Read Online Twice Blessed by Jo Ann Ferguson - Free Book Online Page A

cedar left in there.” Taking a sip of the coffee as she sat across from him, he smiled. “You brew a strong cup.”
    â€œIt wasn’t so strong earlier. If you’d like me to make a fresh pot—”
    When he put his hand on her arm to keep her from jumping to her feet, he was astonished at the flash in her eyes. He had seen it before, but not on her face. Fear. He pulled his hand back.
    â€œThe coffee is fine,” he said, although a dozen questions battered at his lips. His motion had been nothing more than polite, but her fingers quivered as she lifted her cup. Putting his own on the table, he added, “I want to thank you again for opening your door to us at this hour and for taking care of Fuzzball, Emma.”
    â€œI’m glad I could help.” Emma drew in a deep, steadying breath. She was acting as frightened as a child and with just as little reason. “In Haven, we try to be friendly neighbors.”
    â€œSo you’ve told me.” He swirled the coffee about in his cup. His expression became hard again. “Too bad I haven’t seen much sign of that.”
    She dampened her lips. “What did you want to tell me privately?”
    â€œDo you know Leo Murray who has the farm next to mine?”
    â€œOf course.”
    â€œWhat do you know about him?”
    She laughed without humor. “A lot.”
    â€œWhat can you tell me?”
    â€œI don’t like to speak ill of people—”
    â€œBut there isn’t much good you can say about that crotchety old man.”
    She rested her elbows on the table and let the steam from her cup billow into her face. Nightmares and night callers. She was going to be useless tomorrow. Fortunately it was Sunday, so she needed to worry only about not falling asleep at church. Reverend Faulkner might understand, but others would not. She tried to concentrate on what her unexpected guest was saying, but it was difficult when she wanted so desperately to yawn.
    â€œYou believe Mr. Murray shot your dog?” she asked, clenching her teeth so the yawn could not escape.
    â€œI know he shot Fuzzball.”
    â€œBut why?” She gripped her cup and frowned. “Mr. Murray is very protective of his animals. Did you let your dog get into his sheep?”
    â€œThat’s what he says.”
    â€œThen he had a right to scare your dog away.”
    â€œBy shooting it?” He stood and drained his cup. Setting it in the dry sink, he shook his head. “There are other ways to keep a dog from chasing sheep.”
    Emma sighed. “Look, Noah, you’re new here, and I suspect you’re new to farming.”
    â€œHow did you know that?”
    â€œJust a guess, from your reaction to Mr. Murray’s warnings. Did you used to live in a city?”
    He hesitated, then said, “Yes.”
    She frowned, unable to guess why he would be so reluctant to answer such a harmless question. She was tempted to tell him she was probably the only one in Haven who would not pry into someone else’s secrets. Nobody else would be as circumspect. Small town folks loved gossip.
    â€œAre there lots of rules out here in the country I should know about?” he asked, leaning back on the dry sink.
    She wished he had remained sitting. With the table between them, she could pretend not to notice the brawny muscles his wet shirt was unable to hide. He was as roughly hewn as the wood he worked with. Again she found herself staring at his hands. Only a man who loved his work would work hard enough to raise those calluses.
    Taking a sip of coffee to keep herself from staring more, Emma said, “There are plenty of rules out here in the country. Not like the rules in the city, where you need to know when and where to cross the street. Our rules have to do with making and keeping good neighbors.”
    â€œAnd one of the first is not to let your dog chase your neighbor’s sheep?”
    â€œOne of the