sleep.
“We're going to town,” she told him, buckling the bellyband with more force than usual, winning herself a fierce offended look from the old horse. She ignored him, too wrapped up in the whirlwind of her own emotions.
She would go to town and do her errands as slowly as she could, lingering over each task. And when they were all accomplished, she would think up some more. She would invent reasons to stay in town until she absolutely had to return to the inn in order to greet the weekend guests. She would be safe then, surrounded by nosy, demanding tourists. She would cocoon herself with their presence and shut out Matt Thorne as much as she could. Maybe by doing all that she would be able to forget about how wonderfully male he looked and how her body had never experienced any kind of sexual satisfaction.
She slipped the horses s bridle on and led him out into the yard where her buggy was parked. Otis demonstrated his lack of enthusiasm for his work by moving as slowly as he could, stretching out his long neck as he was pulled along, backing up between the shafts of the buggy one plodding step at a time. Sarah tried to rush him, but in a contest between a hundred-and-twenty-pound woman and a thousand-pound horse there was likely to be only one outcome. She hurried where she could, fastening the tugs and buckling the back bands with the speed acquired through hundreds of harnessings. The closer she came to finishing and the nearer she felt to freedom, the faster she moved. Just another two minutes and she would be on the road, alone with her confounded lust, leaving Matt Thorne behind to think what he would.
He probably thought she was a fool. A foolish, prudish, backward yokel. He was probably amused by her lack of sophistication. Heaven knew, he no doubt had a flock of slick, polished city women waiting for him back in Minneapolis, none of whom would run away from seeing him naked.
“I wouldn't have either,” she muttered. “Except that …”
Except what? She had a duty to her family and her faith? No, that wasn't what had made her run.
“Mind if I tag along?”
Sarah's hands stilled on the harness. She barely resisted the urge to close her eyes and fall against Otis in a swoon of despair. Another two minutes and she would have been gone. Just two more minutes.
“Does groaning between your teeth that way mean yes in Amish?”
She turned and scowled at Matt, half-expecting to see him standing there with a blush-pink towel swathing his hips. He was dressed. Actually, he looked more respectable than she'd ever seen him. He wore baggy tweed trousers, a blue shirt, and a black leather jacket to cut the chill of the October morning. His hair was combed and still damp from a washing. The gleam in his dark eyes was pure mischief.
“You ought to be in bed.”
Matt grinned and moved a step closer. “You certainly have a burning desire to see me between the sheets, Blue Eyes. I would have been more than willing to discuss the issue with you a while ago, but since I've gone to all the trouble of putting on clothes …”
“You're shameless,” Sarah grumbled, snapping a rein to her gelding's bit.
“I hate to be immodest,” Matt said, “but I don't think I have anything to be ashamed of. Do you?”
The pink crept back into her cheeks as the picture of him flashed again in her mind. He was a beautifully made man. He certainly didn't have anything to be ashamed of.
“Come on, sweetheart,” he said cajolingly, stepping a little closer and gently taking hold of her arm. He turned her toward him, but she refused to look at him. “You were a married lady. You've seen a naked man before.”
“That was different.” Lord, please don't let him ask how different, she thought. As different as day and night. She had scarcely seen Samuel completely undressed and when she had, she hadn't been inspired to feel the wild emotions that had careened around inside her when she'd seen Matt. Guilt pressed down on her, but she shooed it away. It wasn't her fault Samuel had been slight of build and Matt Thorne was … not.
“I&m sorry I laughed,' Matt whispered, his breath fanning her ear, his voice an almosttangible caress to her senses. His fingers were gentle on her arm, stroking lightly through the fabric of her black cape. “You were just so cute all flabbergasted.”
Sarah wasn't sure how to respond, if she was expected to respond at all. Flattery was a foreign concept to her. She stepped back from the horse and out of Matt's grasp, deciding that to dismiss the topic was probably the smartest thing she could do. “Are you sure you are up to riding? It's three miles to town.”
