love to have you sketch Nana Dovie.”
That surprised him. “You might do better to get a photograph. Reggie, the lady who owns this cabin, is a photographer and her work is quite good.”
She wrinkled her nose consideringly. “I think I’d rather a sketch. Photographs seem so stiff.” Then she sighed. “Not that it matters. Nana Dovie would never travel this far for something she’d think was nonsensical.”
She looked around then, obviously done with the subject of his artwork. “Where are Jubal and your horse?”
“Around back.”
“And where does that trail lead?” she asked, waving to her left.
“There’s a small lake about three hundred yards down that way. It’s where the water I’ve been using comes from, and there’s good fishing there, too.”
Her eyes lit up. “Is there a spare fishing pole around here?”
“Several. They’re in the lean-to out back.”
“I’m pretty good with a pole and a hook,” she said with a hopeful glance his way.
“Perhaps tomorrow you can try your luck.”
Her sigh had a note of disappointment, but she grinned. “Luck has nothing to do with it.”
He returned her smile. “I look forward to seeing if the reality matches the boast.”
“Challenge accepted.” Then she stood. “Please, continue with your drawing. I’m going to plop down in that chair over in the sunshine and just enjoy the fresh air for a bit.”
Mitch opened his sketchbook as she settled into her chair. She ruffled the fur on her dog’s neck. When the mutt ran off, she leaned back and watched him, laughing and talking to the animal as if he could understand her.
Mitch tried to lose himself in his drawing again, to transfer the essence of the view before him onto the page. But the sound of Ivy’s laughter, the sight of her blissful enjoyment of her surroundings, was making it surprisingly difficult to do much of anything but look at her.
* * *
Ivy watched Rufus sniff the ground, obviously picking up the scent of some critter or other. It was nice out here—warm but with a breeze to stir her hair. She heard the rat-a-tat-tat of a woodpecker in the distance.
The sun slipped out from behind a cloud, and she closed her eyes against the sudden glare. Rufus barked from what seemed like far away, and she wondered if he’d treed a squirrel. She heard buzzing and wondered idly if it was a bee or a deerfly. But it wasn’t really worth the effort to open her eyes to find out.
A moment later, someone cleared his throat right above her, breaking the stillness of the afternoon. Her eyes flew open to focus on Mr. Parker, standing beside her, his sketchbook in hand. Had he finished his drawing already?
Then she noticed the shadows had lengthened and she was no longer in full sunshine. The heat rose in her cheeks as she saw his amused glance. Despite the fact that she’d thought herself well rested, she’d fallen asleep again.
“You must think me a real lazybones.”
He smiled. “You have good reason to rest.” He reached down to help her rise. “Why don’t we head back inside? If you’re not hungry or tired, I can pull out a checkerboard, if you feel up to a game.”
She took his hand, accepting his assistance. “You’ll soon learn I rarely back down from a challenge.”
With a smile on his face, Mitch let her precede him back into the cabin. The woman was intriguing. She was certainly unpredictable. And seemingly unflappable.
And totally unlike any woman he’d met before.
Shaking off that thought—an exercise he seemed to be doing a lot of lately—he dug out the checkerboard and set it on the table.
As she sat across from him, he raised an eyebrow in challenge. “I assume you know how to play.”
She grinned. “It’s been a while, but I think I remember how it goes.”
Miss Feagan proved to be an aggressive player, approaching the game with more verve than strategy. He won the first two games, though they were by no means runaway victories. Those defeats didn’t seem to dampen her enthusiasm, however. She merely grinned and vowed to get him next time.
He stood. “Before you try again, why don’t we eat?”
She grinned. “I came close to beating you just now. Are you by any chance wanting to fortify yourself before facing me again?”
He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had taken that teasing tone with him. But he found he rather liked it. “I was thinking I needed to give you an opportunity to sharpen your wits so you’d have a fighting chance.”
“Ha!” She put her hands on her hips and glowered melodramatically. “That sounds like a challenge. I demand we play a third game so I can defend my honor as a checker player.”
“After we eat.” He moved toward the stove. “There ought to be just enough soup left for each of us to have a nice bowlful.” She stood, but he waved her back down. “Keep your seat. This won’t take but a minute.”
She ignored him. Naturally. “Don’t be silly.” She crossed to the counter. “The least I can do is set the table. I assume the dishes are kept in here.” She opened the cupboard, then reached inside.
A moment later Mitch saw her sway unsteadily, and he quickly crossed the space between them. “Whoa, there.” He took her elbow and put an arm around her shoulders. “Are you okay?”
She gave him a shaky smile. “Just got dizzy for a moment.”
“That does it.” He led her firmly back to the table. “I want you to sit here and not get up again until it’s time to turn in.”
“Don’t be silly. It was just—”
“No arguments.” He pointed to the chair. “Sit.”
She stared at him mutinously for another heartbeat. Then she relaxed and gave him a pert grin. “I suppose,” she said, sitting with exaggerated care, “that if you insist on waiting on me, I should just let you.”
His lips quirked at that, and he gave a ceremonious bow. “At your service, m’lady.”
* * *
Ivy propped her elbows on the table and watched as Mr. Parker went back to the stove. He certainly was a puzzle of a man. Big as a grizzly but graceful as a wolf. All prickly and proper when it came to matters of propriety but able to take her teasing with good humor and even give it back to her at times. Able to carry heavy loads—like a fully grown woman—and with those same hands he could draw the most amazing pictures. And for all his stern exterior, she was beginning to believe he was soft as a mossy creek bank on the inside.
Maybe not such a puzzle after all—he was just a good man.
Rufus
