Page 6 of The Formation of Us
She headed to a small counter in the north corner of the greenhouse. He followed, then watched while she opened a large glass jar and scooped out a spoonful of yellowish balm.
“Gads, is that chicken fat?” he asked, his voice laced with disgust.
She laughed. “It’s a mix of resins and oils.” She lifted the gluey-looking balm to her nose, and inhaled. “I add herbs, and salicin, which is harvested from the buds of poplar trees—part of the willow family.”
“I know trees,” he stated bluntly, as if she’d insulted his intelligence. “I own a sawmill with my brothers.”
Her cheeks burned. “Forgive me. I’m used to teaching Adam and Cora this way”
“I’m not offended. I’m curious to see what you do here.” He gestured toward the balm. “You made this, I presume?”
She nodded. “The salicin and herbs reduce pain, fever, congestion, and inflammation. The balm even smells good.” She put the spoon beneath his nose. “It’s not bay rum, but it smells better than an onion pack.”
His mouth quirked up on one side. The slight lifting of his lips surprised her and made him seem less formidable. Their gazes met over the spoon. He openly inspected her, but unlike most of the men who’d crossed her path, there was nothing lecherous in the sheriff’s eyes; he seemed to appreciate her boldness, as if there weren’t many people who would dare to shove something beneath his nose. Her nerves had made her careless. She hadn’t meant to challenge him. But apparently she had, and apparently he’d liked it.
She plopped the small glob of ointment into a jar and handed it to him. “Two or three applications should ease your muscle pain. After you rub it into your shoulder, you’ll feel a soothing warmth in that area.”
“What if it doesn’t work?” He braced his large, long-fingered hand on the counter. “Will I get my money back?”
“You haven’t paid me anything.”
“I intend to.”
“I’ll refuse it. This is the only way I can thank you for being so kind to Adam today.”
“I wasn’t being kind.”
“The way you treated him was more than fair. In my book, that’s being kind.”
“I would have done the same for any boy.”
“But you did it for my brother, and that’s what matters to me. Please, take the balm.”
“What other treatments do you offer?”
He seemed sincere, but she sensed he was digging for something. The pleasantly warm day suddenly felt close and hot with this giant of a man leaning on her counter asking too many questions.
.”It would depend on the severity of your problem. But I would first suggest that you see a doctor.” She closed the jar of balm and placed it back on the self.
“I’ve seen the doctor. He says there’s nothing to be done for my shoulder but to rest it.”
“Then it is more than a sore muscle?”
His lip quirked up again. “You have a knack for recalling details. I could use your help when questioning suspects.”
She’d hoped to put him off with her nosy question, but instead of urging him out the door, she’d invited his closer observation. “Forgive me for taking up your time.” She stepped around the counter and called toward the back of the greenhouse, “Adam! Come up here, and bring Cora and the handcuffs with you.”
Adam swept Cora into his arms, pushed through a maze of plants, and deposited the girl a few feet from the sheriff.
“Cora, give the sheriff his handcuffs,” Faith said, then frowned as Cora duckwalked across the plank floor. “Why are you walking so oddly?”
Cora leaned back on her heels, pressed her brown gingham dress to her knees, and lifted the toes of her tiny brown shoes. “I hooked ‘em on my own self.”
The metal handcuffs were locked around Cora’s skinny ankles. A quiet chuckle rumbled in the sheriff’s chest, his thick-lashed eyes crinkling at the outside edges as he looked down at her.
Cora squatted, grabbed the chain between her ankles, and grinned up at him. “Aunt Iris says to keep these on me until I get married.”
With her hands between her ankles, and her knobby knees jutting upward, Cora looked like a little brown frog. Her stockings were twisted around her ankles, her hair in wild disarray, but Faith could not have adored her more.
