The Bride Wore Spurs (The Inconvenient Bride Series, Book 1) (7 page)

Lacey sniffled and blinked her eyes. "I told you, it popped out of that wee speckled hen of yours after I set her upon the basket."

"
Popped
out?" The corners of Hawke's mouth twitched. "Do you mean to tell me that you put one of my chickens in that basket,
squeezed
her, and she actually laid an egg for you?"

Lacey nodded. "A course, I did not have to squeeze her much, but 'twas the only way I could think of to get me a basket full of eggs. If there be an easier way to get them out, I'd like to know what 'tis."

Chuckling to himself for the first time in a long, long time, Hawk's normally taut lips spread into a wide grin. "There's an easier way, I expect," he said still grinning, "but it's not nearly as entertaining as yours. Come, I'll show you how to fill that basket up with eggs, and you won't even have to run after the chickens to do it."

Speechless, not over what she'd learned here; but by what she'd seen when Hawke relaxed enough to turn loose of his frown, Lacey followed him into one of the empty stalls. When this man smiled, his eyes, his mouth, his entire face—in fact—the whole
room
seemed to take on a brilliant glow! Why hadn't Hawke flashed that dazzling smile her way before now? It was better than coming across a four-leaf shamrock! If only she could keep him grinning that way instead of glaring at her as if she were the devil's disciple, their life as husband and wife might just be a very pleasant thing.

Could it be the man was not near so gruff as he appeared to be? Lacey had been taught by the nurses that to love with power was proof of a large soul; to hate was a thing in itself to be loved; and that hate was every bit as powerful as love. It stood to reason by Lacey's way of thinking, that this man who seemed so filled with hate, also had within himself the talent to love with power. Perhaps Kathleen Lacey O'Carroll merely had to find a way to coax it out of him.

"Are you listening and watching?" Hawke demanded of Lacey, who was staring a hole through him instead of looking at the feeder and other favorite nesting areas where eggs could usually be found.

"Oh, aye." She blushed, embarrassed to have been caught gawking at him, and glanced down to where a single egg lay peeking up through the bedding straw. "You're saying that we look for the eggs then, and not the chickens?"

"That's the easy way." Hawke handed her the basket. "Try it and see."

As Lacey searched the fresh clean straw for eggs, Hawke wondered why she'd been staring at him so hard, and why she looked so... so god damn
wide-eyed
over what she'd seen. It probably had something to do with his hair, he decided. He was long overdue for a trim, and while he usually kept his sable mane longer than "fashionable," it had grown so much over the winter, that he had to tie it back with a leather thong at the nape of his neck to keep it from blowing in his eyes and mouth. He supposed that tying his long hair back that way made him look even more like an Indian than usual, but that was just fine by him. In fact, if he let it stay just like that until the preacher showed up, it might be the final inducement for this Irish aristocrat take off for greener pastures. Maybe he'd even twist it into a couple of braids. That would probably scare her all the way back to Ireland.

After the eggs had been collected—all nine of them—Hawke lifted a three-legged stool off its peg up high on one of the center posts, and put it in position beside Hazel. He nearly straddled it as usual, then decided he might as well give the Irish miss another lesson—and one to remember, at that.

Cocking a finger her way, he said, "Come on over here and sit down. If you want milk for breakfast, you'll have to learn your way around a cow."

Lacey demurred. "I—to tell you the truth, I can not imagine that I'd be any good at it. I must admit that I'm a wee bit afraid of the beast."

Hawke should have let it go right there, should have milked Hazel and got on with the day, but for some reason, he was compelled to instruct the apprehensive woman, to find a way if he could, to help her lose that painfully innocent expression which crossed her features so frequently. Her expressive eyes showed both wonder and excitement, yet they seemed shadowed with a fear of the unknown giving her a look which reminded him of a caged bird suddenly set free. It was none of Hawke's business how she'd gotten that way in the first place, and it sure as hell wasn't his place to educate her in the ways of the world, but that soft spot inside urged him forward, and he couldn't seem to stop himself. Besides; what could it hurt to educate her where domestic barnyard animals were concerned? It wouldn't cost him anything but a little time.

