The Lady Who Drew Me In. Thomasine Rappold
wool socks onto her lap.
“Take off your shoes and put those on,” he said. “I’m sure your friend, the giant, won’t mind if you borrow them.”
Daisy turned away from him to remove her shoes and unroll her stockings. She hung the filthy things over the bench by the fireplace and set her muddy shoes on the hearth alongside Jackson’s large boots.
The sight of their footwear, drying side by side in the firelight, seemed so intimate. She stole a glance in his direction. His dark hair was tousled, and there was a wildness about him that she hadn’t noticed when he’d been properly dressed. Below the thin towel draped over his shoulders, muscles flexed as he leaned casually with his elbows on his knees. His lack of modesty in her presence was unnerving. And exciting.
For the briefest of moments, she wondered what life might be like with a man like him. A man near to her age, vital and strong.
She guzzled her drink, feeling warmer. Lighter. Rain dripped from his hair, beading on his naked back below the towel. Drops slid slowly down his spine. His skin glistened in the firelight, and she swallowed hard against the impulse to touch him.
Warmth tingled through her core. She straightened in her seat, regaining her senses. The man was bad news. His wanderlust was no secret, as was his commitment to bachelorhood—Tessa had told her as much. Still, Daisy found her mind drifting….
“So,” she said, “how long have you been working with the Markelson Law Firm?”
“My position is only temporarily. Markelson offered me this case after my resignation from Kressler and Associates.”
“Resignation?”
“Forced resignation,” he clarified boldly.
“Oh.” She lowered her gaze. What on earth had he done to earn a forced resignation?
“Let’s talk about you, Mrs. Lansing.”
“What about me?”
“I saw you with Andy,” he said. “While you were entranced.”
She turned to him, feeling struck. “You were supposed to wait on the porch.”
“I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“I’m sorry you were startled, but if you’d waited outside—”
“I wasn’t startled.”
She eyed him skeptically. “You watched me transfer Andy’s thoughts into a sketch, and that didn’t startle you?”
“No, Mrs. Lansing, it did not,” he said with a slow shake of his head. “It scared the hell out of me.” He smiled at the truth in it, and then she smiled too. “It’s an extraordinary ability,” he said. “How did you learn it?”
“I did not learn it,” she said.
“It just came to you naturally?”
There was nothing natural about it. The ability to transfer people’s thoughts to paper was borne of something else. She blinked back the memory of blinding smoke and flames.
“I’ve always been artistically inclined,” she said quickly. “The discovery of my extraordinary ability came later.”
“Are your parents artistic, as well?”
“I never knew my parents.” She lifted her chin against the pain of her childhood. “I was raised in the orphan asylum until I was nine. After that I was placed out with several families in Troy.” She fiddled with her hands. “When I was a girl, I used to imagine my parents were great artists.” On a fortified breath she added, “So, I am certain I inherited the artistic aspect of my talent from them.”
“So am I.” He smiled.
Her heart skipped a beat, and she smiled too. He was so charming. The compassion in his handsome face—or the whiskey she’d drank—filled her with longing. Heat slithered through her chilly bones. It had been so long since she’d felt such yearnings—since she’d allowed herself to feel them. Lawry had done his best to tame her desires, but unlike Lawry, she knew Jackson could handle them. She stared into his eyes, her gaze trailing to his mouth. His lips looked so soft. So inviting. She’d never see him again.
She barely felt herself leaning toward him, barely felt his light breath on her face as she moved closer and pressed her lips to his. She heard a sharp intake of breath before his mouth softened against hers. She leaned into the gentle pressure of his lips, closing her eyes. He smelled of leather and rain, and everything wonderful.
He eased his mouth from hers, his breath soft and warm as he lingered a mere inch from her lips. “I’m not sure why you did that, Daisy, but I caution you not to do it again.” The husky tone of his voice told her why.
The irresistible impulse to kiss him had stunned her as well. Heat blazed in her cheeks as she drew away. “I—”
“You’d better get some sleep.” He ran a hand through his hair. “You take the cot. I’ll make a bed here on the floor.”
She fumbled for her stockings, scrambling around. “We have to be up at first light,” she reminded him. She tossed the stockings on the cot. “It’s a long walk back to town, if we can’t get the wagon out.” But tomorrow’s tribulations wouldn’t surpass her folly tonight, and she found herself rambling. “I’m attending a meeting tomorrow for Misty Lake’s Overseers of the Poor.”
“Of course you are,” he said with a smile.
She smiled too, feeling better. “My involvement is what led me to the idea of a day home. Membership support is crucial for the success of my plan. I suppose I have to prove myself as well, if I want people to trust me with their children.”
“You’ll be home in plenty of time for your meeting,” he assured her.
She crawled onto the cot, wincing at the thought of whatever else might be crawling there with her. She lay on top of the musty blanket, wide awake, listening to the rain battering the roof. She stared across the room at Jackson, mesmerized by the amber glow of firelight licking his bare back, his broad shoulders. The taste of his kiss was still fresh on her lips, and she pressed her fingers to her mouth, wondering how she would ever forget it.
* * * *
Daisy awoke to the sound of a slamming door. She bolted upright. Clutching a blanket to her chest, she searched the dim room for Jackson.
“Whoa, there!” Jackson stood with his arms raised in surrender beneath the towering shadow of Cuffy and his rifle.
She flung her feet to the floor, shoving them into her shoes. “Cuffy! Don’t shoot!” Daisy raced to Jackson’s side. “It’s me, Mrs. Lansing!”
Cuffy narrowed his eyes. “Mrs. Lansing?”
She nodded furiously. “Yes, yes. Please put down that gun.”
Cuffy lowered the rifle. “Whatcha doin’ in my place, Mrs. Lansing?”
“I’m sorry, Cuffy. We got stranded in the storm.” She grabbed Jackson’s arm. “This is Mr. Jackson Gallway.”
“How do, Mr. Jackson.” The small pair of antlers on Cuffy’s cap bobbed with his eager handshake.
Jackson exhaled in relief. “I was just heading to get my wagon,” he said. “It’s stuck a quarter mile or so up the mountain, and I could use some help getting it out.”
Cuffy puffed his massive chest. “I’m strong as an ox. I can get yer wagon out for you.”
Jackson turned to Daisy. “Get your things.”
She complied quickly, then hurried outside to join them.
“You have the sketch?” Jackson called over his shoulder.
“Good heavens,” Daisy said as she circled back to get the case, which contained the