Page 22 of Just Imagine
“Stop that!”
“Not till you’re disarmed.”
She gasped as he touched her breasts. A tingle of sensation shot through her, but he didn’t seem affected. He moved on to her waist and her hips.
“Stop it!”
He found the knife strapped to her calf. “Were you planning to use this on me when I was asleep?”
“If I didn’t have the guts to kill you with a gun, I’d hardly do it with a knife, now, would I?”
“I suppose you were carrying it to open cans?”
“You took my gun. I couldn’t travel without some kind of protection.”
“I see.” He set the knife out of her reach. “Then if you’re not planning to kill me, what do you have in mind?”
This wasn’t going the way Kit had hoped. She wanted to tell him to stop towering over her, but she wasn’t that much of a fool. “Why don’t we eat dinner first, and then I’ll tell you? Food’s hard to come by. No sense in lettin’ everything get all dried out.”
He took a moment making up his mind. “All right, we’ll eat. But afterward we’re having a serious talk.”
She hurried toward the kitchen. “Supper’ll be on the table in a minute.”
Cain should have confronted her right away, but he was hungry, damn it. He hadn’t eaten a decent meal since he’d left New York.
He disposed of her knife, then stalked back into the dining room. Kit appeared with a platter of fried chicken she placed on the table, and he finally noticed what had escaped him earlier. Everything about her was clean. From her cropped hair to the plaid shirt with a button missing at the neck to the dark brown britches that hung loosely on her small hips, she was scrubbed up as shiny as a new penny. He hadn’t imagined anything short of force convincing her to bathe voluntarily. She was obviously prepared to go to drastic lengths to please him.
Not that she was going to have any success. He still couldn’t believe she’d done this. But then, why not? She didn’t understand the meaning of caution.
“Sit down and eat, Major. I sure hope you’re hungry.”
Cain had to admit it was a great meal. The chicken was fried a gold brown and steam rose from the buttermilk biscuits when he split them open. Even the dandelion greens were richly flavored.
When he’d eaten his fill, he leaned back in the chair. “You didn’t do this by yourself.”
“ ’Course I did. Normally Sophronia would have helped, but she’s not here.”
“Sophronia’s the cook?”
“She also looked after me when I was growing up.”
“She didn’t do a very good job of it.”
Those violet eyes narrowed. “I’ve got half a mind to comment on your upbringing, too.”
The food had mellowed him, so this time she didn’t get his dander up. “Everything was delicious.”
She rose to fetch a bottle of brandy she’d put on the sideboard earlier. “Rosemary hid this before the Yankees came. Thought you might like to have a glass to celebrate your arrival at Risen Glory.”
“Trust my mother to take better care of the liquor than she did of her stepdaughter.” He took the bottle and began prying out the cork. “How did Risen Glory get its name? It’s unusual.”
“It happened not long after my granddaddy built the house.” Kit leaned against the sideboard. “A Baptist preacher man came to the door askin’ for a meal, and even though my grandma was strict Methodist, she fed him. They got to talkin’, and when he heard the plantation didn’t have a name yet, he said they should call it Risen Glory on account of it was almost Easter Sunday. It’s been Risen Glory ever since.”
“I see.” He fished a piece of cork from his glass of brandy. “I think it’s time you tell me what you’re doing here.”
Her stomach lurched. She watched him take a sip, his eyes staying on her the whole time. He never missed anything.
She moved toward the open doors that led from the dining room to the overgrown garden. It was dark and quiet outside, and she could smell honeysuckle in the night breeze. She loved it all so much. The trees and brooks, the sights and smells. Best of all, she loved watching the fields dance white with cotton. Soon, they’d be that way again.