Matt eyed the boxy black buggy and the old horse hitched to it. It wouldn't have been his transportation of choice, but if it meant getting to sit beside Sarah, looking at her and smelling the clean soap-scent of her, and possibly brushing up against her every now and again, he was willing to settle.
“I can handle it. Too bad Ingrid didn't arrange to have my car brought down,” he said, helping Sarah up into the buggy. “It's a Jag,” he added proudly.
“What's a Jag?”
He eased him self onto the thinly padded bench seat, staring at her incredulously. “What's a Jag? A Jaguar XJ6. Only one of the finest automobiles known to man. Leather interior, digital CD player, all-aluminum fuel-injected four-liter twenty-four valve inline-six. Two hundred and twenty-three horses under the hood,'
There. Let her scoff at that, Matt thought. Women never failed to be impressed by his car, even if they didn't know what he was talking about. They always had sense enough to know all that jargon meant great things.
Sarah gave him a crooked little smile that clearly said she thought he was one brick short of a full load. She slapped the reins against the geldings back and said, “Two hundred and twenty-three horses? One has always done just fine for me.”
“Very funny.” He reached into his hip pocket and pulled his wallet out. “I have a picture of it. Want to see?”
She arched a brow in disbelief. “You carry a photograph of your car?”
“Well … sure,” he said defensively, pouting a little.
Sarah gave him a long, amused look and burst into laughter.
The ride into Jesse was surprisingly pleasant for them both. Sarahs embarrassment subsided and she relaxed enough to enjoy Matts company. He was nothing short of gentlemanly, chatting with her about her family, ask ing questions about the horse and buggy and listening with genuine interest as she told him about the quiet simplicity of Amish life. She pointed out the farms of family Mends—Jon Schrock the carpenter, Jake Yoder and his wife, Katie, who made beautiful baskets and sold them in Jesse at the folk-art center. She told him the names of the big Belgian horses Martin Lapp was working through his cornfield.
For Matt the ride was one of his first forays into fresh air and sunshine since his hospital-ization. He felt much better than he had the day before. He especially felt better since he was near Sarah, and he decided she was a much greater tonic than any medication he had been prescribed.
He listened to her describe her people and her way of life, so very different from the life he was used to, slower and so peaceful. He watched the way she handled the reins, her small, unadorned hands sure and steady. She was dressed in what he had come to think of as her “uniform”—heavy dark hose, black shoes, blue dress with a black “cape” or bodice covering, and apron pinned in place. Over this she had put a heavy black woolen cloak that tied at the throat. Instead of the small white cap he had grown used to seeing on her, she wore a larger, more concealing black bonnet, the brim of which hid most of her profile like the blinkers on Otis s bridle. It was garb he might have found quaint on some anonymous Amish woman. On Sarah he found it annoying. He wanted to see more of her. She was a lovely young woman. It was frustrating to only catch glimpses of that loveliness.
He tried to picture her in his minds eye in jeans and a sweatshirt, but he couldn't do it. He could see her in a flowing flowered skirt and a dainty blouse with a lace collar. Something feminine and pretty with her hair tumbling in a thick, magnificent wave down her back. Yes, he thought with a smile, he could picture that quite easily, almost as easily as he could picture her wearing nothing at all.
He sat back and enjoyed the ride, enjoyed the scenery, enjoyed the quiet of the countryside. It had bothered him his first couple of days here. He was used to the noise of a busy city. But now, as he sat relaxed beside Sarah, he absorbed the peace of it. A cornfield stood on one side of the road, tall beige stalks dry and ready for picking. On the other side cattle grazed in a tree-dotted pasture, the trees in full fall color. It was beautiful rolling countryside. So peaceful, so far removed from the gritty reality of the inner city. There were no gang wars here, no endless parade of junkies and bums and drunks. There was still order and sanity in a place like Jesse.
In all fairness, there was still order and san ity in most of the TWin Cities area too. The level of urban squalor
