like that. Not that he was actually touching her, but even so, the act seemed intimate and...romantic.
James O’Brien wasn’t a rogue at all. He was a hero—her hero—having raced to her rescue once again.
He brushed the hair from her forehead with his fingertips and swiped her brow. “You don’t have anything to say for yourself?”
“Hmm? Yes, I did defy you, didn’t I? I had my reasons for doing so, and you must admit they were good ones.”
“Huh! I’ll admit no such thing.” His playful tone belied his scowl. “This is my place, and I expect those who work for me to respect my wishes.”
“Oh, but I do.” She couldn’t resist teasing him. “I respect your need to have a loyal watchdog who will see that no harm comes to you, your mother or your orchard.”
He wiped the other side of her face, looking deep into her eyes as he worked, his own a warm brown with a hint of mischief. “For a tired woman, you have an impressive amount of spunk.”
It had taken impending danger followed by relief to bring out a more lighthearted side of James. Now that she’d seen it, she was no longer afraid of him. Quite the contrary. She would do whatever it took to be there for him in his hour of need, as he’d been there for her.
Maybe they could become friends. Anything more was out of the question since she’d have to leave town as soon as she’d earned enough to pay him back.
For some reason, the idea of never seeing him again didn’t sit well.
* * *
James shifted the brown paper packages in his arms, crossed the porch and stood in the open doorway. His shoulders were sore after the half-mile trek home, balancing his unwieldy load. If he’d known when he’d left how much he was going to buy, he would have driven the wagon, but his plan hadn’t taken shape until he’d spied the shelf full of fabrics in Mr. Harris’s shop.
Mutti saw James first and chuckled. “Ach, Sohn. Did you leave anything for others?”
Becky wiped her flour-coated hands on her apron and rushed over. “Here. Let me help.” She grabbed the parcel teetering on top of the stack, set the bulky package on the dining table and watched wide-eyed as he plopped the ones containing the foodstuffs she’d requested beside it. “I know my list was rather long, but this is more than I expected.”
“I added a few things.”
Her eyebrows and her voice rose. “You did?”
“You don’t have to sound so skeptical. I’ve seen to the shopping for some time now. Why don’t you take a look? Start with this one.” He shoved the large parcel she’d rescued toward her.
She reached for the kitchen shears, snipped the twine and peeled back the brown paper. Tilting her head, she stared at the contents, saying nothing.
His chest tightened. He’d been sure she would like his choices. After all, he’d taken his time selecting the items, going so far as to seek the opinions of the female customers in the shop. Providing Becky with a new wardrobe was the least he could do after putting her in danger during the frost scare the week before.
Mutti shuffled over to the table and took her seat to the right of Becky.
At long last Becky nodded appreciatively and shifted her attention to Mutti. “How nice. James has gotten you some lovely new things.”
Becky pulled out the straw bonnet one of the women had said was quite fashionable, followed by a pair of kid gloves, six pairs of stockings, brightly colored material for dresses and plain muslin for nightwear and undergarments—everything the customers had said a young woman would need.
Mutti patted Becky’s arm. “My dear girl. He did not get them for me. They are for you.”
“No. That can’t be. He wouldn’t...” She held the bonnet in one hand and fingered the dove-gray ribbon ties, a color the women had said would go well with the fabrics he’d chosen.
“Mutti’s right. They’re yours.”
Becky gave her head an emphatic shake, set the bonnet on the table and pushed the pile of items toward him. “No. You must take them back.”
“Come with me, please.” He took her by the elbow and led her onto the porch. “What’s wrong? Don’t you like them?”
“I can’t accept a gift like that. It would be improper.”
He had to make her understand because he wasn’t about to have her wearing that dingy dress of hers any longer. She deserved better. “It’s not a gift. Think of it as...your uniform. You’ve only got one dress since the other’s burned, and it’s unacceptable.”
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