Gabriel's Lady. Ana Seymour
Hatch,” she said in a slow, deliberate tone, “I’m sure your business is with my brother. He’s up the hill somewhere with Morgan. Please go find them and leave me alone. I am, as you can see, very busy.”
Her voice was a strong contrast to the forlorn picture she presented. No one would say that little Amelia Prescott lacked pluck. “Can I help?” he asked mildly.
Her chin came up another degree. “I’m doing just fine, thank you.” When he continued watching her with a sympathetic look in his eyes, she added, “Except…except…”
Finally there was the slightest tremor in her voice. He moved closer, just to the edge of the ring of mud, and crouched down. “Except what?” he asked gently.
She pulled her bottom lip through her teeth. Her mouth was full and red, Gabe noted idly. Ripened.
She lifted the soggy piece of clothing from her lap, then let it drop with a sodden splash. With an intake of breath that could have been close to a sob, she said, “This was my only nightgown.”
Gabe glanced at the garment. It appeared to be made plainly of a serviceable white cotton. What had been white cotton. “Are you having trouble getting it clean?”
She shook her head. “It’s ruined. Look.”
He leaned close as she picked it up once again. The entire piece was covered with sticky black globs.
“What water did you use?”
She looked confused. “Well, just…water. From the stream.”
“Ah.” He stood and walked through the mud to pick up the fallen boiler. Then he began dumping the dirty clothes back into it. “The streams around here are full of minerals. See how the clothes have turned yellow?”
He spoke calmly, as if to a child, and gave Amelia time to compose herself. She picked at one of the little black balls. “Will these ever come off?” she asked.
“Perhaps. With patience. But the way to start would be to wash everything again. Doesn’t your brother have a rain barrel?”
She gave a forlorn shrug.
“You need fresh water and lots of soap. How much did you use?”
She cupped her hand to indicate the size of the spoonful. The skin of her palm was bright red.
“You’ve burned yourself!”
She quickly turned her hand over, but he reached for it and gently spread her fingers out. “It’s nothing,” she said.
“Didn’t you pour cold water over the clothes before you took them out of the boiler?” She didn’t answer. He dropped her hand with a shake of his head, then collected the soiled nightgown from her lap. It appeared to have fared worse than most of the other garments. “Whenever you have to use river water, you need to use a lot of soap.”
“I didn’t think it would make any difference.”
He smiled at her. “It’s not quite the same as turning on a faucet over a washtub back home, is it?”
“Mr. Hatch, I have never in my life turned on a faucet over a washtub.”
Her expression had regained some of the defensive haughtiness he had found so intriguing the other day. He liked it better than the sadness he had seen in her eyes when he came in, which had put an uncomfortable soft spot in the middle of his gut.
“Well, then, you can learn from the beginning.” He reached out his hand. After a slight hesitation, she took it and let him pull her up out of the dirt. “We’ll start by moving this operation out of Mudville, here. There’s a nice grassy bank behind the cabin that will do just fine.”
By late afternoon it was done. Gabe’s brisk manner and gentle jokes had helped Amelia overcome her initial embarrassment at seeing him, his white ruffled shirt rolled up to his elbows, scrubbing away at her most personal items of clothing. She’d never in her life seen a man do laundry, but Gabe seemed to think it nothing extraordinary. A few of the garments had been beyond remedy, including her nightgown. Sadly she’d crumpled it into a ball with the other ruined things and tucked them away in the corner of the cupboard to use as rags.
She sat back against the little hill bank and surveyed the results of their efforts. Freshly cleaned clothes, now only slightly yellowed, flapped in the breeze from the clotheslines Gabe had strung between three small trees in the back of the cabin. The boiler had been dried and put away in the cabin and the barrel washtub was emptied and lying on the ground bottom up.
She was glad that Parker and Morgan had taken their lunches with them this morning and had not returned to the house at midday. She didn’t think she could bear having them see the mess she had made. They would be home soon, though, and hungry as usual. She didn’t have an ounce of energy left to prepare a meal, and she had no idea what they were going to eat. The squirrel stew was gone, and neither Parker nor Morgan had been out to catch anything else. Remember stores? she thought to herself. Stores where you bought food in boxes and cans? Restaurants? Restaurants where you sat at tables covered with snowy linen and fine china and were served course after elegant course by a discreetly hovering waiter?
“Now what’s the problem?” Gabe interrupted her thoughts.
“I beg your pardon?”
“You look gloomy again. The laundry’s done. The floor inside has almost dried. The only thing left to do is get you cleaned up,” he added, gesturing to her now completely filthy dress.
She felt her cheeks color. She couldn’t believe she was sitting on the bank, her dress wet and clinging to her in what must be a most indecent way, her skirt pulled up inches above her ankles and her feet bare, since she had abandoned her soggy shoes halfway through the afternoon. She must look like the worst kind of hoyden. “I am a sight,” she said ruefully.
“Yes, you are,” he agreed easily, his eyes bright as they roamed the length of her.
“We’ve used all the rainwater.”
Gabe grinned. “I don’t think your skin will turn yellow if you use the stream. It’s not even too cold this time of year. You’ll find it refreshing.”
Amelia’s eyes widened. “You mean…bathe…in the stream?”
He nodded. “Unless you want to ride into town to Mattie Smith’s. She’s got a bathtub upstairs the size of a dance floor.”
Amelia scrambled to her feet. “No…ah…no. I have no intention of ever setting foot inside that woman’s establishment. And I’d appreciate if you wouldn’t mention it when you come around here.”
Gabe’s grin died. “You could do worse than make friends with Mattie, Miss Prescott. She knows this territory, understands how to live out here. Whereas you—” he gave a suggestive glance at the laundered clothes “—are what we would call a tenderfoot.”
“I know…I’m as green as spring grass. But I’m going to learn, Mr. Hatch. And I don’t intend to learn from the likes of Mrs. Smith.”
“You didn’t object to learning from me,” Gabe observed.
“I didn’t really have much choice in the matter. But, anyway, at least you don’t own a bawdy house. You’re only a…a…”
“A dissolute gambler and unrepentant drunkard?” he supplied with a serious face.
Amelia’s flush deepened. “You have told me that you don’t make a habit of imbibing, and I shall take you at your word. However, you do make your living gambling, and I can’t say that it’s a profession I admire.”
Gabe got to his feet, smiling once again. “At least you’ve forgiven me for my uncharacteristic appearance the day we met. It’s a start.”
“Please don’t count on it being a start to anything, Mr. Hatch,” she said primly. “I’ve promised Parker that