Free Anything for You by Jo Ann Ferguson Page B

Saratoga?” He sent a stone skidding across the ice. When it slid to a stop near the middle of the frozen river, he said, “Different places. Wherever my work takes me. I like to see different parts of the country.”
    â€œWhat place did you like best?” She had to keep the conversation going. Maybe he would divulge more about himself.
    He leaned his arm behind her. Even though the waning sunlight added to the chill, the mere brush of his sleeve against the back of her coat sent fiery delight along her. She did not move as he raised his other hand and swept it across the sky as if building a scene from his imagination.
    â€œSan Francisco,” he answered. “I loved the hills and the sea and the bay and all the excitement of a city coming to life.” His fingertip brushed her cheek, bringing her face toward his. “You’d love it there, too, Gypsy. Instead of staying up day and night to cook for these jacks, you could be dancing and gambling and playing host to the city’s rich.”
    â€œNot my idea of fun.” She wanted to lower her eyes, but she could not keep from staring at his lips as he spoke.
    â€œBut it’s a lot like Saratoga.” His hand glided up her back, and his mustache brushed her mouth when he leaned toward her to whisper, “We could have fun there together.”
    With a soft groan, she turned away before he could tempt her with another soul-sapping kiss. She was finding out nothing but how much she wanted to be in his arms. She clasped her hands in her lap and fought to keep her voice even as she asked, “Which place did you like least?”
    His smile faded. “South to fight in the war.”
    She bit back her gasp as pain tightened his face. Pressing her hand over her stomach, which twisted like a branch in a high wind, she realized if she had met Adam Lassiter then, he would have been one of the enemy. She easily could imagine him in a kepi cap only a few shades darker than his deep blue eyes. Whether he had worn the shoulder straps of an officer or the stripes of an enlisted man, he had been a Yankee.
    â€œI don’t want to talk about it,” he continued.
    She nodded, for once eager to agree with him. She did not want to talk about that horrible time when hunger and death had stalked the street in front of her house.
    She whispered, “Now it’s my turn to apologize.”
    â€œNothing to apologize for.” He pushed himself to his feet. Draping one arm over the crutch, he jammed his hands into his pockets. “You weren’t shooting at us.” A sudden smile tore the anguish from his face. “After working for you this week, I know you’d never let a man die so quickly and easily.”
    She shivered and lowered her eyes. At his laugh, she looked up to discover his grin.
    He tapped her nose as he asked, “Cold?”
    â€œNot very.”
    â€œYou’re shivering. Someone step on your grave?”
    With a gasp of horror, she stood. He caught her arm, holding her easily even though he was balanced on his crutch.
    â€œLet me go!” she cried.
    â€œWhoa! What’s wrong with you?”
    â€œHow could you say something like that?”
    â€œSomething like what?” His raven brows dipped toward each other. “What’s wrong with you? All I said was—”
    â€œDon’t say it again!”
    He swayed as she tried to pull away, but refused to release her. “It’s just a saying my grandmother used to use. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
    â€œI know. It’s just all this talk of the war and dying and … I’m sorry, Adam.”
    â€œMe, too.” He gave her a lopsided grin. “At least we aren’t arguing.”
    â€œI think I’d rather argue with you.”
    â€œAre those our only choices?” His fingers stroked hers as his sapphire eyes glowed.
    She frowned. “What do you mean?”
    Chuckling, he said, “You may be