minutes later, A.J. emerged from the cab. Tired and frustrated, she didn’t trust herself to say anything so she crossed her arms over her chest and stuck out her chin. Devlin led the way to the farmhouse.
3
T HE CHILLY night air and a desire not to appear weak in front of him made her feel more in control by the time they got to his front door. Following him inside, A.J. found herself in a foyer with a staircase ahead and a kitchen beyond. To the left, a modest living room was furnished sparsely but glowed with the warmth of cherry paneling and some embers that were dying in an old stone fireplace. On the opposite side of the entrance hall was a dining room with an exquisite antique table in the center and a set of carved chairs pressed in tight around its flanks.
Throughout the rooms, oriental rugs covered wide oak planks, and the ceilings, lofty and creamy white, provided fair skies. Everywhere she turned, there were banks of windows stretching from the floor to above her head and she knew light would flood into the rooms during the day. With spectacular views and antique details, it was a gorgeous house but there was something sterile about it. She noticed that there were no family pictures, no snapshots of friends, no random trinkets from vacations. And where were all of his trophies and medals?
“You’ll have to sleep on the couch,” Devlin said, indicating the navy blue slipcovered sofa. “I use the other bedrooms as an office and…for storage.”
She looked up at the hesitation but his face gave away nothing as he put his cane in an umbrella stand and hung up his coat. She followed his lead, taking off her barn jacketand putting it on a peg on the wall, next to his. Side by side, their coats hung tightly together, the sleeves mingling. She found the sight appealing and, as she got her bearings, she felt an air of tantalizing pleasure just being in his home.
Devlin disappeared down the hall and returned with a freshly laundered men’s shirt, still warm from the dryer. “I’ll be back with some pillows and blankets.”
Holding his shirt in her hands, she watched him tackle the stairs with the caution of someone twice his age. Each time he put up the foot of his injured leg, she couldn’t keep herself from wincing. Even though his face remained impassive, she could tell the strain he was under. It was in the flush that covered his face and in the ironfisted grip he had on the railing.
On impulse, A.J. put down the shirt and went after him. At the top of the stairs, she saw several doors and quickly put her head inside one. With only the dim light of the hall for illumination, it was too dark to see anything but odd shapes in the room.
“What are you doing?” His voice cracked like a whip. Reaching past her, he shut the door.
“I wanted to save you the trip back down the—”
“I’m not an invalid and I don’t want you poking around. Why don’t you go down and sit still so I can wait on you?”
A.J. held her tongue and left him in a hurry, wondering what the fuss was about. The more she thought about it, though, she figured he was sensitive about his limp and she’d probably hurt his pride. Considering she was spending the night on his couch and her horse was in one of his stalls, she figured she owed him a little slack.
Minutes later, he came back down the stairs. This time she looked the other way, wishing there was something on the walls to occupy her. She’d have preferred even a velvet Elvis painting over trying to pretend the wood paneling was fascinating as he approached.
Silently, he held out the bedding to her and then disappeared into the kitchen. As soon as she was alone, she released the breath she was holding and made up the couch quickly. With a glance over her shoulder, she made sure she wasn’t going to flash him and changed into his shirt.
As it covered her naked body, she was amazed to find she was wearing Devlin McCloud’s shirt. It was a shirt that, given how
3
T HE CHILLY night air and a desire not to appear weak in front of him made her feel more in control by the time they got to his front door. Following him inside, A.J. found herself in a foyer with a staircase ahead and a kitchen beyond. To the left, a modest living room was furnished sparsely but glowed with the warmth of cherry paneling and some embers that were dying in an old stone fireplace. On the opposite side of the entrance hall was a dining room with an exquisite antique table in the center and a set of carved chairs pressed in tight around its flanks.
Throughout the rooms, oriental rugs covered wide oak planks, and the ceilings, lofty and creamy white, provided fair skies. Everywhere she turned, there were banks of windows stretching from the floor to above her head and she knew light would flood into the rooms during the day. With spectacular views and antique details, it was a gorgeous house but there was something sterile about it. She noticed that there were no family pictures, no snapshots of friends, no random trinkets from vacations. And where were all of his trophies and medals?
“You’ll have to sleep on the couch,” Devlin said, indicating the navy blue slipcovered sofa. “I use the other bedrooms as an office and…for storage.”
She looked up at the hesitation but his face gave away nothing as he put his cane in an umbrella stand and hung up his coat. She followed his lead, taking off her barn jacketand putting it on a peg on the wall, next to his. Side by side, their coats hung tightly together, the sleeves mingling. She found the sight appealing and, as she got her bearings, she felt an air of tantalizing pleasure just being in his home.
Devlin disappeared down the hall and returned with a freshly laundered men’s shirt, still warm from the dryer. “I’ll be back with some pillows and blankets.”
Holding his shirt in her hands, she watched him tackle the stairs with the caution of someone twice his age. Each time he put up the foot of his injured leg, she couldn’t keep herself from wincing. Even though his face remained impassive, she could tell the strain he was under. It was in the flush that covered his face and in the ironfisted grip he had on the railing.
On impulse, A.J. put down the shirt and went after him. At the top of the stairs, she saw several doors and quickly put her head inside one. With only the dim light of the hall for illumination, it was too dark to see anything but odd shapes in the room.
“What are you doing?” His voice cracked like a whip. Reaching past her, he shut the door.
“I wanted to save you the trip back down the—”
“I’m not an invalid and I don’t want you poking around. Why don’t you go down and sit still so I can wait on you?”
A.J. held her tongue and left him in a hurry, wondering what the fuss was about. The more she thought about it, though, she figured he was sensitive about his limp and she’d probably hurt his pride. Considering she was spending the night on his couch and her horse was in one of his stalls, she figured she owed him a little slack.
Minutes later, he came back down the stairs. This time she looked the other way, wishing there was something on the walls to occupy her. She’d have preferred even a velvet Elvis painting over trying to pretend the wood paneling was fascinating as he approached.
Silently, he held out the bedding to her and then disappeared into the kitchen. As soon as she was alone, she released the breath she was holding and made up the couch quickly. With a glance over her shoulder, she made sure she wasn’t going to flash him and changed into his shirt.
As it covered her naked body, she was amazed to find she was wearing Devlin McCloud’s shirt. It was a shirt that, given how
Similar Books
