Free Louisa Rawlings by Forever Wild

Old Jack made a last-minute inspection of the provisions, and then frowned.
    “Marcy,” he said, “what happened to the linen bandages and salves, and the rest of that stuff? Did you pack ’em?”
    She shook her head. “No, Uncle Jack.” She pointed in the direction of a small shack at the other end of the spit of sand. “Maybe you left them in the boathouse. I’ll go look.”
    “Bring ’em along if they’re in there,” he said, bending down to stow the paddles under the wicker seats of the boat. “And the jug. I forgot that too. I must be getting old.”
    Mrs. Marshall was at once aroused. “Jug? Did you say jug, Old Jack? Are you speaking of hard spirits?”
    “Well, yes, ma’am…”
    “I’m ‘Temperance’,” she said indignantly. “I cannot tolerate license on a jaunt such as this. We are here to experience the cleansing and healing powers of Mother Nature. Our souls may be refreshed by our surroundings; our bodies can scarcely be so, if you intend to bring along such poisons!”
    “Now, now, Cynthia,” said Dr. Marshall soothingly. “I’m sure that Old Jack intends such spirits for medicinal purposes only. Isn’t that so, Old Jack?”
    Uncle Jack scratched at his stubbly chin. “Sure enough. There’s nothing can ease the peskiness of the black flies when they get to biting, except the insides of a good jug!”
    Mrs. Marshall looked bewildered, as though she were trying to figure out how the whiskey might be administered; before she could ask another question, Old Jack quickly jerked his head in the direction of the shed. “Tarnation, Marcy, what are you waiting for? Go fetch that stuff!”
    “I’ll help you.” Drew Bradford swung into step beside Marcy as she moved toward the boathouse.
    “It isn’t necessary, Mr. Bradford, I…” She stopped, seeing the look in his eyes as he towered over her. She thought, He means to kiss me, whether I want to or not! And the boathouse was dim and far away from the others. She lengthened her stride. “I don’t need your help, Mr. Bradford,” she said sharply.
    He chuckled. “You’re just a little bit of a girl. Do you really think you can walk faster than I can? And my name is Drew.”
    She found herself almost skipping to get away from him. “I don’t want your help.” Her voice shook. She didn’t know whether she was nervous because of his intentions, or angry because he was so cocky about it. “I don’t want your help!” she said again, more firmly this time.
    “Hasn’t anybody ever tried to do something about that stubborn streak? A good dose of castor oil every spring, or something?” He took her by the elbow and propelled her forward to the shack, pushing her inside and closing the door softly behind him. Even in the dim light, she could see the devilish twinkle in his eyes. “Now…” he said.
    She backed up against the far wall. “Don’t you come near me!”
    He grinned. “I promised you I’d take that kiss.”
    “I’ll scream!”
    He clucked his tongue. “Tsk, tsk! What would Mrs. Marshall say? She’d take a conniption fit, and we’d both have to stay behind. You don’t want to scream.” He advanced toward her and put his hands on the wall on either side of her shoulders.
    She looked up and gulped. She hadn’t realized how tall he was. At least eight inches taller than she. Panicky, flustered, she thought about ducking under his arms; but he had already moved nearer and was now so close that she had no space to maneuver.
    “Didn’t they teach you any manners?” she asked in a quavery voice.
    He shook his head. “Not a lick.” His arms came down from the wall and circled her waist, pulling her close to him. “At least not where pretty girls are concerned.”
    She was trembling. His eyes were the clearest blue she’d ever seen, pale and limpid, seeming to look right through her skin. And ringed with black fringes of lash that matched the rakish curl that had fallen over his forehead. She felt an odd tickling