tried to lose himself in his drawing again, to transfer the essence of the view before him onto the page. But the sound of Ivy’s laughter, the sight of her blissful enjoyment of her surroundings, was making it surprisingly difficult to do much of anything but look at her.
* * *
Ivy watched Rufus sniff the ground, obviously picking up the scent of some critter or other. It was nice out here—warm but with a breeze to stir her hair. She heard the rat-a-tat-tat of a woodpecker in the distance.
The sun slipped out from behind a cloud, and she closed her eyes against the sudden glare. Rufus barked from what seemed like far away, and she wondered if he’d treed a squirrel. She heard buzzing and wondered idly if it was a bee or a deerfly. But it wasn’t really worth the effort to open her eyes to find out.
A moment later, someone cleared his throat right above her, breaking the stillness of the afternoon. Her eyes flew open to focus on Mr. Parker, standing beside her, his sketchbook in hand. Had he finished his drawing already?
Then she noticed the shadows had lengthened and she was no longer in full sunshine. The heat rose in her cheeks as she saw his amused glance. Despite the fact that she’d thought herself well rested, she’d fallen asleep again.
“You must think me a real lazybones.”
He smiled. “You have good reason to rest.” He reached down to help her rise. “Why don’t we head back inside? If you’re not hungry or tired, I can pull out a checkerboard, if you feel up to a game.”
She took his hand, accepting his assistance. “You’ll soon learn I rarely back down from a challenge.”
With a smile on his face, Mitch let her precede him back into the cabin. The woman was intriguing. She was certainly unpredictable. And seemingly unflappable.
And totally unlike any woman he’d met before.
Shaking off that thought—an exercise he seemed to be doing a lot of lately—he dug out the checkerboard and set it on the table.
As she sat across from him, he raised an eyebrow in challenge. “I assume you know how to play.”
She grinned. “It’s been a while, but I think I remember how it goes.”
Miss Feagan proved to be an aggressive player, approaching the game with more verve than strategy. He won the first two games, though they were by no means runaway victories. Those defeats didn’t seem to dampen her enthusiasm, however. She merely grinned and vowed to get him next time.
He stood. “Before you try again, why don’t we eat?”
She grinned. “I came close to beating you just now. Are you by any chance wanting to fortify yourself before facing me again?”
He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had taken that teasing tone with him. But he found he rather liked it. “I was thinking I needed to give you an opportunity to sharpen your wits so you’d have a fighting chance.”
“Ha!” She put her hands on her hips and glowered melodramatically. “That sounds like a challenge. I demand we play a third game so I can defend my honor as a checker player.”
“After we eat.” He moved toward the stove. “There ought to be just enough soup left for each of us to have a nice bowlful.” She stood, but he waved her back down. “Keep your seat. This won’t take but a minute.”
She ignored him. Naturally. “Don’t be silly.” She crossed to the counter. “The least I can do is set the table. I assume the dishes are kept in here.” She opened the cupboard, then reached inside.
A moment later Mitch saw her sway unsteadily, and he quickly crossed the space between them. “Whoa, there.” He took her elbow and put an arm around her shoulders. “Are you okay?”
She gave him a shaky smile. “Just got dizzy for a moment.”
“That does it.” He led her firmly back to the table. “I want you to sit here and not get up again until it’s time to turn in.”
“Don’t be silly. It was just—”
“No arguments.” He pointed to the chair. “Sit.”
She stared at him mutinously for another heartbeat. Then she relaxed and gave him a pert grin. “I suppose,” she said, sitting with exaggerated care, “that if you insist on waiting on me, I should just let you.”
His lips quirked at that, and he gave a ceremonious bow. “At your service, m’lady.”
* * *
Ivy propped her elbows on the table and watched as Mr. Parker went back to the stove. He certainly was a puzzle of a man. Big as a grizzly but graceful as a wolf. All prickly and proper when it came to matters of propriety but able to take her teasing with good humor and even give it back to her at times. Able to carry heavy loads—like a fully grown woman—and with those same hands he could draw the most amazing pictures. And for all his stern exterior, she was beginning to believe he was soft as a mossy creek bank on the inside.
Maybe not such a puzzle after all—he was just a good man.
Rufus padded over and she reached down to pat his head. “Hello, boy. Getting restless, are you?” She glanced up at her host. “Has he eaten anything today?”
Mr. Parker turned and frowned down at Rufus. “I gave him a bit of pemmican and some broth earlier.”
She should have known he’d take care of her dog. He ladled the soup into two bowls. “I suppose the mutt can have anything left in the pot when we’ve eaten our fill tonight.”
He carried one of the bowls to the table and set it in front of her with a stern look. “I expect you to eat all of it. You need to keep your strength up.”
Without waiting for her response, he turned to fetch his own bowl.
Normally she’d get her back up at being ordered around, but she found herself smiling instead. He was being outlandishly high-handed, of course. But she also knew she’d scared him with her momentary light-headedness and this was likely how he dealt with it.
A moment later, he rejoined her at the table. As he settled into his seat, she met his gaze expectantly. “Would you like to say grace?”
Mr. Parker stilled and something she couldn’t read flitted across his expression. Was he not a praying man?
But then he bowed his head. “Dear Lord, we thank You for providing this food we are about to partake of, and for the blessings You have bestowed on us this day.” He paused a heartbeat, then added, “We also ask that You restore good health to Miss Feagan.”
“And to Jubal, as well,” Ivy interjected quickly. “Amen.”
Mr. Parker echoed her amen, then picked up his spoon. Before taking a bite, he glanced her way. “Earlier you mentioned you might have an inheritance waiting for you in Turnabout. If you don’t mind my asking, what did you mean by might?”
“Reverend Tomlin got a letter a few days ago that said if Robert Feagan’s daughter was still alive then there was an inheritance waiting for her in Turnabout. And I’m Robert Feagan’s daughter so I just figured I’d head on over to check it out.”
“Just like that?”
She shrugged. “I’ve never been one to let others make decisions for me.” She grinned. “And I’m also not very patient. Nana Dovie says it’s one of my biggest faults.”
“And the letter didn’t give you any other details?”
“No, and I’m more than a tad curious.” Then she realized he might be able to fill in some of the blanks for her. “Do you know a man named Drum Mosley?”
“Only well enough to exchange greetings. He owns a large ranch outside of town. Is he a relative?”
Something in his tone made her think