she glared at him, gathering details for the police report. His features were strong, blunt, like stone whose lines had been gradually worn by the elements. His eyebrows were thick, black and heavy, emphasizing the lightning blue of his eyes. She could still feel his arms around her.
“You might better sit a moment or two. You went down like a sack of potatoes, miss.”
“I fainted?” she asked, though now she remembered the dizzying wave, the light-headedness that often came when she rose too fast or forgot to eat. Her anger lessened as quickly as it’d been ignited. She sucked in her cheeks and looked away, her irritation only at herself. She felt like a fool. “I skipped breakfast.” Actually she’d tried a few saltines but hadn’t been able to keep them down. She glanced at her watch. “And lunch.”
She pushed herself off the steps.
“You should sit.”
“Thank you, I’m fine.” She ran her hand across her crown, checking for loose strands as she drew herself up. “Thank you for your help.”
The man’s hands reached out to steady her. She stared at those large wide hands, remembering their strength. She raised her head, met those brilliant blue eyes. She made her voice all business. “You’re interested in the position?”
He studied her. She was taller than an average woman and long limbed, long fingered. Her face was long, too, and her lips full but pressed fast to each other. Her nostrils were cut high. Her gray-green eyes were flat as smoke now but closed, their lids were milk-white and fine veined as lace. And when they’d first opened, as he’d carried her in his arms, those eyes had held the sweetness men oftentimes thought about at night.
Those eyes focused on him now with the sober stare of a taskmaster. Turn and run, he thought, self-preservation his first instinct. But behind the woman, he saw those wild yellow shutters, proclaiming their right to be. “Yes, Miss—”
She brushed her hand once more across her smooth crown, looked tired. “It’s Mrs., truth be told.”
She felt the dizziness come again as his blue eyes examined her. She reached for the porch rail, but when his eyes darkened with concern, she straightened and stood without support. “Mrs. O’Reilly.”
“Mrs. O’Reilly.” He considered her a mute moment, then smiled. She saw in that smile a man used to finding favor with women. “If I might speak to the boss?”
Her long frame became even taller. “You’re speaking to the boss, Mr….?”
The surprise in his eyes stayed only a breath, but the smile remained, his face full of a warmth and invitation that made most women instinctively lower their lashes as they returned his smile. Lorna pinched her lips together.
“Holt. Julius Holt, Mrs. O’Reilly.”
She folded her arms across her chest and spoke through tight lips. “Had much experience, Mr. Holt?”
He smiled still. “More than most.”
Her lips pursed, her earlier vexation gaining strength again. “How about at farming, Mr. Holt?”
“Born to it, ma’am, in Oklahoma on my grand-daddy’s farm until it went bust and my father moved us to California to try our luck there. I was about seven I recall.”
His tone had turned conversational, as if ready to tell her anything she wanted to hear.
“And did you have any?”
“Ma’am?”
“Luck? Did you and your family have any luck in California?”
He shook his head, the easygoing smile joined by a dry chuckle. “Not a speck.” His face sobered. “We were living in an old boxcar set on concrete blocks when my daddy had a cerebral hemorrhage.” He leaned in, the laughter gone and those blue eyes electric. “Dead.” He snapped his fingers. Lorna jumped. “Right before my eyes. Just like that.” He leaned back. “The biggest surprise was the drink didn’t get him first. Ma hung on for a while, raised chickens, had a big garden, but eventually the drink did take her.” His delivery became matter-of-fact. “I worked the farms in the valley beside the Mexicans almost a year before the State caught up to my sister and me.”
“How old were you?” She hadn’t meant for the question to come out so soft.
“Thirteen.”
“Thirteen?” Lorna tipped her head, eyeing him. She’d heard lies before.
He leaned in too close again. He knew she wanted to step back, but she didn’t. He liked that in her. “By twelve, I could buck hay all day.”
The woman raised her chin, the high flare of her nostrils giving her a haughty expression that instinctively provoked him. He tilted his own head, about to give her the old once-over when he noticed the garish green of her outfit again. His belligerence slid away to amused appreciation again for this odd woman with a penchant for outlandish colors. He let his grin widen, wearing it as boldly as her flamboyant colors, knowing both their affections were only to deflect focus.
He looked around, casual-like, assessing the farm instead of the woman. Past the set of her shoulders, he saw the buildings, one so dilapidated he wondered why winter winds hadn’t taken it out of its misery. The others needed repair also. He saw stretches of tarpaper where shingles once had been. An old car with no wheels sat rusting beside one low-roofed building. A door hung by one hinge off another. Farther on, he saw fallen trees flattening the brambled remains of plantings. Enough work here for an army of men, let alone one man who never seemed to stay a month or two before circumstances or need drove him on.
Still he had to admire that orchard with its bull-necked trunks stretching out in every direction. Real pretty country once he’d gotten past the new subdivisions beginning to surround the main part of town. He saw the pond in the lower field thawing at its edges, looked to the slopes of the land resting at the horizon. A man could sit, take a breath and feel whole here. Julius’s gaze moved back to the tight-mouthed woman. His pleasure receded. Pretty land and loud colors aside, the schoolmarm and he weren’t exactly a match made in heaven. He met her snooty expression and the urge to needle her arose as naturally as the smile still on his face.
“The ad said starting salary was seven dollars an hour?”
She nodded. “Plus room and board.”
“Seven dollars an hour?” He was incredulous. He didn’t think it was possible, but her mouth pinched even tighter. He was enjoying himself now.
“It’s a reasonable wage.”
He let out a laugh. “It’s an allowance, sister.”
She squared her shoulders. His gaze dropped as her nicely shaped breasts thrust up.
“I am not your—” Her lean, long frame weaved as if to fold up on itself once more.
“Whoa.” He caught her elbow, moved beside her and supported her lower back with his other hand. “No law says we can’t sit while we negotiate, is there now?”
Her body tensed beneath his touch. She shook him off, easing herself onto the steps without his help. He saw the fine flush of sweat across that high, proud brow. He patted his
