Into the Woods (14 page)

But somehow Stella read the dismay on her face, and knew. "I have an old dress or two that might fit you, pretty things I've outgrown lately. It's trying to make all that candy, I suspect," she muttered. She looked at Matilda's feet and stuck out one of her own. "My feet are too much larger than yours for any of my shoes to be of any service, though. They'd fall right off your feet."

"Stella," Matilda protested. "Really, there's no need to..."

"I'll come by early on Saturday and help you fix your hair. It's so thick and such a lovely color, I can't wait to give it a try."

"But we can't..."

Stella lifted a hand to still Matilda's protest. "It's the least I can do. If I can pass this pie off as my own, Seth will fall in love with me all over again and those kids might quit accusing me of trying to kill them with my dreadful cooking."

Only one thought kept Matilda from completely and sternly refusing Stella's offer.

Declan Harper.

* * *

On Sunday afternoon, Declan arrived at Matilda's cottage even earlier than he had the week before. He reasoned that a woman living alone might have a number of chores, besides chopping wood, that a man should be doing for her.

Since he'd decided to make her his mistress, his mind was calmer, easier. He always needed to have a plan of some sort, a goal, an objective. A purpose to everything he did. Now he had a new plan, a more exciting objective. Actually, it was the old plan, revised. He'd simply added Matilda Candy to the list of all he intended to have. Perhaps not tonight, perhaps not even next week, but eventually, and soon, she would be his.

He caught her in the garden again, but this time she was pouring a bucket of water onto the dry ground near the roots of her flesh-colored roses. Her back was to him, her wonderfully shaped back beneath a plain white blouse, her tiny waist accentuated by the waistband of a blue and green calico skirt.

"We all need rain," he said as he approached the garden.

She faced him, not exactly surprised to see him, as she had been last week. Her cheeks were flushed, pink and shining. "That's the truth," she said, picking up two empty buckets and exiting the garden by way of the open gate.

"I have a surprise for you," he said. "A gift."

Matilda stopped outside the garden and placed the buckets on the ground. She stood there, more fetching than any woman had a right to be, and gave him a tired, tolerant smile.

"You don't look exactly delighted to hear that I've planned a surprise for you," he said tersely, annoyed by her less-than-wild reaction.

"I'm afraid I know you too well, Mr. Harper. Can I help it that I find myself wary of gifts from a man unwisely named for an Irish saint?"

She breathed too deeply; he could see she was uncommonly fatigued.

Declan dismissed Matilda's less-than-thrilled reaction to the news that he'd brought her a gift. "How many trips have you made from the pond to the garden?" he asked with a frown.

"Four," she said. "And I need to make four more."

With that she picked up her buckets and turned her back on him, heading around the house and for the pond.

"Wait," he commanded.

Wearily, she turned to face him. "I do not have time to play games with you, Declan."

"This is no game."

She set the buckets down and left them there, walking slowly to him. Dammit, he thought, she should not be hauling water like a common laborer! The very idea angered him, actually made a muscle in his right cheek twitch.

"All right," she said as she came near. "Where is this supposed gift?"

He took her hand and led her toward the greenhouse, and when they were near to the corner he ordered her to close her eyes. She did, without hesitation, a faint smile creeping across her face. He led her around the corner, placed her in front of him, and rested his hands on her shoulders.

"All right," he said softly. "Open your eyes."

She did, and when she saw the two horses tied up in the small grassy area, she groaned aloud. "Oh, you didn't," she said softly. "Declan, I don't want a horse! I don't like to ride, I have no way to take care of such an animal, I don't even know how to take proper care of a horse."

He led her to the black mare he'd ridden all the way to Jackson to buy for her. "This is Shadow. She's small, she's gentle, and she's yours."

"I can't possibly..."

"I'll board Shadow in my stables, and you can ride her whenever you like. You've helped me so much, Matilda. You've talked to me, you've fed me, you've fulfilled my strangest requests." He didn't want to mention what he'd asked of her specifically, not at the moment. Right now he wanted to focus on the two of them, without Vanessa in the equation. "The saddle is yours as well."

