Secrets, Spies & Sweet Little Lies by Tara Kingston

Author:Tara Kingston
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: 0
Published: 2013-11-09T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nineteen

The scrubbed oak floor and quilt-covered bed were a welcome sight for Cole’s weary eyes. After nights sleeping on the unforgiving ground, stretching out on the feather mattress would feel mighty good. But first, he needed to wash up.

Shrugging off his shirt, he poured warm water in the porcelain basin on the dresser. He wet a cloth and scrubbed his neck, shoulders and arms, careful to avoid the tender wound near his collarbone. The bleeding had stopped, but the flesh was hot to the touch and hurt like hell.

Standing before the dresser mirror, he gingerly unwrapped the strip of cloth that held the bandage over his shoulder. The injury was angry, reddened around a small white core. Damn! He leaned closer to the mirror, taking a better look. The dagger hadn’t left much of a mark, but experience told him punctures were vulnerable to infection. To hell with it. He shook off the worry that nagged like a burr in his saddle and went about the business of cleaning and rebandaging the wound.

Fatigue spread though his muscles, weighting them as though they’d been infused with lead. He rubbed his hand over the coarse stubble on his jaw. The exhausted man staring back at him in the mirror might have passed for a saloon vagrant. He hadn’t looked this convincing when he slunk around the Norfolk waterfront.

With a groan of resignation, he spread a thin layer of shaving soap over his face. He’d begun to skim the razor over his chin when a small gasp told him he wasn’t alone.

He turned slowly, taking in the scene with a leisurely sense of enjoyment. Emma looked from him to the floor to the neatly folded clothing in her arms, as if she couldn’t quite decide where to focus.

“I’m sorry to interrupt.” Her gaze settled rigidly on his face as she presented several shirts on outstretched arms. “Miranda asked me to bring these to you. They belong to her husband.”

Against his will, his thoughts drifted to the bed. An image of Emma reclining on the patchwork quilt taunted him. He toweled the soap off his face, snatched a shirt from the stack, and slipped it over his head.

“Zeke’s with Grant’s forces in the South.” As he worked the buttons on the shirt, his mind wandered to those on her dress. How long would it take to free each tiny fastener and bare her to his eyes?

“She told me all about him. He sounds like a wonderful man.”

An image of pale blue cotton drifting to the floor around Emma’s ankles invaded his thoughts. His mouth went dry as Texas sand, but he swallowed hard and searched for something to say that had nothing to do with plundering her sweet body.

“Zeke? You sure you’ve been talking to Miranda about her husband?” he managed despite the vision of lace-trimmed petticoats joining the blue dress at Emma’s feet.

“Of course she’s talking about her husband,” Emma said with a perplexed quirk of her brows. “Miranda said to tell you to fetch some water when you’re done washing up.

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