soft and regulated, she brooked no mistreatment of hair or skin; such a transgression was worse than disobedience and elicited as sharp a criticism as if she had volunteered to spy for the Yankees.
Oh, well, it couldn’t be helped. She’d paid off all of Papa’s debts first thing this morning; by this evening, she would have the place for her business. She positively must be a success. She had to repay Mr. Wilder’s bank loan or suffer a fate worse than death—marriage to That Man. That Yankee.
She worked through two more buckets of hot water before the walls and floors were cleaned to her satisfaction. She would not open a business in dingy quarters! Her back and shoulders felt as if she’d been yoked like an ox to a Conestoga wagon. Every muscle in her neck screamed. Even her derriere was sore.
By the time she got around to washing the front window, she was so tired her legs would no longer support her weight. She sank down onto her knees, dipped a clean rag into her still-warm water bucket, and addressed the lower half of the expanse of glass.
And that was how Rydell found her. He tapped on the open door and lifted his foot to step over the threshold when her voice stopped him in his tracks.
“You get one speck of dirt on my clean floor and I’ll dump this mop bucket over your head.”
Her back was toward him, but he realized she could see his reflection in the glass. He eased back onto the boardwalk step. “I brought your supplies from home,” he called.
She scooted around on her bottom to face him.
“What are you talking about? I haven’t sent for anything yet.”
Rydell caught his breath. She was filthy from head to toe, her hair bedraggled, her once-white waist half pulled out of her water-splotched blue skirt. A ridiculously feminine-looking embroidered handkerchief, folded into a triangle, covered the bottom half of her face. She looked like an angel-bandit. A dirt-streaked and very weary angel-bandit.
He resisted the impulse to scoop her bodily from the floor and carry her off to his private suite at the hotel. And a bathtub.
Her eyes flashed fire. “Have you come to gloat over my difficulties?”
“Believe me, Miss Davis, I would not gloat over a lady in your current…situation.”
“Then what are you doing here?”
Rydell pushed down the chuckle that threatened. “Lefty Springer got bucked off a horse this morning. I came in his place.”
Jane glared at him. “To do what? Laugh at me? I must be a pretty sight, all wet and dirty and so tired I could…” She stopped abruptly as her voice wobbled.
He tore his gaze from her face and studied the floor instead. She was tuckered out, close to breaking. He had predicted as much, but now that it was before him, he wanted to spare her pride. He concentrated on the toe of his boot.
“I came to help, Jane. Lefty gave his word, and I back him up. Always have. His leg’s hurt, so I came instead. Your sewing machine and some boxes of patterns and such are in the wagon out front.”
Jane looked up at him in silence. The blue eyes under the dark eyebrows grew shiny. “I do thank you, Mr. Wilder.” Her voice sounded choked up. “And I apologize. I am so tired I hardly know what I am saying.”
“Rafe Mercer’ll help me unload. You ready for your things?”
Jane tossed her cleaning rag into the bucket and got to her feet. “How did you know what to bring?”
“I asked your mother. She was very helpful.”
“Mama? Why, she hardly knows where she is, let alone where I am or what I am doing.”
Rydell nodded. “I think she understands more than you think. What’s important to her is you. I convinced her I was helping you.”
She shook her head. “That does not exactly make sense, Mr. Wilder. It is to your advantage that I fail in this venture. Why in the world would you offer help?”
Rydell took a single step toward her, reached out and pulled down the handkerchief mask. “Been askin’ myself that question all morning.”
“And what is your answer to that very question?” Her voice had steadied, but it dropped to a whisper, whether from emotion or exhaustion he couldn’t begin to guess.
“Damn—darned if I know,” he admitted. The scent of lavender floating in the air made his insides ache. Oh, God, he wanted to…
Before he knew what he was doing, he closed his fingers around her upper arm.
She didn’t move, just looked at him. He saw fear, and then something else in her eyes. Unable to help himself, he pulled her toward him, lifted his other hand to her shoulder, and bent his head. When his mouth found hers, he lost all track of time.
Her lips were warm and tasted of salt. He’d never known such excruciating sweetness. Instinctively he probed for more, then broke free. He didn’t think he could stop if he didn’t call a halt now.
“You’re right, this doesn’t exactly make sense,” he breathed against her temple. “No sense at all.”
Chapter Four
“No,” Jane said in a faraway voice. “It most certainly does not make sense.” She wanted her words to come out crisp and proper-sounding. Instead, she sounded as if she just woke up this morning and wasn’t sure where she was. His mouth on hers had felt simply heavenly, as if the sun and all the stars tumbled down and kindled a glow inside her.
Merciful Lord, she must not feel that way about it! After all, Mr. Wilder had taken a great liberty. She should be outraged instead. She snapped open her eyelids.
“If I had the strength to lift my arm, I would demonstrate how a lady responds to such an ungentlemanly assault.”
He said nothing, and with every passing second she became more aware of his arms about her. “Kindly unhand me, Mr. Wilder. I will then proceed as if your grievous action never took place. Back home in Marion County, such behavior would likely cost you your life.”
Rydell lifted his arms away from her. “You’re not in Marion County, Jane. Out here, nobody’s gonna challenge a man to a duel just because he lost his head and kissed a lady without her permission.”
Jane sniffed.
“Next time,” he said with a grin, “I’ll ask permission.”
She took an instinctive step backward. “You will do no such thing! This is a wild, unprincipled country, and I’ll have you know—”
“It is that,” he acknowledged. “But it’s getting more civilized every day. Got a school, now. A hotel and two churches. Even a Ladies Helpful Society.”
She would have stalked out the door, but the mop bucket and broom sat in her path; she felt so whirly-headed she didn’t think she could walk straight enough to get past them.
“I apologize, Miss Davis. Got carried away by the smell of your handkerchief, I guess.”
She looked him in the eye. “See that it never, never happens again.”
To her surprise, he turned his back on her. “I’ll bring in your sewing machine.” He removed his jacket and began rolling up the sleeves of the starched white shirt he wore underneath. His bare forearms looked so…so…unlike Papa’s. Papa’s hands and his short, plump arms had always been milk-white.
A funny tingle went up the back of her neck. This man’s skin was sun-bronzed, and sinews rippled underneath. Indecent. No proper gentleman in the South ever bared his arms in the presence of a lady.
He grabbed up the mop bucket and moved through the open doorway onto the board sidewalk.
“Never,” she repeated into the silence. Her breathing