Free Seduced by Molly O'Keefe

widow looked pale and wan; that bruise on her face was worse this morning than it had been last night.
    “That is our plan,” Annie said, her brown eyes focused and sharp behind her glasses.
    “Are you sure that’s wise?” he asked.
Because it is decidedly unwise.
    “We don't wish to burden you,” Annie said. Melody was eerily quiet, a shadow standing next to her sister.
    “You’re no burden, I assure you. My brother needs care that I have no training to provide.”
    “You keep the wound and bandages clean. Help him regain his strength. He is through the worst of it,” Annie said, sounding damnably reasonable.
    “But there’s too much to be done here for me to care for him.”
    The sisters shared a dubious look.
    “I will pay you, of course,” he said.
    That changed the nature of the sisters’ look.
    “Mr. Smith—” Annie said.
    “Please. Cole.”
    “Cole. May I speak freely?”
    The events of the past days, he would have thought, put them beyond drawing-room manners. “Please,” he said, playing along.
    “We heard you last night, speaking to your brother about us.”
    They heard him say he would have killed them
.
    His skin prickled as his stomach fell to his boots. His eyes flew to Melody's, but she was seemingly engrossed in brushing her horse’s neck. “I'm sorry . . . I didn't intend for you to hear that.”
    “Obviously,” Annie said. “But you can understand our reluctance to stay.”
    “How much would you pay us to stay and care for your brother?” Melody asked, drawing her sister’s angry gaze. There was no sign in Melody of the young, merry hostess she'd been just the other night, or the wild-eyed Valkyrie standing over his brother to keep him safe, or even the soul-dead woman on the porch begging for just a glimpse of kindness. She was cold and distant, buried deep inside herself.
    “Ten dollars a week,” he answered.
    The amount was intended to make it impossible for them to turn it down, and neither of them could quite control the widening of their eyes.
    “For how many weeks?” Melody asked.
    “Until he doesn't need you any longer, I imagine.”
    “That's at least two weeks. Perhaps more,” Melody said.
    Annie was scowling harder at Melody; apparently this was not what the sisters had decided.
    “What are you doing?” Annie asked under her breath.
    “Earning money so we don't have to sell Lilly,” Melody answered.
    “On my honor you are safe here,” he said to them, ignoring the deep irony of him saying those words to them. Nevertheless, he hoped to tip their doubts into faith.
    “On your honor,” Melody scoffed, and he let the insult roll off his shoulders.
    “If it would put your mind at ease I will camp out of the cabin,” he said. “And if I may say, Melody, you are in no shape to ride. You look ready to collapse.”
    She blushed and pressed her hand to the bruise as if she’d forgotten. Annie came up to stand beside her, her arm around her shoulders.
    “My sister and I need to discuss this,” Annie said to him.
    “Of course.” He gave them a little bow, a small relic from the drawing rooms and parlors of his past life, and headed to the barn.
    There was a lot of work to do around the property, far more than just daily chores. The barn needed to be bigger. They needed a smokehouse and chicken coop. He needed to investigate these seeps of Steven's and this clearing he claimed would be good for apples.
    Before the war, Cole had convinced Father to graft the York Imperial apples with Newtown Pippins, and the cider had been improving. He’d been selling it to the tavern for a handsome profit. Mother had been scandalized, but secretly pleased, and Steven had teased all of them for their merchant instincts.
    He closed his eyes against the sharp, bitter pain of those memories. But there were more behind them.
    His father walking through the hedgerows at dawn in his tall boots, two dogs at his side, Gavin sprinting ahead.
    Samantha weaving crowns of apple