The Seduction Of Shay Devereaux

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“What happened soiled me,” she murmured. “Made me not fit for a decent man. I doubt I’ll ever feel…”

His hand covered her mouth, a rough, immediate response to her words that took her breath. “Don’t speak such blasphemy,” he growled. “You’re a fine woman, a good woman. His actions didn’t place a curse on you. But trust me sweetheart—the man will burn in hell for what he did that day. And if it were possible, I’d send him there myself.”

She uttered a sound of disbelief. “I wouldn’t want you to, Shay. Murder is never the right answer.”

He was quiet, barely breathing, and then he spoke. “Sometimes it’s the only answer.”

She was chilled by his reply, frightened by the bleak tone of his voice. And then he lifted her from his lap, stood and walked to the window. He was a shadow against the starlight, a tall, gaunt reminder that there are hidden depths in every man that don’t bear revealing, and Jenny hugged her knees to her chest, mourning the loss of his embrace.

She hadn’t looked him in the eye, had blushed beneath his scrutiny at the breakfast table. Shay’s hands gripped the handles of the cultivator and held it against the earth. Ahead of him, the mule leaned forward in her traces, and the combined force of his weight and her strength dug the three curved prongs into the ground, turning the hard dirt to tillable soil. His muscles bulged as he held the big implement steady, veering neither right nor left, staying between the rows of corn.

Behind him, Joseph followed, rake in hand, hilling the stalks, leaving the furrows deeper than the ridged rows. It was a hard job, and an hour at a time was enough to make a man rue the need for it. Noah stood at the far end of the row, waiting his turn behind the mule, and Shay was willing to give it up to him.

“I don’t know how you managed it by yourself before your sons were big enough to help with this,” he muttered, drawing his gloves off and tucking them into his back pocket.

“We all do what we have to,” Noah told him, his grin wide and white. “Can’t say it’s my favorite way to spend a morning.” He nodded at the broad haunches of the mule. “Not much to look at, the way I see it.” Shay caught his meaning. It brought a laugh from his depths and he rejoiced at the moment of amusement. There hadn’t been much to smile about thus far today.

Jenny had left the loft, silently and without his notice, as he stood at the window last night. Her slender form had caught his eye, her feet flying as she ran to the house, and he’d turned away from his dark thoughts, disgusted that he’d allowed her to flee, unheeded. The mattress had been hard and unyielding beneath his body throughout the long night, as he thought of the words she had spoken, the tears she’d shed against his chest. And most of all he remembered the feel of her curves, the warmth of her slender form as she clung to him, curled against his eager flesh, secure in his arms.

Breakfast had been brief, Jenny leaving the table to work with a bread pan full of risen dough at the buffet. She’d refused to look up when he bid her good day, only mumbled a reply. Marshall, oblivious to his mother’s mood, had followed Shay to the barn, and then to the cornfield.

Now he sat beneath tall bushes in the hedgerow, in charge of the water jars and carefully tending his collection of tin soldiers. On his stomach, smack dab in the center of a quilt Shay had spread for him, he kicked his feet in the air, laughing to himself as his miniature army marched across the corduroy patches. His golden hair was dark with perspiration at the temples, and sweat glistened on his nose as he looked up at Shay’s approach.

“Mr. Shay,” he called out. “Come see my soldiers.” Rising to his knees, he motioned to the area beside him. “You wanta sit with me for a while?” His smile was bright and he reached to find a jar of water. “It’s still pretty cool. Mama said to cover it with part of the quilt, and I thought it would make it warmer, but she said it would help keep it cool.” His brow furrowed as his small hands enclosed the jar, offering it to Shay. “That doesn’t make sense to me.”

Shay unscrewed the lid and tilted the jar to his mouth, swallowing the sweet spring water, making no attempt to halt the cooling drops that seeped down his chin. They stained his shirt, dark blots penetrating the fabric, and he looked down, reminded of the hot tears Jenny had shed on this selfsame shirt last night.

“Your mama knows more than we do, I think,” he told the boy. “Women have a knack of picking up on things. Now, we men,” he said wisely, exaggerating the words for Marshall’s benefit, “we just have to do the best we can, and pay attention to what we’re told.”

“You, too, Mr. Shay? Do you have to listen to my mama?” Marshall cocked his head to one side and frowned at the idea.

“Yeah,” Shay said. “I listen to whatever your mama tells me, son.” It seemed the boy had forgotten the moments from the evening before, his qualms buried beneath the ready smile and generous spirit he exhibited.

“I sure like you,” Marshall offered offhandedly. “I bet my mama does, too.”

Shay slanted him a grin, uncaring that his scar drew up, twisting his mouth. “You think so?” He thought a minute. “Maybe so, Marsh. Maybe so.” Noah was at the end of the row, Joseph close behind. Another two swipes through the cornfield and he’d be switching places again. Just about time for a nap, he figured.

His sharp gaze scanned the fields surrounding them, searched the hedgerow briefly, and then settled again on the boy. “You be sure to wake me if anyone comes along, Marsh. I’m gonna close my eyes for a few minutes.”

Marshall looked up, already absorbed in his soldiers, and nodded distractedly. “I’ll keep an eye out, Mr. Shay.” He bent to pick up a figure, adjusted the angle of its weapon, and sent Shay another look. “Even if my mama comes, should I wake you up?”

Shay watched him from beneath his hat brim, and chuckled, a low sound that seemed to please the boy. “Especially if your mama comes by, son. You be sure and wake me.”

“Ess-pesh-ly,” Marshall repeated, emphasizing the sounds, enjoying the flavor of the word. “Ess-pesh-ly.”

“Our Caleb’s got him a woman,” Isabelle said, her air nonchalant, her words prideful.

Jenny looked up from her sewing, holding the needle in midair. “Someone from close by? Do I know her?” If Caleb had found a bride, it would mean allotting him land of his own to till and work. And one less hand to tend the fields here, she thought.

“Remember Sarah and Eli? The pair of them got married soon as they could, after—” Isabelle halted, weighing her words. “I still don’t feel good about how some of our people left here, Jen. Like they didn’t have it pretty good with you and Mr. Carl.”

“They weren’t free, Isabelle. I can’t blame them for leaving. I might have done the same.” She looked out the window to where the corn was almost as high as the pasture fencing. “Working your own land is different than sweating over someone else’s crop.”

“Well, if they’d hung around, you’d have give ’em a piece to work for theirselves,” Isabelle told her. “Now they’re doing shares with Doc Gibson, over south of here. And not likin’ it much.”

“Get back to Caleb’s woman,” Jenny said impatiently. “Is she kin to Sarah and Eli?”

“Their daughter. More girl than woman, I guess. Almost seventeen years old. She’s been showin’ up here every few days, makin’ eyes at my boy like he’s the cock of the walk.” Isabelle’s smile was tender as she ceased the rise and fall of the dasher. Churning was tedious work and talking made it palatable, but Isabelle tended to break her regular rhythm when she got caught up in storytelling.

“Caleb’s a handsome man,” Jenny agreed readily. “Tall and strong, and probably more than ready for a place of his own.”

Isabelle slanted a glance across the kitchen, to where Jenny sat near the window. Taking advantage of sunlight was a double delight, she figured. It made the task of sewing more enjoyable to gaze from the window between times. Catching a glimpse of Marshall now and then as he followed Shay’s tall figure around the place gave her a feeling of contentment that rested easy on her mind.