Speaking to her in a tone he reserved only for his horses, Hawke gently said, "You have nothing to fear from Hazel. She
wants
you to milk her because right now, she's very uncomfortable. Come, you'll see."

His voice washed over her like a warm bath, surprising her enough that Lacey took a few steps toward the animal. "She does not know me. 'Twill upset her a wee bit, me being here, no?"

"Not with me standing right beside you." He held out his hand. "Come on. Spread your wings and fly, little bird. You might even enjoy yourself."

Lacey wasn't sure why he'd changed his altitude or way of speaking to her, but she vowed then and there to learn the secret. If she could keep him treating her this way in addition to smiling more often she might just be
grandly
happy for the rest of her life! Buoyed by the confidence his tender tones had inspired, she squared her shoulders and joined him in the stall.

"Just do what I say," Hawke murmured softly, "and everything will be fine." He reached for her right hand, but she jerked it away and offered the left. Deferring to what he assumed was her left-handedness, he gripped the small fingers of that hand and carefully set them down on the cow's back. "Stroke Hazel's coat gently and speak to her in a kind voice. Say hello, call her by name, and let her know you're her friend."

Lacey gulped, but it was with as much excitement as nerves. She'd never touched a beast such as this before, unless the wee pony she had as a lass of five would be considered in the same class. Even if it were, Lacey could barely remember anything of her childhood, much less what it felt like to touch her black pony, Coco. But Hazel was here and now, warm and slightly damp to the touch. She moved her hand, noting the cow's hairs were coarse, but surprisingly soft at the same time. Losing some of her fears, she lengthened her strokes.

"There now, Hazel lass," Lacey heard herself say as she continued to pet the animal. "I'm Kathleen Lacey O'Carroll come to ease the milk from your big swollen bag. I'll not hurt you, and would be ever so pleased if you could find it in your good graces not to hurt me back."

Pleased and encouraged by her gentleness, Hawke took Lacey's shoulders between his big hands. "She'll be all right with you now. The milk stool is against the back of your legs. Ease down on it. I'll be right behind you." Once she'd settled onto the little chair and he'd dropped to his knees, Hawke leaned across Lacey's shoulders to guide her hands toward Hazel's teats. A forest of coppery, curls blinded him.

"You'll have to move your hair out of the way if we're going to get this done. I can't see what I'm doing or even reach your hands through it."

"Oh, goodness." Embarrassed to have been caught unaware of her disheveled state, and by the man she was supposed to be impressing, Lacey burst into nervous giggles. She quickly gathered what she could of her hair and dragged it over her left shoulder, sputtering as she tried to explain what had happened.

"I—I lost my pins while chasing the chickens earlier, and do not have anything else to hold my hair in place. I'm afraid it does get a wee bit unruly if there be the slightest dampness in the air."

"It's out of the way now," he assured her, aware of the hint of panic in her tone. There were still a few maverick strands left to tickle his nose, his senses, and most disturbing of all, something deep inside of him, but Hawke tried to ignore those sensations, and again reached across her shoulders. "Go ahead, take a teat in each hand and get a firm grip on them."

His warm breath caressed Lacey's ear, and even though Hawke wasn't really holding her, he did have his arms around her. Close enough, she thought, to preserve the moment as her very first embrace from a gentleman. The idea sent a little shiver up her spine; and Lacey had to bite her lip to keep from giggling over the strange sensations this man's touch ignited in her

Hawke felt the tremor pass through her body. "Are you still afraid of Hazel?" he asked, concerned.

"Oh, goodness—no." Forcing herself to concentrate on the task again, Lacey tentatively reached out to touch the cow's udder. When her fingers made contact, she lost the battle with her giggles. "May the saints forgive me for my silliness, Mr. Hawke, but 'tis a very odd and strange thing you're asking of me."

"I'm just plain Hawke. Now watch what I do." Still trying to ignore her hair and its fresh, floral scent, an aroma which reminded him of the first cherry blossoms of spring, his long arms reached beyond her delicate shoulders to Hazel's udder. To make contact with the cow, Hawke had to press his chest against Lacey's back. Never had he been in such close proximity to a white woman, especially one who didn't object, and the effect was as disturbing as it was pleasurable.

