Read Online Road to Glory by Tessa Berkley - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Tessa Berkley
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him a playful glance. “Now look what you’ve done. She’ll be sending me to the store for every sort of odds and ends.”
He raised his hands in mock surrender. “I apologize.”
“Don’t you dare. A woman needs a good compliment every now and then, young man.” Alma’s finger waggled at him. “And you remember that.”
Travis blinked, catching the spark in Alma’s tawny brown eyes. Her words were both a warning and an invitation to show Glory how much of a gentleman he could be. “Yes, ma’am, I will.”
Alma rose from the table. “Well, I’ve got dishes to do. You young people run along. I’m sure you’ve got something better to do than keep an old woman company.”
Travis placed his utensils across the plate and handed it to Glory, who rose to help. She smiled, took his plate, and with a brush of her fingers moved away. He swallowed roughly and watched her saunter toward the sink where Alma stood with her back to him, already busy with the soap and suds. From the vantage point of the table, he watched Glory move, her footsteps as full of grace as any dancer’s. A longing to hold her hit him squarely in the middle, yet he could not act upon it. Pushing himself from the table, he listened to their conversation feeling like he was eavesdropping.
“I’m going to be making out my menu later on. Anything special you want for dinner this week?”
“No, ma’am,” he heard Glory answer.
Reaching for his cane, he heard his name being called.
“Mr. Hargrove, is there anything special I can make for you?”
Turning at Alma’s question, Travis shook his head no. “Not a thing, thank you, ma’am. I’m not picky.”
“Come to think of it, Alma, I could go for some of your chili,” Glory replied.
“Done.” Alma gave a nod. “Now out with you. Take those clean sheets when you go over to the mansion, along with the towels. I pick up laundry on Thursdays, Mr. Hargrove. If you’ll strip your bed and have your things in the basket, I’ll have them done for you by Saturday.”
“You don’t need to. I can wash my own things,” he protested.
“I have a feeling you gonna have your hands full enough with Mr. Davis and his ruffians,” Alma scoffed.
He caught Glory’s wondrous grin and closed his mouth. Travis knew he didn’t want to protest and see that expression lost. “All right,” he agreed.
“Go on now, the both of you.” Alma shooed them from the kitchen.
****
He waited outside while Glory picked up the laundry basket containing the sheets and three sets of towels. Hearing the screen door slam, Travis’ hands tightened on the head of his walking stick. This spoke of being wrong. He couldn’t rein in the feeling of uselessness. It should be him. He should be the one carrying the basket, just like it should have been him driving. Yet now he didn’t trust his own unsteady steps. Travis caught her glance.
“It’s not heavy,” she replied, as if she’d read his thoughts.
Travis glanced at the horizon, hoping she didn’t see the hurt in his eyes. “Which way?”
“Right over here.” She motioned toward a small single-story bungalow tucked beneath two tall oaks.
“Nice color.”
“Alma likes yellow.” Glory smiled. “The field behind the house is where we keep the yearling cattle. There’s a small shelter for them over there, so they shouldn’t bother you.”
Great , he thought to himself, pushing the negativity aside. I’ll be seeing the steers each day. Maybe that will lessen the fear and I won’t feel like such a coward. With a sigh, he fell into step beside her. “Alma has a unique accent,” Travis said, as they walked beneath the shade of the old oak trees that bordered the lawn. “I can’t quite place it.”
“It’s Carolina,” Glory responded. “Alma and her husband were from a small island just off the coast of Charleston, South Carolina.”
He felt his brows arch. “Wyoming from South Carolina—that’s quite a haul.”
“Alma’s husband,
He raised his hands in mock surrender. “I apologize.”
“Don’t you dare. A woman needs a good compliment every now and then, young man.” Alma’s finger waggled at him. “And you remember that.”
Travis blinked, catching the spark in Alma’s tawny brown eyes. Her words were both a warning and an invitation to show Glory how much of a gentleman he could be. “Yes, ma’am, I will.”
Alma rose from the table. “Well, I’ve got dishes to do. You young people run along. I’m sure you’ve got something better to do than keep an old woman company.”
Travis placed his utensils across the plate and handed it to Glory, who rose to help. She smiled, took his plate, and with a brush of her fingers moved away. He swallowed roughly and watched her saunter toward the sink where Alma stood with her back to him, already busy with the soap and suds. From the vantage point of the table, he watched Glory move, her footsteps as full of grace as any dancer’s. A longing to hold her hit him squarely in the middle, yet he could not act upon it. Pushing himself from the table, he listened to their conversation feeling like he was eavesdropping.
“I’m going to be making out my menu later on. Anything special you want for dinner this week?”
“No, ma’am,” he heard Glory answer.
Reaching for his cane, he heard his name being called.
“Mr. Hargrove, is there anything special I can make for you?”
Turning at Alma’s question, Travis shook his head no. “Not a thing, thank you, ma’am. I’m not picky.”
“Come to think of it, Alma, I could go for some of your chili,” Glory replied.
“Done.” Alma gave a nod. “Now out with you. Take those clean sheets when you go over to the mansion, along with the towels. I pick up laundry on Thursdays, Mr. Hargrove. If you’ll strip your bed and have your things in the basket, I’ll have them done for you by Saturday.”
“You don’t need to. I can wash my own things,” he protested.
“I have a feeling you gonna have your hands full enough with Mr. Davis and his ruffians,” Alma scoffed.
He caught Glory’s wondrous grin and closed his mouth. Travis knew he didn’t want to protest and see that expression lost. “All right,” he agreed.
“Go on now, the both of you.” Alma shooed them from the kitchen.
****
He waited outside while Glory picked up the laundry basket containing the sheets and three sets of towels. Hearing the screen door slam, Travis’ hands tightened on the head of his walking stick. This spoke of being wrong. He couldn’t rein in the feeling of uselessness. It should be him. He should be the one carrying the basket, just like it should have been him driving. Yet now he didn’t trust his own unsteady steps. Travis caught her glance.
“It’s not heavy,” she replied, as if she’d read his thoughts.
Travis glanced at the horizon, hoping she didn’t see the hurt in his eyes. “Which way?”
“Right over here.” She motioned toward a small single-story bungalow tucked beneath two tall oaks.
“Nice color.”
“Alma likes yellow.” Glory smiled. “The field behind the house is where we keep the yearling cattle. There’s a small shelter for them over there, so they shouldn’t bother you.”
Great , he thought to himself, pushing the negativity aside. I’ll be seeing the steers each day. Maybe that will lessen the fear and I won’t feel like such a coward. With a sigh, he fell into step beside her. “Alma has a unique accent,” Travis said, as they walked beneath the shade of the old oak trees that bordered the lawn. “I can’t quite place it.”
“It’s Carolina,” Glory responded. “Alma and her husband were from a small island just off the coast of Charleston, South Carolina.”
He felt his brows arch. “Wyoming from South Carolina—that’s quite a haul.”
“Alma’s husband,
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