coupling, and—quite relevantly—so did she.
The question was, could he convince her of that?
“Haddonfield.” Gabriel North approached from the barn, his expression more forbidding than usual. “Glad you’re back.”
There was an entire lecture in North’s green eyes, but likely because Allie had pelted straight for Beck’s arms and was at that moment barnacled to his back, North mustered his version of discretion. “Polly will want to feed you. I’ll take your horse.”
But Beck didn’t let him off so easily.
“I’m glad to be back.”
This provoked North to a twitch of the lips. “Allie, introduce Mr. Haddonfield to your latest portrait subject. Those of delicate sensibilities shouldn’t come upon such a beast all unawares.”
Beck lingered with Allie, admiring the enormous brindle-coated canine named Boo-boo, then admiring the filly, who had indeed grown even in Beck’s short absence. He admired the new chickens as well, and paid his respects to Hildegard.
“Aren’t you hungry?” Allie asked, swinging his hand. “We haven’t had a single batch of muffins since you left.”
Suggestion hung heavily in the air. The sun was dipping closer to the horizon, and there was nothing in the house to dread. A man was entitled to get his bearings though—before facing the woman who held his heart in her hands.
“I could use some sustenance,” Beck allowed. Allie dropped his hand and headed for the back of the house at a dead run, the dog woofing and bounding along beside her.
“So you came back.” Polly’s greeting was not what Beck expected. She eyed him up and down, the dispassion in her gaze a trifle unnerving. “I expect you’re hungry, so you’d best wash your hands.”
She disappeared into the pantry with a swish of her skirts. North came in from the hallway, smelling slightly of horse.
“She’s gotten more fierce,” Beck said. “One can hardly conceive of it.”
“She and Sara are feuding over some family issue.” North went to the sink and washed his hands. “And Allie’s birthday approaches, so the household is in a state of high anticipation. Allie has, after all, acquired a puppy, so what other wishes might come true on her birthday?”
And
Polly emerged from the pantry, bearing a plate stacked with sandwiches. She set it down on the counter then untied her apron. “I’m off to help Allie sketch Boo-boo. Wash up when you’re done, because it’s Maudie’s half day.”
North watched her depart with the sort of wistfulness that the dog—another simple beast—reserved for its supper.
“And just how did Allie acquire her adoring friend?” Beck asked, taking the sandwiches to the table.
North followed, and judging from the way the man took his seat, his back was at least no worse than when Beck had left for Belle Maison.
“I found him in the chicken coop, nigh insensate from his excesses.” North picked up a sandwich and regarded it for a philosophical moment. “That beast is a force of nature akin to a Channel storm in the form of a dog. He ate all the chickens.”
Beck paused midreach for his own sandwich. “He ate
“Considered it.” North chewed thoughtfully. “A dog on the property is not a bad idea.”
“A chicken-eating dog?”
“Any dog will eat chickens if he’s starving and enclosed with a sufficient quantity of them.” North offered no further explanation but shot Beck a questioning glance.
“We’re alone,” Beck said, and wasn’t that just a fine state of affairs when a man traveled two days over hill and dale in the broiling sun on the strength of seven words that had yet to be explained? “Your note—a monument to literary subtlety, by the way—mentioned trouble.”
North, being North, had to finish chewing then take his bloody damned time selecting the exact perfect next sandwich.
Beck waited. Even knowing he had yet to face Sara, something in his gut was glad to be… home. To be
“My note got you back here,” North observed. “The dog wasn’t the first incident. Someone put him in the chicken coop, knowing he was so underfed he’d wreak havoc. Before that, the smokehouse went up in flames, which might have spread, except Angus and Jeff had just drained the cistern to scrub it out, and the entire back side of the barnyard was sopping wet as a result. You know about the harrow that mysteriously loosened its own bolts, and we found a length of tin relieved of its nails on the barn roof.”
The sandwich was good. A tangy portion of cheddar with mustard and a sweet, smoky slab of ham between two slices of fresh, yeasty buttered bread. Beck set it aside unfinished. “Is there more?”
“Unfortunately, yes. We’re working on repairing the roof of the springhouse, among others, and had replaced the supports, as the damp got to them, which isn’t unusual in a springhouse. Somebody sawed through the new lumber, such that when Cane climbed up yesterday to start tacking down the shingles, he damned near came a cropper.”
“And a heavier person would have,” Beck said. “Say, you or I?”
“Precisely.” And Beck knew what he was thinking. A fall from the roof for a man with a bad back could be tragic, not merely inconvenient.
“Motive?” Beck asked, frowning in thought.
“Damned if I know.” North started on his third sandwich. “It can’t be ignored that this difficulty started when you arrived to put the place to rights, Haddonfield. I’ve been here for almost three years, the Hunts for longer, and they can’t recall any of this nonsense happening, much less a plague of it all at once. We get on well enough with the neighbors, and the ladies are well regarded in the parish.”
“After does not mean because of.”
North nodded at Beck’s aphorism and kept chewing.
“I understand we’re haying tomorrow, North?”
“The fields east of the ponds,” North clarified. “We’ve spent most of your absence cutting and raking, and now it’s time to put up what’s on the ground and cut down what hasn’t been scythed yet. The weather can’t hold fair much longer, and it’s actually a decent crop.”
“We’re due for some good luck,” Beck said. “And since there are more fields to scythe and rake, I’d say some help from Sutcliffe would be timely on several counts. We should bring over Mrs. Granville too. She’s a favorite with Polly and Sara. But tell me, North, before we’re interrupted, what you make of these happenings.”
Having demolished three sandwiches, North rose and stretched. “I’ve poked around but can come to no conclusions. Whoever did this is sneaky as hell, but like you, I’m stumped regarding a motive.” North crossed his arms and studied the ceiling beams where Polly’s pots gleamed in precise order of size. “Your family is managing?”
Now, Beck gathered, when they had no audience, North would bring up the late earl’s passing.
“We are,” Beck said, rising. “His lordship’s death wasn’t unexpected, but neither was it… entirely anticipated.”
“And how is the new earl?” North asked as they crossed the backyard to the barn.
“He’s an idiot.” Beck said, though—curiously—not without affection. He felt a stab of affection for this barn too, where he’d kissed Sara Hunt’s tears and held her as a man holds a woman he desires. That thought damned near had him returning to the house and bellowing his arrival to the lady herself.
But, no. He would not assume she’d be glad to see him.
“My brother has decided his marriage must be in name only, though I doubt he’ll succeed at this scheme. His countess will sort him out in short order.”
“Leave it to a female,” North said, scratching the filly’s silky neck gently. “Our females are feuding.”