"I can't accept such a gift," Matilda said softly.

Declan sighed tiredly, frustrated. He'd been so sure Matilda would be delighted with the mare, that she would at least be a little bit pleased. So far, he was not doing well in the courting arena. Vanessa had returned his candy and given him a list of more appropriate, and more expensive, gifts, and now Matilda was turning him down as well. Women! He wondered what kind of list she'd give him.

"It's too much," she continued. When she turned to look up at him, her eyes filled with tears. "But it's the nicest, most wonderful gift anyone has ever given me, and I thank you, even if I must refuse."

He didn't know how to deal with a woman's tears. You'd think that growing up with an emotional Irish mother and five sisters would've prepared him for a moment like this, but he was completely and totally taken aback.

"She's yours," he said gruffly. "Whether you accept her or not. I'll take care of her, I'll board her, but Shadow is your mare, Matilda," He gave her a smile, hoping it would dry her tears. "But first you have to learn to ride her."

That did the trick. Her tears dried. "Alone? By myself? Oh, no. I can't. I can't possibly. Besides, I have work to do." With that she stepped past him, heading for her damn pails.

He passed her easily. "You'll not carry any more water today," he said.

"But we haven't had rain in weeks, and my roses..."

"I'll water your damn roses," he said, scooping the buckets up without slowing his step. "And anything else you tell me needs watering."

"But Declan..."

"And when everything has been well watered, you're going to get into Shadow's saddle."

She didn't leave him alone, but followed silently as he rounded the cottage, climbed the small hill, and descended to the spring-fed pond below.

"But Declan," she finally said, as he dipped a pail into the water. "I can't ride, and I can't allow you to come here and do my chores for me. It just isn't right."

He carried the full buckets, sloshing water with each step, to where she stood. For a little thing, she had a lot of energy, a lot of power. It radiated from her like heat off a baking stone, or the aroma from one of her roses. No wonder people thought she was a witch; she was definitely no ordinary woman.

"Sit down," he said softy. "Stare out over the water and do nothing for a few minutes."

"Do nothing?" she asked. "I can't..."

"Sit," Declan interrupted. "It's a beautiful day. Enjoy it," he ordered.

"I can't..." she began again.

He laid his eyes on her face, felt a jolt deep inside that could only be sexual. "Sit," he whispered.

She did.

* * *

Matilda glared at Declan. It wasn't enough that he had hauled her water and chopped her wood, he now insisted that she come face-to-face with Shadow, the mare who was bound to hate her as much as every other horse did.

Declan held the reins beneath the mare's chin, and kept a clamp on Matilda's arm. She and Shadow were face-to-face. The mare snorted at Matilda, blowing hot horse breath into her face.

"See? She hates me."

Declan smiled. "That's her way of saying hello. Blow gently in her face," he said. "Say hello back."

Matilda did as Declan requested, certain that the horse would revolt and trample them both to death. But Shadow just snorted softly and shook her head.

In spite of herself, Matilda relaxed. How could she stare into those big, brown eyes and be afraid?

"Come here," Declan ordered impatiently, pulling her to his side and forcing her against the mare's shoulder. "Give her a hug."

"A hug?" she protested. "How do you give a horse a hug?"

"Just snuggle against her shoulder," Declan said patiently. "Pat her, lay your head against her, let her feel you."

All had gone well so far, so Matilda obeyed. She'd never smelled a horse before, not really, and she found it wasn't an altogether unpleasant odor. Shadow's coat was silky and dark as night, truly beautiful.

As she stroked the inky-black mare, Shadow turned her head and seemed to try to hug her back.

Declan pulled her further away from Shadow's head. "Now, into the saddle with you."

"I can't," she protested. "I'm not ready. I'm not absolutely positive that she likes me..."

She got no further. Declan put his hands around her waist and lifted her, placing her squarely in the saddle. For a split second she was dizzy, disoriented, close to panic. She had no control, here on the horse's back. The mare might run, or toss her rider onto the ground. Her skirt was full and allowed for freedom of movement, but straddling the animal, her ankles and calves were exposed. Still, at the moment, modesty was the least of her concerns.

