“Oh, yes, sweetheart,” he answered on a heartfelt groan. “Oh, yes.”
Matt woke alone. He wasn't particularly surprised, but he was disappointed. He wanted to lie beside Sarah and watch the soft light of dawn fall on her face. He wanted to watch her drift up out of sleep layer by layer until she blinked open those incredible blue eyes. The first thing she would see would be his face and she would smile and they would kiss and he would make love to her. Instead, he had nothing beside him but a rumpled pillow, no sweet lips to kiss, no soft body to ease the throbbing ache of his arousal; just the space where she had slept beside him and the faint scents of sex and perfume.
He rolled onto his back and cast a slit-eyed glance at the clock on the nightstand. Seven-thirty. Sarah had probably been up for an hour, seeing to her chores. When he breathed deep, he could smell breakfast cooking.
He wondered how she would react to him today. She had certainly responded to him during the night. Lord, she had exhausted him. Making sweet, thorough love to her twice had drained his depleted energy reserves. He'd slept liked a dead man. He wondered now if she would be shy with him today or if she might be feeling regrets. He hoped not, because he sure as hell wasn't. He might not have felt certain about anything else in his life, but he was sure of one thing—he wasn't going to let Sarah slip away from him. She was his.
“Why don't you tell secrets to a pig?” Jacob asked. His eyes sparkled with mischief as he waited for his sister to answer his riddle. He took a big slurp of milk and set the glass back down on the table, nearly overturning it as he reached for a fresh hot muffin from the basket.
Sarah gave him an indulgent smile as she bent to take a coffee cake out of the oven. What she missed most about not living at home was seeing Jacob every day. She was well aware that in her heart he had taken the place of the son she had lost. The only harm she saw in that was that she was much too attached to him considering their current living arrangements. She looked at him now with his blond hair pressed flat from his hat and a big milk mustache framing his upper lip and felt a surge of warmth inside that had nothing to do with the heat of the oven.
“I don't know,” she said, coming up behind him and pressing her oven mitts to his cheeks while he looked at her upside down. “Why don't you tell secrets to a pig?”
“Because pigs are squealers!” he announced and dissolved into triumphant giggles at having stumped his sister.
Sarah laughed with the sheer pleasure of watching Jacob, then went utterly still as the kitchen door swung back and Matt stepped into the room. After their night together, she was acutely aware of him as a male, even across a room. His gaze captured hers, and everything female in her came to attention. Her breathing grew shallow, her skin tingled. Having lain with him, touched him, felt him pressed against her and within her, she was much more aware of his body—the lean, muscled strength of it, the shape of it. The word handsome had taken on a stronger meaning for her. It was resonant in her mind as she looked at him now dressed casually in faded jeans that hugged his hips and thighs and a wine-colored jersey that emphasized his shoulders. For her, Matt Thorne was the living definition of handsome, and he was hers—at least for a little while.
The corners of his mouth turned up in a smile, and he went on looking at her as she went again to the stove, but when he spoke, it was to Jacob.
“What kind of wood is like a king?”
Jacob chewed his lip and screwed his face in concentration, oblivious to the strong sexual currents humming between the adults in the room. Matt went on staring at Sarah, mouthing
“Oak?” Jacob asked.
“Nope.” Matt moved slowly across the room, skirting the big harvest table, stalking Sarah like a wolf stalking a deer. She glanced around nervously for an escape route.
“A pine tree?”
“Nope.”
He corralled her up against the big institution-size stove. Sarahs heart was pounding frantically. Her gaze darted from Matt to Jacob, who was scratching his head as he stared at his muffin, still paying them no mind. Matt leaned forward to kiss her, and she turned abruptly so his lips just grazed her cheek.
Matt frowned, but moved away from her. He took the chair beside Jacobs and reached for a muffin. “Give up?”
The boy nodded.
Matt gave him a wink and a grin. “A ruler.”
Jacob groaned and made a face, wriggling on his chair and hitting himself in the fore head with the heel of his hand, tipping his milk glass once again. Matt caught the tumbler and set it out of harm's way and tossed a napkin on the milk that had splashed onto the table.
“No school today again?”
“Today is Saturday,' Jacob said, sneaking a piece of muffin under the table to Blossom. “Not even the English go to school on Saturday, Matt Thorne.”
“How's the arm?”
“Much better. My mother put a milk poultice on it.”
Pouring himself a cup of coffee, Matt nodded and made doctor noises. Sarah bent across the table to set down a platter of scrambled eggs, her face lowering to within inches of Matt's. He caught her eye and mouthed I
Matt leaned back in his chair and studied her. This wasn't just shyness, this was something else, more like fear. She didn't want Jacob catching on to the fact that they were attracted to each other. That thought hurt. His feelings for her were tender and fragile. The idea that she was ashamed of what she felt for him was like poking a raw nerve with a needle.
“It still looks pretty terrible,” Jacob said.
Matt dragged his attention away from Sarah and back to her brother. “Still looks gross, huh?”
“I am not supposed to use that word. I got into trouble with it from my pop.”
“You did? Gee, pal, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get you in trouble.”
“I know.” Jacob nodded. He took a big bite out of his muffin and blueberry juice oozed down his chin.
“Still friends?” Matt asked, raising his brows.
The boy grinned, revealing a fresh gap in his smile where another baby tooth had disappeared. “Ya, sure.”
“Great.” He caught Sarah's gaze as she settled into the chair across from him and held it meaningfully for a moment. “What about you, Sarah? Are we still friends?”
“Of course,” she answered just quickly enough to bring a guilty flush to her cheeks.
She wanted to go to him and hug him and rub a finger over the worry line that appeared between his eyebrows, but she couldn't with Jacob sitting there. All the boy would have to do would be to mention in passing that he had seen his sister kiss the English doctor, and a cloudburst of trouble would come raining down on their heads.
She gave Matt a look of apology, glanced at Jacob, then stared down at her empty plate.
The kitchen door swung back and Lisbeth Parker sailed in wearing a lavishly fringed western blouse and a gallon of perftime. She wore her sunglasses again, undoubtedly hiding the aftereffects of the brandy she'd put away the night before. “Am I late for breakfast? I certainly hope I didn't keep y'all waitin'.”
“No, Mrs. Parker.” Sarah said, popping out of her chair like a jack-in-the-box, glad for a reason to dodge Matt's steady, condemning gaze. “We serve breakfast here until ten. If you'll have a seat in the dining room, I will bring you your meal.”
“Oh, pooh.” Lisbeth waved a dainty bejew-eled hand. “Ill just sit right down here. I enjoy company while I eat.”
“Mr. Parker won't be coming down?”
“No, no, I'm the early bird in the family. Tim is liable to sleep till noon. I wouldn't be surprised if we didn't see
