Read Online Hummingbird by Lavyrle Spencer - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lavyrle Spencer
Tags: Fiction
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me? he mouthed once more.
She stiffened her face and snapped, "I don't know!" then jammed the spoon into his mouth, clacking it against his teeth.
The spoon kept coming faster and fasten barely giving him time to swallow between each thrust. The bitch is going to drown me, damn her! he cursed silently. This time he grabbed the spoon in midair and sent chicken broth spraying all over the front of her spotless blouse. She recoiled, sucked in her belly, and closed her eyes as if beseeching the gods for patience. Her nostrils flared as she glared hatred at him.
He jerked his chin at the soup bowl, glowering furiously until she picked it up and held it near his chin.
He'd discovered while eating the broth that he was nearly starved. But with his left hand he was clumsy, so after a few inept attempts, he flung the spoon aside, grabbed the bowl, and slurped directly from it, taking perverse pleasure in shocking her.
A barbarian! she thought. I have been fighting to save the life of a barbarian! Like some slobbering beast, he went on till the bowl was empty. But as her thumb curled over it, he jerked it back, mouthing, "Who shot me?" She jerked the bowl stubbornly again, but with a painful lunge he yanked it from her, flung it across the room, where it shattered against the base of the window seat. He pierced her with eyes which knew no end of rage. His face went livid as he was forced to use the voice that cut his throat to ribbons.
"Goddamn you, bitch! Was it you!" he croaked.
Oh, the pain! The pain! He clutched his throat as she jumped back, squeezing both hands before her while two spots of color appeared in her cheeks. Never in her life had anyone spoken to Miss Abigail McKenzie in such a manner. To think she had nursed this… this baboon and struggled to get him to awaken, to speak, only to be cursed at, called a bitch, and accused of being the one who shot him! She drew her mouth into a disdainful pucker, but before she could say anything more, the alarmed voice of David Melcher rang through the house.
"Miss Abigail! Miss Abigail! Are you all right down there?"
"Who's that!" the rasping voice demanded.
It gave her immense pleasure to answer him at last. "That, sir, is the man who shot you!"
Before her answer could sink in, the voice came again. "Did that animal try to harm you?"
She scurried out, presumably to the bottom of the steps. "I'm fine, Mr Melcher, now go back to bed. I just had an accident with a soup bowl."
Melcher? Who the hell was this Melcher to call him an animal? And why did she lie about the soup bowl?
She came back in and knelt to pick up the broken pieces. He longed to hurl questions at her, to jump up and shake her, make her fill in the blanks, but he hurt everywhere now from throwing the damn bowl. All he could do was glare at her while she came to stand beside the bed with a supercilious attitude.
"Cursing, Mr. Cameron, is a crutch for the dim-witted. Furthermore, I am not a bitch, but if I were, perhaps I would shoot you to put you out of your own self-inflicted misery and to be rid of you. I, unlike you, am civilized, thus I shall only stand back and hope that you will choke to death!" She punctuated this statement by dropping the broken china on the tray with a clatter. But before she left, she plagued him further by dropping one last morsel, just enough to rouse a thousand unaskable questions.
"You were shot, Mr. Cameron, while attempting to hold up a train…" She arched a brow, then added,
"As if you didn't know." And with that she was gone.
Chapter 4
P
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He clenched his good fist. Oh, she was some smug bitch! What train? I'm no goddamn train robber! And who is this Melcher anyway? Obviously not her husband. Her protector? Ha! She needs protecting like a tarantula needs protecting.
Miss Abigail stood in her kitchen quaking like an aspen, looking at the broken fragments of china, wondering why she hadn't heeded Doctor Dougherty's warning.
She stiffened her face and snapped, "I don't know!" then jammed the spoon into his mouth, clacking it against his teeth.
The spoon kept coming faster and fasten barely giving him time to swallow between each thrust. The bitch is going to drown me, damn her! he cursed silently. This time he grabbed the spoon in midair and sent chicken broth spraying all over the front of her spotless blouse. She recoiled, sucked in her belly, and closed her eyes as if beseeching the gods for patience. Her nostrils flared as she glared hatred at him.
He jerked his chin at the soup bowl, glowering furiously until she picked it up and held it near his chin.
He'd discovered while eating the broth that he was nearly starved. But with his left hand he was clumsy, so after a few inept attempts, he flung the spoon aside, grabbed the bowl, and slurped directly from it, taking perverse pleasure in shocking her.
A barbarian! she thought. I have been fighting to save the life of a barbarian! Like some slobbering beast, he went on till the bowl was empty. But as her thumb curled over it, he jerked it back, mouthing, "Who shot me?" She jerked the bowl stubbornly again, but with a painful lunge he yanked it from her, flung it across the room, where it shattered against the base of the window seat. He pierced her with eyes which knew no end of rage. His face went livid as he was forced to use the voice that cut his throat to ribbons.
"Goddamn you, bitch! Was it you!" he croaked.
Oh, the pain! The pain! He clutched his throat as she jumped back, squeezing both hands before her while two spots of color appeared in her cheeks. Never in her life had anyone spoken to Miss Abigail McKenzie in such a manner. To think she had nursed this… this baboon and struggled to get him to awaken, to speak, only to be cursed at, called a bitch, and accused of being the one who shot him! She drew her mouth into a disdainful pucker, but before she could say anything more, the alarmed voice of David Melcher rang through the house.
"Miss Abigail! Miss Abigail! Are you all right down there?"
"Who's that!" the rasping voice demanded.
It gave her immense pleasure to answer him at last. "That, sir, is the man who shot you!"
Before her answer could sink in, the voice came again. "Did that animal try to harm you?"
She scurried out, presumably to the bottom of the steps. "I'm fine, Mr Melcher, now go back to bed. I just had an accident with a soup bowl."
Melcher? Who the hell was this Melcher to call him an animal? And why did she lie about the soup bowl?
She came back in and knelt to pick up the broken pieces. He longed to hurl questions at her, to jump up and shake her, make her fill in the blanks, but he hurt everywhere now from throwing the damn bowl. All he could do was glare at her while she came to stand beside the bed with a supercilious attitude.
"Cursing, Mr. Cameron, is a crutch for the dim-witted. Furthermore, I am not a bitch, but if I were, perhaps I would shoot you to put you out of your own self-inflicted misery and to be rid of you. I, unlike you, am civilized, thus I shall only stand back and hope that you will choke to death!" She punctuated this statement by dropping the broken china on the tray with a clatter. But before she left, she plagued him further by dropping one last morsel, just enough to rouse a thousand unaskable questions.
"You were shot, Mr. Cameron, while attempting to hold up a train…" She arched a brow, then added,
"As if you didn't know." And with that she was gone.
Chapter 4
P
r
e
v
i o
u
s
T
o
p
N
e
x
t
He clenched his good fist. Oh, she was some smug bitch! What train? I'm no goddamn train robber! And who is this Melcher anyway? Obviously not her husband. Her protector? Ha! She needs protecting like a tarantula needs protecting.
Miss Abigail stood in her kitchen quaking like an aspen, looking at the broken fragments of china, wondering why she hadn't heeded Doctor Dougherty's warning.
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