Megan by Linda Lael Miller

Author:Linda Lael Miller
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pocket Books

Chapter

7

Megan was in a distracted state of mind after Lil took her leave and so did not remember the laundry until she heard raindrops spattering on the roof and rumbling at the windows. By the time she reached the edge of the creek, the skies had opened wide, and her hair and clothes were immediately drenched as she rushed from one bush and tree to another, bunching sheets and shirts and other articles into her arms.

Augustus, eager to help, dashed around her in circles, barking in delighted panic. Unable to see past the small mountain of sodden wash clutched in her arms, she tripped over him and pitched headlong into the grass. Unsure whether this was a game or a genuine tragedy, the dog yipped and licked her face a couple of times as she sat up.

She laughed at the absurdity of the scene, and so Webb found her, sitting in the rain, surrounded by clothes and linens, her head thrown back and her dress sodden. Alone, he swung down off his horse and came toward her, frowning at first and then joining in her laughter.

He hoisted her to her feet with one hand, then helped her gather the scattered wash. By the time they reached the shelter of the house, they were as wet as if they’d both tumbled into the creek with their clothes on. They dumped the laundry onto the table and then stood there staring at each other, until Webb came to his senses and went to build a fire on the hearth. Augustus was close at hand, always ready to be helpful.

“Go and change,” Webb said without looking at Megan. “You’ll catch your death. Besides, the sight of you soaked to the skin is not having a wholesome effect on my character.”

She hesitated, then went into her room. When she came out twenty minutes later, her hair was down, and she was wearing one of her poorly altered dresses, a pink-and-green striped silk affair entirely unsuited to Primrose Creek.

Webb, stripped to the waist, was drying himself with a towel. His expression was rueful as he took in the stage gown, and there was a glint of amusement in his eyes. “Well,” he said, “that’s hardly an improvement, now, is it?”

Megan’s attention was riveted to the clearly defined muscles of Webb’s shoulders, chest, and belly, and she raised her eyes to his face only by supreme effort. She was just about to tell him he was a fine one to talk when a modicum of reason overtook her, and she somehow managed to hold her tongue.

“Come over here and stand by the fire,” he said. “You’re shivering.” He was accustomed to giving orders, and Megan was not accustomed to taking them but this time she obeyed, drawn by the warmth of the blaze on the hearth and by Webb himself.

She went to stand next to him. “So are you,” she contrived to say.

“I’ll survive,” he said. With that observation, he walked away from Megan and mounted the stairs, and she felt bereft, watching him go.

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