Lone Star Heiress. Winnie Griggs

assured her he was an honorable man, that she had nothing to fear from him. Did she still believe it?

      Did he?

      His earlier thoughts about enjoying her company had come back to haunt him. For the first time since Gretchen’s death he’d let his guard down enough to take pleasure in a woman’s company. And look what had happened.

      What was it about Ivy that she could get under his skin so easily?

      Then he focused on her again.

      Her cheeks were a becoming shade of pink, her expression reflected confusion. He felt a cad for having done that to her.

      She turned to greet her dog, giving them both an opportunity to gather their composure.

      He knew offering an apology would only make matters worse. His best course of action was to get things back on an easy, comfortable footing.

      He cleared his throat. “What do you say we try out those cane poles? I’ve a hankering for some fried fish for lunch.”

      “That sounds like fun.” She stood. “I seem to recall I’m supposed to show you how it’s done.”

      He was relieved to see she’d already recovered some of her spirit. “Is that a challenge?”

      “Yes, sir, I do believe it is.”

      * * *

      Ivy arranged the wet laundry on the porch railings. As soon as they’d made it back to the cabin, Mitch had disappeared around back to fetch the poles.

      She wasn’t sure what had happened back there, but she was fairly certain it had been her fault. And she’d hate to think she’d done anything to make him think less of her. What on earth had she been thinking, offering to feed him those berries?

      Mitch reappeared carrying a pair of cane poles and leading his horse.

      She nodded toward Seeley. “Are you going somewhere?”

      “Since we’re headed to the lake, I thought I’d refill the water barrel.”

      She frowned. “You use your horse for that?”

      “Yep.”

      Puzzled, she watched as he maneuvered Seeley so the animal was backed up to the barrel. She moved closer and discovered the barrel sat on a low wooden platform outfitted with wheels. “How clever.”

      “Reggie’s husband built it. It has a harness so you can hitch a horse for easy transport.”

      She nodded appreciatively. “That would definitely save lots of time and effort hauling buckets of water.”

      “That’s the idea.” Mitch started fitting his horse with the special harness. “I figure, once I fill it, Seeley can graze until we’re done fishing.”

      He had the horse hitched in short order and then they retraced their steps to the lake.

      “If I help you fill the barrel,” she offered, “it’ll get done in half the time.”

      “No need—I’ve got the job in hand and it won’t take long.”

      She knew he was mollycoddling her again, but before she could protest he picked up the small spade he’d brought along.

      “I’ll dig some worms for you so you can start fishing while I fill the barrel.”

      “No need,” she said, mimicking him, “I’ve got that job well in hand.”

      That nudged his brow up a notch. “You plan to collect your own worms?”

      “Of course.” It wasn’t as if she’d had anyone around to do it for her back home.

      “And bait your own hooks?”

      He seemed even more surprised at that. She supposed it wasn’t the most ladylike of tasks. But she refused to apologize for it. “It’s like threading a needle.”

      That teased a grin from him. “I suppose that’s one way of looking at it.”

      She watched surreptitiously as he scooped water with the pail and dumped it into the barrel. His very broad, solid back was to her. She didn’t figure there was much as could stand against a man with a back like that. Especially one with as good a heart as Mitch seemed to have.

      That combination of strength and heart was mighty attractive in a man. A woman would be lucky to have a man like Mitch looking out for her.

      For a heartbeat she recalled that moment on the trail, how the light in his eyes had deepened as he’d stared at her and everything else had seemed to fall away. Then she gave her head a shake and quickly turned to bait her hook.

      As she dropped her line in the water, she noticed a slight tremble in her hands.

      * * *

      As they cleaned their catch at the water’s edge, Ivy argued that her five fish to his three clearly indicated she was the better fisherman. He insisted it was more about the quality of the catch and his three easily outweighed her five.

      Ivy enjoyed their spirited discussion—it was the kind comfortable friends would have. And she hadn’t had a friend like that in a long time, thanks to the outcast status Lester Stokes had foisted on her.

      When they arrived back at the cabin, Ivy left Mitch to tend to Seeley while she went inside with the fish. Poking around in the kitchen, she found cornmeal, salt and a small crock with bacon grease. She also found a jar of pickled tomatoes—just the thing to go with pan-fried fish.

      By the time she had all the fixings for their meal gathered up, Mitch had returned. “Thanks again for taking care of the animals,” she said.

      He merely nodded. For a schoolteacher he certainly wasn’t talkative. Was he this way in his classroom, too?

      Then he waved toward the stove. “I can do the cooking,” he said. “You’ve had an active morning for someone still recuperating.” His serious expression lightened as he gave a lopsided smile. “I’m not much of a cook, but I do know how to fry fish.”

      She shook her head. “It’s your turn to sample my cooking.”