Read Online Harper's Bride by Alexis Harrington - Free Book Online
Authors: Alexis Harrington
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she could make a quick escape, she thought, and leave him
down here with his temper.
He released her arm with seeming reluctance,
and she immediately stepped back. "All right, take whatever you
want to make a good meal. You might as well look through this
stuff, too, before I put it back on the shelves." He gestured at
the supplies still heaped on the counter. "If you need help taking
anything upstairs, I'll carry it for—"
"Oh, no, I don't want to trouble you," she
said quickly, avoiding his intense gaze. "If you'll just give me a
gunnysack, I can manage." She glanced up, and he watched her for a
moment longer. Then he nodded and walked away.
Melissa had trouble keeping her mind on her
task; she picked up and put down the same tin of baking soda three
times before she realized what she'd done. In the end, she'd
collected a few potatoes, coffee, sugar, a piece of ham, some dried
apples, and a couple of other staples. It hadn't seemed like much.
When she filled the burlap sack Dylan gave her, it turned out to be
heavier than she'd expected. She gripped it tightly, but when she
dragged it from the counter to lift it, the sack dropped to the
rough floor with a thud, bending her with it.
"Melissa, let me bring this upstairs for
you," Dylan said. His frown dipped to the bridge of his nose,
giving her no confidence.
Worried that he would simply grab it away
from her and take it himself, from her bowed position she
protested, "No, please don't bother. I just lost my grip on it."
With supreme effort she lifted the sack and stood upright, then
dragged it toward the door. Her arms and shoulders, already stiff
from lifting the rice last night, flared with pain, but she refused
to let him see that.
"I'll have dinner ready in an hour or so,"
she panted and hauled her groceries through the open door, glad to
have made her escape.
Dylan stared at the outside wall as he
listened to the sound of her slow steps going up the stairs on the
side of the building. It sounded as if she were dragging the weight
of the world with her.
From his post by the chamber pot, Rafe Dubois
looked first at the now empty doorway, and then at Dylan. "Hell,
that girl is scared to death of you. She probably fears you more
than she does the devil himself," he remarked with casual
surprise.
Dylan shrugged, wishing Rafe hadn't noticed.
"She's got a safe place to live here and more food than she's
probably seen in three months. I can't help it if I scare
her—that's her problem."
But he knew that was a lie, and Rafe's
quirked eyebrow told him that he knew it, too.
*~*~*
Upstairs, Melissa's cooking efforts were
hampered by Jenny. She had fed and changed the baby, but for some
reason her usually quiet and happy child would not settle down. In
fact, she had started getting fussy as soon as Melissa had fed her.
It was as if her own nervousness had telegraphed to Jenny. She put
the baby in her makeshift bed, but after a few minutes she started
crying, and Melissa picked her up and walked with her, anxious to
quiet her. She checked the little girl's diaper for open safety
pins and felt her for fever. She found nothing. But when she tried
to lay Jenny in her crate again, the baby recommenced her howling,
forcing Melissa to pace the room with her.
"Hush, now, button, hush," she urged
feverishly. "We have to be quiet, just like before when your father
was with us, remember? He's gone, but we still have to be
quiet."
Between moments of walking with the baby,
Melissa managed to put together a meal of boiled ham, mashed
potatoes, and apple pie. There was no butter, and only canned milk
for the potatoes, but then she hadn't tasted fresh milk since she
passed through Seattle, months earlier. Butter was something she
had not often seen in her life.
She caught herself listening for the slam of
the door downstairs in the store, for Dylan's footfalls on the
stairs. The sight of him with the meat cleaver in his fist wouldn't
leave her mind. How far would that rage go?
The
down here with his temper.
He released her arm with seeming reluctance,
and she immediately stepped back. "All right, take whatever you
want to make a good meal. You might as well look through this
stuff, too, before I put it back on the shelves." He gestured at
the supplies still heaped on the counter. "If you need help taking
anything upstairs, I'll carry it for—"
"Oh, no, I don't want to trouble you," she
said quickly, avoiding his intense gaze. "If you'll just give me a
gunnysack, I can manage." She glanced up, and he watched her for a
moment longer. Then he nodded and walked away.
Melissa had trouble keeping her mind on her
task; she picked up and put down the same tin of baking soda three
times before she realized what she'd done. In the end, she'd
collected a few potatoes, coffee, sugar, a piece of ham, some dried
apples, and a couple of other staples. It hadn't seemed like much.
When she filled the burlap sack Dylan gave her, it turned out to be
heavier than she'd expected. She gripped it tightly, but when she
dragged it from the counter to lift it, the sack dropped to the
rough floor with a thud, bending her with it.
"Melissa, let me bring this upstairs for
you," Dylan said. His frown dipped to the bridge of his nose,
giving her no confidence.
Worried that he would simply grab it away
from her and take it himself, from her bowed position she
protested, "No, please don't bother. I just lost my grip on it."
With supreme effort she lifted the sack and stood upright, then
dragged it toward the door. Her arms and shoulders, already stiff
from lifting the rice last night, flared with pain, but she refused
to let him see that.
"I'll have dinner ready in an hour or so,"
she panted and hauled her groceries through the open door, glad to
have made her escape.
Dylan stared at the outside wall as he
listened to the sound of her slow steps going up the stairs on the
side of the building. It sounded as if she were dragging the weight
of the world with her.
From his post by the chamber pot, Rafe Dubois
looked first at the now empty doorway, and then at Dylan. "Hell,
that girl is scared to death of you. She probably fears you more
than she does the devil himself," he remarked with casual
surprise.
Dylan shrugged, wishing Rafe hadn't noticed.
"She's got a safe place to live here and more food than she's
probably seen in three months. I can't help it if I scare
her—that's her problem."
But he knew that was a lie, and Rafe's
quirked eyebrow told him that he knew it, too.
*~*~*
Upstairs, Melissa's cooking efforts were
hampered by Jenny. She had fed and changed the baby, but for some
reason her usually quiet and happy child would not settle down. In
fact, she had started getting fussy as soon as Melissa had fed her.
It was as if her own nervousness had telegraphed to Jenny. She put
the baby in her makeshift bed, but after a few minutes she started
crying, and Melissa picked her up and walked with her, anxious to
quiet her. She checked the little girl's diaper for open safety
pins and felt her for fever. She found nothing. But when she tried
to lay Jenny in her crate again, the baby recommenced her howling,
forcing Melissa to pace the room with her.
"Hush, now, button, hush," she urged
feverishly. "We have to be quiet, just like before when your father
was with us, remember? He's gone, but we still have to be
quiet."
Between moments of walking with the baby,
Melissa managed to put together a meal of boiled ham, mashed
potatoes, and apple pie. There was no butter, and only canned milk
for the potatoes, but then she hadn't tasted fresh milk since she
passed through Seattle, months earlier. Butter was something she
had not often seen in her life.
She caught herself listening for the slam of
the door downstairs in the store, for Dylan's footfalls on the
stairs. The sight of him with the meat cleaver in his fist wouldn't
leave her mind. How far would that rage go?
The
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