Page 17 of Earl of Excess
The dog yipped as if affirming she understood.
Matthew laughed. “You will convince me she is a small yippy person before my sight returns.”
“I hope it will return, Colonel. And I feel bad that we had not noticed that spot behind your ear before now. I was focused on the bullet wound and stopping the fever and bleeding.”
“You accomplished both. Had I been lucky enough to have had the doctor’s care, I do not believe I would have fared as well. You gave me attention that they would not have spared with so many injured and dead.”
She could hear some of his vivacity in his tone. Bethany admired the man. He had undergone such horrible trauma, yet his manners were impeccable, and his mood was more upbeat than she would have imagined. She had not understood what to expect and had refused to let fear guide her. She was glad she had rescued him, she thought, stealing a look at him beneath her long lashes. Warmth flooded her as she remembered his kisses. Admittedly, she wanted more of those, making her feel somewhat wanton.
“Here you go, Dandie. I believe this is cool enough for you. And the rosemary will keep those pesky fleas off you,” she said, placing the bowl on the floor next to the bowl of water.
“Seriously? A spice rids the dog of pesky fleas,” he drawled, sounding impressed.
“Grandmère told me about it, shortly after Dandie came to stay. I am glad that I enjoy the flavor of it. We use it a lot, as much for the benefit of staving off the fleas as flavoring our dishes,” she chuckled, ladling a portion of the hot potatoes and pork onto his plate. She placed her dishtowel on the hook and picked up both plates, taking them to the table.
He waited for her to sit down before taking a forkful of food. “I confess to wanting this more than any meal in recent memory,” he said, taking in the mouthful. “This is good. My compliments, Bethany.”
“My mother used to make this for us,” she murmured, swallowing her mouthful. “It was my favorite morning dish.”
“It may become mine,” he allowed.
She chuckled. “We have plenty of the cured pork, which I will pack for our trip. We can eat it in the boat. I will pack some cheese and bread, as well. You might want to rest. The trip is short enough, but you could find it taxing.”
A noise sounded from the direction of the small boat garage, and she turned to look. “It sounds like it’s coming from the boat garage.”
Dandie left her dish and stood at the small door, barking.
“Let me look. I cannot imagine it’s anything more than a wave knocking the boat...” She tried to convince herself of that as she grabbed her gun and cocked it. Walking slowly to the door, she opened it and gasped.
A dark-haired man, covered in filth and mud and holding a large knife, looked up from the boat.
Chapter Nine
Matthew stood, tiltingthe table, and then, righting it.What the Hell was going on?He grabbed the cane sitting next to the table. He heard Bethany gasp and followed the sound, pushing the cane behind him, determined to appear sighted. After all, with light, he could make out shapes. Perhaps it would work. His sight had been patchy, showing signs only this morning that he might regain it.
Unsure, he had kept quiet, hating to disappoint both Bethany and himself. Somehow, if he discussed it, it made it more real, and therefore, more of a loss if it failed to return.
“What is happening?” he asked, trying hard to disguise his British accent.
“Stop what you are doing and put your hands in the air,” she ordered.
Matthew saw her move her arms, nudging a sticklike object in the direction of the door. Good Heavens! She had a gun. She had told him she could shoot, but he thought it was something said to prove a point. Dandie spread her legs in a defensive posture and began to growl.
“Stop untying that knot right now and leave the boat.Slowly.”
Matthew noticed Bethany’s voice had changed to one that brooked little nonsense. The sweet voice of the woman taking care of him had become rigid and edged with anger.
“Back up, Dandie,” she commanded.
To his amazement, the dog complied, giving the person space to leave the hidden boat locker. The stranger’s clothing looked shabby. He strained to see. It looked like his arms and face were dark, as if caked in mud, making him appear as a large blob. Matthew thought he could make out eyes and a mouth, although he could not be sure because of the lack of light.
“I don’t want to hurt you. But I need your boat,” the man said. “They are after me.” He leaned his face down to his right arm and wiped a sizeable amount of soot and mud from it onto his still-damp shirt.
Bethany’s head jerked back in surprise. “You look familiar. Do I know you?” she asked. She tried not to stare at the dark-eyed, wiry-thin man, but worried how he would perceive her turning her head. He smelled like he had not bathed in some time, and his mustache looked as greasy as the stringy brown hair that hung to his shoulders.
He nodded. “Yes ma’am. Your grandmother saved my pappy... years ago.”
She found she had been holding her breath and put her hand casually over her nostrils to take a small gulp of air without insulting him. “Caleb Smoot. Right?”
