Chapter Five

Rory ambled toward Markham, eager to inspect the progress made on the barn. When Isabelle informed her a crowd had arrived at sunrise to build the new structure, she couldn't believe she'd slept the morning away. After a biscuit and a cup of tea, she'd run her hands through her hair, pinched her cheeks and ventured onto the porch. Markham stood in the yard tallying every board and nail used by the workers. She couldn't ignore him, or the scarlet vest hugging his torso.

"Good morning, Markham," she called out with a wave.

A crooked grin lifted one corner of his mouth. "Morning? It's almost noon, Rory."

She stretched her arms over her head and released a contented sigh. "Yes, I know. Isabelle let me sleep in this morning, a luxury at the Caldwell house."

Wagons crept into the yard, loaded with children and baskets of food. Long tables and benches sat at angles in the grass between the new barn and the house. Isabelle wandered onto the porch, Sophia and Eliza in tow and the older girls in close pursuit.

"The men are about to break for the noontime meal," Markham called out from the yard. "The women brought food."

Isabelle drew her hands together. "I'm so grateful, had no idea they'd arrive this morning."

"Yes, ma'am, we wanted to surprise you, and 'round here everyone brings a dish for a barn raising. The tables will sag in the middle with food in no time."

"Anne, Sarah and Rachel, bring out lemonade and pitchers of water for the tables, will you?" "Yes, mother," they said at the same time and hustled back into the house.

Isabelle wandered off to greet Louisa Pearson and the others while Rory turned to look at the new barn going up. "I'm amazed at the progress already."

"They're organized." Markham snorted. "Course they should be, they've raised dozens of barns."

Rory cupped a hand over her eyebrows and looked up. "I wouldn't want to be the one sitting at the highest peak. Poor man," she added as an afterthought. Her stomach plummeted. The man's inky black hair looked familiar, as did the broad shoulders and well–built torso. She couldn't see his face, but a déjà vu washed over her. With her heart racing and panic twisting her gut, she wanted to bolt for the house. Good heavens, it couldn't be, not the stranger she'd encountered in the woods, the half–naked man she'd made eye contact with.

"That's Dawson Finch."

"Who? Where?"

"Rory, are you ill? You're pale as a ghost all of a sudden."

"The sun is a little hot today, that's all."

"I said that poor man sitting on the highest rafter is Dawson Finch."

"Ah, and who is he? I mean, does he live around here?"

"Of course, he lives in the settlement. His family resides not far from here."

"Family? He's married then?"

"Ha! I'd like to see the day a woman hogties him." Markham cocked his head, his brow creased, his eyes narrowed. "You sure you're all right? Your forehead is perspiring."

"A bit lightheaded from the blasted sun, I think."

From a distance, her sister's voice floated toward her. "Rory, dear, do come here and help unload the food."

"Coming! I better go help Isabelle. Nice to see you again, Markham."

"Wait!" He stammered through the words, "Will you–you share the noon meal–meal with me?"

"Fine, see you then." She plastered a smile on her face, greeted the neighbors and stretched her arms out to receive several platters.

"Start loading up the tables, dear." Louisa smiled as she placed the large plates into arms. "Don't forget to come back for more."

"Yes, ma'am."

Working her way to a table, Rory glanced toward the men climbing down from the scaffolding and rafters. Like that day in the woods, her eyes locked with his. He smirked. If she wondered before whether he'd smiled or smirked that day in the forest, she could definitely rule out the smile. This can't be happening. What if he told the workers about our meeting in the woods? Did he tell them he caught me ogling his half–naked body? I'll insist we’ve never met; tell him he's mistaken. Or addle pated. Good Lord, if he isn't the most handsome man to ever draw breath. Head down, Rory pulled away from his bold perusal and scampered toward the first empty table.

"Miss, wait up a minute!"

Go away, please, go away.

"Rory!"

Brought up short, she turned around. "You know my name?"

"My mother said you were Isabelle's sister. I didn't put the name with the face until today."

Her stomach fluttered. "What do you mean? You haven't seen my face before."

"Oh, but I have. You're the girl who ran away from me in the forest."