Matilda remembered the last time she'd sat on a horse's back. She'd been twelve. The horse had thrown her off moments after her rear end had hit the saddle. She'd flown through the air and landed hard.

But this horse didn't bolt, or rear back, or try to throw her. Shadow remained perfectly calm, even though Matilda was not.

Declan led the mare in an easy walk. They walked in and out of the shade, not heading anywhere at all, but simply allowing Matilda and the mare to get a feel for each other.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked.

"Because I figure if I just tossed you in the saddle, told you to hold on, and hit Shadow on the rump you'd never forgive me."

"Well, that's the truth." Matilda laughed at the mental picture. She had a feeling handling her dread that way would've come more naturally to Declan. "But it doesn't answer my question. Why are you so determined to see that I get over my fear of horses?"

"Because fear is a weakness," he said logically. "And you are an extraordinary woman with no room in her life for weakness." He said the words as if he meant them, as if he spoke from the heart.

Matilda was afraid she was developing an all-new weakness. For Declan. Oh, no good could come of this. She really should remind herself of why he'd come to her in the first place. But when he helped her from the mare, his hands firm on her waist again as he declared they'd done enough for one afternoon, she knew it was true. If she had a weakness at all, it was for this man.

She fed him again. This Sunday she was prepared, and the meal was not something she simply threw together at the last minute. There was a pot roast, rolls with honey-butter, beans and squash from her garden, and a cherry pie for dessert. Declan ate well, as she imagined he always did. A man of his size surely required a lot of feeding. But he not only ate well, he enjoyed every bite. She knew it, and was glad. She got so little opportunity to watch other people eat what she prepared. Mr. Fox swore her breads and sweets were popular and all sold by Saturday afternoon, but except for Hanson and Gretchen she'd never seen a person roll their eyes in delight, or smile as a particular taste pleased their tongue, or close their eyes and savor something particularly tasty.

When dinner was done, and it was almost dark outside, Matilda fetched the latest potion from a shelf in the main room. Declan sat in his usual chair, calm, satisfied after his big meal, and apparently in no hurry to take possession of her latest effort.

"This," she said as she walked to him, placing herself boldly before him, "is something a little different. The first powder apparently lost its potency overnight, or else was not effective in Vanessa's blood. The second she never ingested, since she does not like sweets." An abnormal trait, Matilda was sure. "So I thought we might try this."

She lifted the cork stopper from the small, green glass bottle. "This oil," she said, sniffing lightly at the opening, "smells lovely in the bottle, but is perfectly safe. Place one drop on the skin, however, and the scent changes. It becomes an aphrodisiac of the highest order, a stimulating scent that should work immediately."

She stoppered the bottle and handed it to Declan. "Dab a bit of this on your neck before you go to see Vanessa next, and I believe you will be pleased with the result."

Something in her heart shriveled. Vanessa Arrington! What did a man like Declan see in her? It was a mystery, as were all things relating to love.

Declan removed the stopper and brought the bottle to his nose for a long sniff. "It does smell nice," he conceded. "But how can I be sure it will work?" He lifted his dark eyes to her and raised his eyebrows.

Heaven above, she could not stand another test. She could not bear to torture herself with wanting what she could not have. "Since there is no possibility of danger to Vanessa with this method, I see no reason to conduct another of your experiments. If it doesn't work, simply return it, and I will try again."

"I want to know," he said, barely touching his finger to the opening and tilting the bottle so that the oil touched his finger, bringing that fingertip to his neck, just beneath the ear.

This wasn't fair, Matilda thought with a touch of panic. She already liked Declan Harper too much; she did not want or need any stimulant to make her affection grow to more than it was, to make her fancy a man she could never, ever have. She closed her eyes as the faint, intoxicating scent drifted to her, spicy and musky. She could not keep it out, could not deny the way it made her feel... the way she already felt.

"Here," Declan said softly. "It hardly seems fair for you to have all the fun."

Fun, she thought hysterically. He thought this anguish was fun?