it of them. How dare he judge her? “Excuse me.”
    She
had only gone a few paces when the faint rustle of grass signaled that he was
walking behind her. Cam didn’t say anything, determined to ignore him, but when
he appeared to be prepared to wait her out, she cleared her throat. “Yes?” She
asked.
    “I
will walk with you until you reach her,” Brent said, more solemnly than before.
“And I did not mean to offend you.”
    “You
didn’t. And that’s not necessary,” Cam told him, “really it isn’t.”
    Brent
looked at her as if she were crazy. “Forgive my caution, but I’ll escort you
anyway.”
    “Nothing’s
going to happen to me,” Cam said. “I practically grew up in these woods. If
anyone is in any danger here, it’s you. You’re the stranger.”
    “Humor
me,” he told her, and Cam fell silent. It wasn’t as though it was really her
safety he was worried about, she reminded herself. He was only waiting for the
opportunity to quiz her again.
    “Careful!”
He said suddenly, and he reached out and caught a sharp branch before it
scratched her face. He offered her his hand to help her over a fallen log, but she
pretended not to see it and scrambled over the log herself. She was having a
hard enough time ignoring the breadth of his shoulders and the movement of his
muscles under his shirt. The last thing she needed was to hold hands with him,
especially since they were still just barely within sight of the Charmon
cottage.
    As
the minutes passed, though, Cam had to admit that there was something pleasant
about having him with her, even if his body was distracting and the silence was
a little awkward. He was so masculine and so different from the other men she’d
met. It wasn’t just his face. It was his entire demeanor, the way that he
carried himself and the way that he walked protectively beside her as though
she had nothing to fear as long as he was there. The masculinity was alien to
her, as a child who had been raised in a household of feminine whispers and
rustling skirts. The only man she had ever spent much time with was her father,
and he wasn’t at all like Brent.
    Her
father was hunched under the weight of age and tragedy, and so gentlemanly ,
with his stiff ruffled collars and squeaky-clean shoes. There was something
more primal, almost elemental about Brent. He was like a force of nature, a
clever