Working quickly to avoid any misunderstandings, he filled each of his palms with a swollen teat, then demonstrated the correct motion by squirting several streams of milk into the bucket in rapid succession. Lacey squealed with delight, turned her head to the side as if to speak, and damn near brushed her mouth across his. Halfway expecting her to scream or at the least, accuse him of making improper advances, Hawke immediately turned loose of the cow and leaned back.

"Now you try it," he said gruffly, wondering why in the hell he'd agreed to play out the little charade of "testing" a wife in the first place.

Aware that Hawke was irritated, and assuming that she'd done something to upset him—
again
—Lacey fought her runaway nerves. Trying mightily to ignore the squishy, squeamish sensations which accompanied the feel of the cow's udder beneath her fingertips, she grasped the teats and pulled. Nothing came out. A pout in her tone, she said, "Tisn't working for me the way it does for you. I'm no good at this."

Again leaning over her shoulder, this time careful not to touch any part of her body with his, Hawke studied the position of Lacey's hands. "You're tugging on her instead of squeezing. Push your fists against Hazel's udder, then start a gentle up and down movement. And make sure you alternate your hands while you squeeze." He watched as Lacey positioned herself again, then added, "You have to squeeze hard—pretend you're trying to get eggs out of my chickens."

More relaxed now since the humorous reference to her earlier misdeeds made her feel somehow pardoned for the last, Lacey made a determined effort to accomplish her task. This time she was rewarded with a thin stream of milk.

"I did it!" she cried, enormously pleased with herself. "'Tis like rain from the heavens, and I brought it about by myself!"

"What you've started is more of a light shower." Hawke chuckled softly. "See if you can't squeeze hard enough to get a thunderstorm underway, or we'll be here till nightfall." And that wouldn't have been a very good idea; he decided, given his sudden and surprising state of excitement.

Every time Hazel swished her tail or stamped a foot, which was frequently; a startled Lacey leaned back against him, bringing her soft body into contact with his and her heavenly scented hair flush against his nose. It wouldn't be a very good idea, to just get up and leave her there, not while she was still so tentative and uncertain of herself. And yet if he was forced to stay in this position with his hips so close to her bottom—a curvy little backside in constant rotation as she wriggled back and forth on the stool while she went about her task—he didn't know how much longer he could keep his hands off of her. And as a half-breed, Hawke knew his status well enough to understand that could never happen, even if the Irishwoman
had
let on that she'd consider marrying him. For reasons he hadn't figured out yet, something wasn't quite on the up and up with Miss Lacey O'Carroll. Before the week was out, he intended to find out exactly what it was.

Dark as those thoughts were the spark she'd set off in him flared instead of dying out as she worked, and Hawke finally had no choice but to abruptly stand and turn his back to her. "You can finish here by yourself," he snapped. "When the pair of teats you're working on go dry, switch to the other set until they re empty, too. I've got to go cheek on my mares." Then he stalked off down the aisle.

Surprised by Hawke's curt departure, Lacey paused to wipe a few beads of perspiration from her brow with the edge of her sleeve. She didn't know what the devil she'd done wrong this time, but the man seemed gruffer now than he was when he found her squeezing his rooster. More surly even than he'd been when he found out she was the mail-order bride he
hadn't
ordered. Why had he turned on her now? She was getting the required bucket of milk from Hazel—what more could he possibly expect?

Muttering to herself over the man's unpredictable nature, Lacey went back to milking the cow. Her poor hands ached so much by the time the first set of teats were dry, she didn't know how she would find the strength to empty the other pair, but somehow, she carried on. Just as exhaustion overtook her and she could squeeze no more, Lacey thought she glimpsed something moving across the aisle. Happy to release Hazel, she glanced toward the section of the barn featuring a couple of large, closet-like rooms containing all manner of ranch equipment and fodder. As she peered into the murky interior of the one which held several bins filled with aromatic grains and hay, something small and dark bolted around the corner and disappeared. She blinked and looked again. Now all was still. Had her mind begun playing tricks on her again?