She couldn't look into the depths of his eyes anymore. A triangle of light fell across his gorgeous face, underscoring the flecks of charcoal gray melding with the cobalt. "You are mistaken Mister . . ."

"Dawson, Dawson Finch, and no, I'm not mistaken. I'll never forget the image—the dark green of your eyes amid the pines, the long hair." He chuckled. "And the only thing separating us, a pool of water." He advanced and her heart launched into triple beats. "I forged that stream, wanted to help free you from that thorny bush but—"

"You're delirious." She set her jaw. "You never saw me in the woods, Dawson Finch."

He stood so close his warm breath fanned her cheeks. He smelled of fresh air, sunshine and a manly musk scent that made her knees weak. "Delirious, huh?"

From the corner of her eye, she saw his hand slide to a pocket of his trousers. "Is this a figment of my imagination too?" He waved a long strand of her hair in her face. "Let's see if it matches." One corner of his wide, sensual mouth rose when he eased the strand to the side of her face.

Her ruse had played out. And not in her favor. Catching her lower lip between her teeth, she hissed, "Put that away before someone sees you." She looked left to right. "So, you caught me in a lie. Any fool would know I'd rather forget about that day."

"And any fool would know I don't." His eyes smiled behind a thicket of long, black lashes. “I'll put this treasure away if you promise to sit with me for the meal."

"That's blackmail!"

Perfectly sculpted lips offered a quick retort. "I guess you're a little fibber then and I'm a blackmailer."

She gasped. "You're arrogant and–and bold to boot."

"Arrogant?" He clapped a hand over his heart. "You wound me, forest sprite. I've never been accused of arrogance."

"What about bold?"

He leaned into her, his masculine scent and close proximity sending her heart into a wild rampage. "Guilty as charged, and very persistent. What about my offer?"

"I don't know anything about you other than what I saw in the woods." Heat traveled up her throat and flushed her cheeks. "Oh, that didn't come out right."

Dark brows with a wicked slant rose. "Did you like what you saw?"

"Go away, please go away. People are staring at us."

"Let them stare." He shifted his weight from one hip to the other. "You want me to leave?"

"Yes . . . no, I mean, I'm not sure."

"Join me for lunch; then you can make up your mind."

"Who have you told about our encounter in the woods?"

He crossed his heart with his index finger. "Not a soul. Why would I? Didn't think I'd ever see you again." He smiled. "Until my mother said a woman with copper hair and green eyes lived here."

She couldn't help the low–throated giggle. "Oh, aren’t you the charmer?"

"A bold, persistent charmer who resorts to blackmail to get what he wants." His face took on a serious expression. "I want you. That is, I want you to share a meal with me, please."

"Anything to make you go away."

"Good. When you're done unloading the food, I'll find you." He turned to go.

"Wait! I think I promised Markham I'd eat with him."

He swung around, the familiar sneer curling his lips. "Allow me to take care of Potter." His dark eyes challenged her. "Anything else?"

She shook her head.

With a dramatic bow, he uttered, "Until then, forest sprite."

Rory set the platters of food on the empty table and returned to the wagon for more. Her hands trembled and her fingers tingled beneath the weight. The man claimed he hadn't told anyone about the incident in the woods, but could she believe him? What choice did she have at this point? She'd sit with him during the meal, convince him to forget about what passed between them that day, and that would end it. Her heart thudded, a reminder it didn't agree with her logic. Oh, be still my wild heart. He's just a man, a sinfully beautiful man with enough magnetism to charm a snake charmer.

On her next trip to the wagon, Isabelle intercepted her. "Lass, what was that all about?"

"What?"

"The conversation you had with that handsome man? I wouldn't ask except you looked upset."

"That handsome man is Dawson Finch. His family lives not far from here according to Markham. I wasn't upset, worrywart. He asked me to join him for the noon meal."

"That's good, right? I hope you replied in the affirmative."

Rory gave her sister's cheek a gentle pinch "Yes, little matchmaker, I said I'd join him."

Isabelle laughed.

"What's so amusing?"

"I think I'm more of a worrywart than a matchmaker."

"You're both, dear sister, but I love you just the same."

"Have fun." Isabelle walked off, shouting over her shoulder, "I love you too."