Free Lady Lavender by Lynna Banning Page B

“You knew this. You did not tell me the truth, you said I would have time—” She stopped to suck in an unsteady breath.
    He stepped in closer to her, so close she could see the dark shadow of a beard on his chin, see his gray eyes burning with anger. And something else. Without thinking, she raised both arms and pounded her fists against his chest.
    â€œI do not ever again trust you! I hate you!”
    He wrapped his arms around her so tight she didn’t have room between their bodies to keep pummeling him. Trapped, she dropped her head until her forehead rested on his shirtfront, blinking back the tears that stung into her eyes.
    â€œGot it all out of your system?” he asked quietly.
    â€œI will never get it ‘out of my system,’ as you say. Never.”
    â€œNo doubt you’re a woman of your word.” He let out a breath that gusted warm against the crown of her head. She jerked, but did not look up.
    â€œOf course,” she muttered into his chest. “ I do not ever lie!”
    â€œJeanne, believe me, I’m sorry about this.”
    â€œ Non, you are not sorry. You want your railroad.”
    â€œJeanne, just lis—”
    â€œAnd I want my house. My lavender.”
    â€œLook, the house goes first. They’re going to raze itthis afternoon, so you’ll have to pack up your…” His voice clogged up and the unfinished sentence hung in the morning air.
    â€œI will do no such thing! Jamais! Those men will have to chop me up with their shovels before I—”
    Wash grabbed her shoulders and shook her, hard. “Hush up, will you? Just…be quiet.” He looked at her oddly, hot light kindling in his eyes, and then his mouth was bruising hers. For an instant she forgot that she hated this man and gave herself up to the glorious sensation of his lips on hers. Her insides turned to warm molasses.
    When at last he lifted his head, they were both breathing unevenly. He leaned his forehead against hers. “We’ll get through this, Jeanne. Trust me— Oh, hell, never mind. I’ll send one of the men into town for a wagon to haul your things.”
    Â 
    In tight-lipped silence Jeanne made breakfast for Manette and Wash, scrambled eggs and the last of the bread for toast. Manette gobbled her plate clean; Wash pushed his eggs around and around with his fork and hoped Jeanne wouldn’t notice.
    No such luck. Jeanne noticed everything, even his uneaten piece of burnt toast.
    â€œYou are not hungry?” she inquired, her voice accusing.
    Wash groaned inwardly. He was hungry, but not for scrambled eggs. He wanted another taste of her soft honey-sweet mouth.
    A horse-drawn wagon rattled up outside. Washdropped his napkin beside his plate and bolted for the door.
    The rest of the day he and Jeanne spent without speaking a word to each other while they packed up pots and skillets, china and tableware, and whatever bedding was undamaged after the fire. Wash even loaded Manette’s prized spider box and her Mason jar full of grasshoppers, stuffing them between two quilts so Jeanne wouldn’t be upset by the crawly things.
    Two men from the clearing crew helped to jockey in the cast-iron woodstove and settle the chicken coop into the space remaining. Finally they tied Jeanne’s gray mare to the back end with a lead rope.
    She made a last inspection of the now-empty cabin, then marched out and climbed up onto the driver’s bench next to Manette. Wash left General tied to a tree stump and drove the draft horse and the wagon up the winding trail to the ridge. At the top he reined to a halt.
    â€œYou might want to take one last look? Valley looks real pretty in this light.”
    She turned her face away but did not look down at the cabin. He picked up the reins. She kept her back rigid and her eyes fixed straight ahead for the three-mile trip to town. Not once did she glance back.
    Rooney was waiting at the livery stable.