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Authors: Delilah Marvelle
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outside of his grasp and off his lap. Stumbling forward and onto her feet, she caught herself against the narrow pathway between the two benches leading to the rear door of the omni. “Whatever do you mean you want my land and my apple trees? We barely know each other. Even worse, you don’t even know your name.”
He sat up. “You will need someone to build your cabin, till the land and chop timber. I can do that for you. I can.”
She gawked at him, then shook her head and frantically arranged her skirts. “No. Don’t you be stickin’ your hands into my head and playin’ with my dreams like that. They’re my dreams. You hear? Not yours. Mine .”
He swallowed, his chest tightening. “I need help, Georgia. I need help if I’m going to rebuild a sense of reality. And I think you’re the one to help me do it.”
“Stop it,” she tossed at him in a harsh tone. “I’m not takin’ you with me and I most certainly can’t help you in the way you think I can.”
“I know you can. I felt it before and after we touched.”
She glared at him. “I know what you felt, Brit, and it wasn’t that . I’ve got plans and I’m sorry to say this, because I like you, I really do, but my plans don’t involve a man who doesn’t know his up from his down. A woman such as myself, who has very little to begin with, needs a grain of security. And you aren’t it.”
He scrambled to his feet. “But that kiss—”
“I shouldn’t have allowed for it. All right? I shouldn’t have taken advantage of you. You’re not in your right mind and it was wrong of me. Now just…just get off the damn omni before it takes off and we’re forced to walk half the night.” Throwing open the door, she hurried down the small stairs leading out of the omni and disappeared into the night, leaving him to feel again he belonged to no one and nothing.
CHAPTER FIVE
At Christmas I no more desire a rose
than wish a snow in May’s newfangled shows.
—William Shakespeare, A Pleasant Conceited Comedie Called, Loues labors loft (1598)
R OBINSON JUMPED OUT AFTER Georgia, his boots thudding against the shadowed dirt road, and slammed the rear door of the omni. The boxed carriage reared forward, its large wheels kicking up dust that bit into his watering eyes. An overwhelming stench of festering sewage penetrated his nostrils.
“Bleed me,” he growled, burying the lower half of his face into the crook of his arm in an attempt to block the assaulting stink.
He swung toward Georgia, who was already crossing the wide, dimly lit street. She dodged an oncoming huckster and a peddler cart, disappearing from sight.
He lowered his arm, his heart pounding knowing that his only connection to reality was abandoning him. “Georgia!” He jogged after her, the acrid air crawling down his throat. He swallowed, mentally willing away the sensation of nausea that threatened to heave out his innards. “Do you intend to loathe me for wanting to share in your dream of going west? That hardly seems fair.”
Her shadow reappeared on the pavement just outside the dull, yellowing light of a gas lamppost. She paused and glanced back at him, dropping the folds of her skirts. “Your family is waitin’ for you, Brit. Try to remember that. Someone is out there sheddin’ tears for you, worryin’ themselves into a grave whilst you foolishly talk of chasin’ a dream that isn’t even yours to chase.”
Why did he feel as if she was wrong? Why did he feel as if there was no one waiting for him? Not a mother. Not a wife. No one. “’Tis very difficult for me to care about people I can’t even remember, be they shedding tears for me or not.”
Though he couldn’t see her face against the wavering shadows, he could see the softening of her rigid stance. She blew out a breath. “I suppose I understand.” She waved him over. “Come. We shouldn’t linger. Trouble brews in the dark around these parts.”
Drawing in the sharpness of the dank evening air, he crossed the dirt
He sat up. “You will need someone to build your cabin, till the land and chop timber. I can do that for you. I can.”
She gawked at him, then shook her head and frantically arranged her skirts. “No. Don’t you be stickin’ your hands into my head and playin’ with my dreams like that. They’re my dreams. You hear? Not yours. Mine .”
He swallowed, his chest tightening. “I need help, Georgia. I need help if I’m going to rebuild a sense of reality. And I think you’re the one to help me do it.”
“Stop it,” she tossed at him in a harsh tone. “I’m not takin’ you with me and I most certainly can’t help you in the way you think I can.”
“I know you can. I felt it before and after we touched.”
She glared at him. “I know what you felt, Brit, and it wasn’t that . I’ve got plans and I’m sorry to say this, because I like you, I really do, but my plans don’t involve a man who doesn’t know his up from his down. A woman such as myself, who has very little to begin with, needs a grain of security. And you aren’t it.”
He scrambled to his feet. “But that kiss—”
“I shouldn’t have allowed for it. All right? I shouldn’t have taken advantage of you. You’re not in your right mind and it was wrong of me. Now just…just get off the damn omni before it takes off and we’re forced to walk half the night.” Throwing open the door, she hurried down the small stairs leading out of the omni and disappeared into the night, leaving him to feel again he belonged to no one and nothing.
CHAPTER FIVE
At Christmas I no more desire a rose
than wish a snow in May’s newfangled shows.
—William Shakespeare, A Pleasant Conceited Comedie Called, Loues labors loft (1598)
R OBINSON JUMPED OUT AFTER Georgia, his boots thudding against the shadowed dirt road, and slammed the rear door of the omni. The boxed carriage reared forward, its large wheels kicking up dust that bit into his watering eyes. An overwhelming stench of festering sewage penetrated his nostrils.
“Bleed me,” he growled, burying the lower half of his face into the crook of his arm in an attempt to block the assaulting stink.
He swung toward Georgia, who was already crossing the wide, dimly lit street. She dodged an oncoming huckster and a peddler cart, disappearing from sight.
He lowered his arm, his heart pounding knowing that his only connection to reality was abandoning him. “Georgia!” He jogged after her, the acrid air crawling down his throat. He swallowed, mentally willing away the sensation of nausea that threatened to heave out his innards. “Do you intend to loathe me for wanting to share in your dream of going west? That hardly seems fair.”
Her shadow reappeared on the pavement just outside the dull, yellowing light of a gas lamppost. She paused and glanced back at him, dropping the folds of her skirts. “Your family is waitin’ for you, Brit. Try to remember that. Someone is out there sheddin’ tears for you, worryin’ themselves into a grave whilst you foolishly talk of chasin’ a dream that isn’t even yours to chase.”
Why did he feel as if she was wrong? Why did he feel as if there was no one waiting for him? Not a mother. Not a wife. No one. “’Tis very difficult for me to care about people I can’t even remember, be they shedding tears for me or not.”
Though he couldn’t see her face against the wavering shadows, he could see the softening of her rigid stance. She blew out a breath. “I suppose I understand.” She waved him over. “Come. We shouldn’t linger. Trouble brews in the dark around these parts.”
Drawing in the sharpness of the dank evening air, he crossed the dirt
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