Free Tender Is the Storm by Johanna Lindsey Page A

asleep in the empty washbowl where he had buried himself during the night. He had made one exploratory trip out the window, prowled around the room until she was ready for bed, then settled in the cool porcelain bowl. She wondered if he would adjust to the heat and stop losing so much fur. She wondered if she would adjust. She sighed, leaving the room braced.
    She was relieved to find no one in the outer room, but then she realized she was hungry and there was no food on the table and nothing on the stove, not even a pot of coffee. She set her tray of dishes by the sink and considered a search through the storeroom. She supposed they ate early around there and she had just missed it.
    She headed for the back door, but it opened before she reached it, and Lucas stepped in. Their eyes met and held for a moment. Then his gaze swept down her, taking in the gown of beige lawn, heavily trimmed and flounced in white lace with wide lace borders down the back and front bodice, along the collar and high neck, and on the long sleeves. Two brown satin bows were prominent on the bustle and another at her throat.
    “You going somewhere?”
    Sharisse was surprised. “I’m not dressed to go out,” she said, as if explaining to a child. “This is a simple morning gown.”
    He laughed. “Honey, what you’re wearing is fancier than anything the ladies of Newcomb could manage even for Sunday best. And that’s not a going-out dress?”
    She was indignant. “I’m afraid I don’t have anything plainer than this, except my traveling suit.”
    “Which is too heavy,” Lucas stated, shaking his head. “I can see I’m going to have to get you some new clothes.”
    Sharisse blushed. “I will manage.”
    “Will you? And will you be doing chores in that fancy gown?”
    Chores? “If…if I have to,” she said stoutly.
    “Suit yourself.” He would not argue with her. “Where’s breakfast?”
    “There isn’t any.”
    “I can see that,” he replied patiently. “So when are you going to get started?”
    “Me!” she gasped. “But I can’t cook! ”
    “You can’t? Well, I guess you’ll have to learn real quick.”
    “But who cooked before?”
    “I managed, Mack managed, and sometimes Willow took pity on us and fixed a big meal.”
    “Willow?”
    “Billy’s wife.”
    “You mean there is another woman here?”
    “Sure. She’s expecting a kid any time now.” And he warned in a no-nonsense tone, “She’s got enough to do taking care of Billy and herself, so don’t even think about asking her for help. I’ve been taking care of myself all my life, Sharisse. But now that you’re here…”
    Her eyes widened in panic as his meaning sank in. “But I really can’t cook. I mean, I never have. There have always been servants.” She fell silent. His expression was not the least sympathetic. “I suppose I could learn…if someone can teach me.”
    He grunted. “I guess I can have Billy pick you up a cookbook when he goes to town today.” He sighed disagreeably and headed for the storeroom.
    “I am sorry, Mr. Holt,” Sharisse felt compelled to say, though she didn’t know why.
    “Never mind,” he said over his shoulder. “As long as you’ve got a strong back for the other chores and are a quick learner.”
    She was left wondering about those other chores while he searched around, finally coming back with his arms full. The next hour was spent ruining her fine lawn gown with flour and grease stains that splashed beyond the apron Lucas told her toput on. She had her first lesson in cooking, and she didn’t like it at all. But she was able to watch Lucas when he wasn’t looking at her, and wonder about this man who was from the East yet adapted to this land so well. He was by turns abrupt and to the point, then charming in a rapscallion way.
    When breakfast was over, Lucas went outside again and Sharisse sat at the table with another cup of the most atrocious coffee she had ever drunk, worse even than the horrible