The Long Road Home Part 13

"No, no, not like that," Esther muttered, grabbing the bottle and proceeding to fill it without a drop spilled.

Nora tucked her hands under her arms. So much for being world-cla.s.s.

"Here," Esther said, shoving the bottle into her hands. "Now go get a lamb."

"How about that little one there?"

"One lamb's the same as the other."

Nora's fingers tightened around the bottle. "For the good of the farm," she repeated to herself as she marched two paces behind Esther.

Esther led her to this morning's newest lamb. Nora cajoled him out of the pen and into her lap, then, bottle firmly in hand, she tried to insert it into the lamb's mouth. She tried every angle imaginable, but no matter, he resolutely clenched his jaws and refused the nipple.

"Oh, I'll do it," Esther said, hopping the fence and drawing the lamb onto her lap.

Nora could hear Mike's ghost taunting her. "Look at you. You can't have children. You've never nursed a child. You can't even bottle-feed a lamb. You're inadequate as a woman." Her eyes stung and she turned away.

C.W. stood in the shadows of the barn's entrance watching the interaction between the two women. His brows furrowed and he shook his head slowly when he saw Nora's shoulders slump. Clearing his throat, he crossed the alley to her.

"Nora," he called gently when he reached her side. She sighed heavily and raised her eyes. Pieces of hay clung to her hair and she would have looked lost were it not for the determined jut of her jaw. There, he thought, was a clue to the real Nora MacKenzie. "The lesson didn't go well?"

Nora shook her head. "Not very."

"Let's give it another try. Give me your hand."

Nora hesitated. He was smiling. She placed her small hand into his larger one. With one resolute yank, he had her on her feet again.

"Esther," he called, "Nora wants to try again."

"I don't know if he'll take it from me." Nora balked, stepping back into him.

He nudged her forward. "Do you want to do this?"

She nodded.

"Then go get the lamb."

She squared her shoulders and approached Esther, who relinquished the lamb with a raised chin. The lamb sensed Nora's nervousness and squirmed while she struggled to keep him from jumping out of her arms.

"Here, give him the bottle before he leaps away," C.W. said, handing her the milk replacer.

Her heart began pounding. She didn't want to fail again, not in front of him or Esther, who was watching with a smug grin. I can do it, she told herself as she held the lamb's head tightly and pried his mouth open. Once again the newborn turned up his nose.

"It's no use," she sighed as the lamb scrambled to his feet and bleated piteously.

"Did you try scratching his tail?" C.W. asked calmly.

Nora looked from his smile to Esther's blank expression, then back to C.W. "Try what?"

He chuckled and bent to scratch the lamb's rump, right above the tail. To Nora's astonishment, the lamb began to simulate sucking.

"I don't believe it!" she cried.

"This little guy just doesn't know what to do." He took Nora's hand and placed it upon the newborn's rump.

"Go ahead, he'll like it. Don't we all?"

Hesitant at first, Nora scratched gently upon the wiry hair, right above the tail. The lamb quieted. Nora scratched a little harder and the lamb began rooting for the nipple.

"You better give him his bottle before he finds something else to suck on," C.W. said.

Nora chuckled as she hurried to grab the bottle, shooing away fat flies from the nipple. To her relief, the lamb accepted it eagerly and sucked away like a prize nurser. Nora's elation could not be measured by the amount of milk her lamb drank.

"Thank you, C.W.," she said in a clear voice. "I appreciate your calm manner and kindness." She gave Esther a cold stare.

"I gotta go," Esther snapped. She spun on her heel and marched out of the barn.

"I'll be right back," C.W. called over his shoulder as he paced after her. Outside the barn, he ran to catch up with Esther and grabbed her arm.

"What was all that about?"

"What was all what about?"

"I saw enough to know that you have it out for Nora and I want to know why."

Esther wriggled out of his grasp and stood before him with her back straight and her eyes looking off at the mountains.

"She's just having fun at our expense. It makes me mad to have to waste my time teaching her stuff she's never going to learn. Not really."

"That's not true," he replied.

"Sure it is. She's just another rich person from New York. I know her type. Flatlanders like her pour out of the city every summer. With their fancy clothes and hotshot hairdos. Snickering when they pa.s.s us like-like we're backward or something. Well, we have more than they'll ever have. And-and I hate them!" She swung her head around, hiding the flash of tears.

C.W. listened and understood the root of the problem. The animosity between Vermont locals and New York flatlanders was legendary, and someone as talented and bright as Esther would be particularly sensitive. He waited to let another moment pa.s.s, then took a deep breath as he formulated his answer.

"Esther, I know what you're talking about, but she doesn't fit that mold. She's not just here for a good time. I might have thought so a week ago, but since she's been here she's been consistent, eager to learn, and has done every job I've given her without complaint. And so far they've all been pretty dirty. Frankly, she's one h.e.l.l of a hard worker."

"She doesn't belong. Just look at her. The color of her socks match her sweater, for Christ's sake. And her hair. Look at her," she said, pointing to the barn, "so neat and braided." Her voice carried the singsong pitch of a teasing child.

C.W. glanced into the barn to where Nora sat, grinning with contentment while Willow took a turn in her lap. C.W.'s gaze traveled down to her socks; they were the same shade of green as her sweater.

C.W. shook his head. "Esther, what's come over you? Frankly, it's not flattering. Just keep in mind that this place does matter to her-and she owns it. And," he said, turning her gaze back to his with his hand, "she's making every overture to be your friend. Regardless of the color of her socks, she deserves better than you've been dis.h.i.+ng out."

Esther's face twisted in guilt. "Oh, you don't know. She's had everything-money, the city, a man like MacKenzie. What does she know about squeezing every penny dry and looking around the corner for the next trouble." She sc.r.a.ped the gravel with her boot. "h.e.l.l, she can just jet out of here whenever she wants," she muttered, mimicking his own words.

He grabbed her arm and his gaze bore down on her. "Don't judge," he warned. "Take my word on this one." He released his hold and patted her shoulder gently. "Give Nora a chance. Give yourself a chance."

She yanked away, then nodded curtly. "I gotta go. I want to get some painting in today."

Without another word, she turned on her heel and headed down the road. He watched her march at a clipped pace until her bobbing head disappeared behind the colored foliage.

He stared back into the barn. Nora was indeed beautiful, in her own way. Not an applied, purchased beauty. Looking at her was like looking at a bouquet of spring flowers. Each blossom isn't especially beautiful, but all bunched together they share a freshness that lifts one's spirits. Suddenly his own words. .h.i.t their mark: "Give Nora a chance."

Lowering his head, he studied his boot, considering. Then stomping it on the earth, he squared his shoulders and approached Nora.

"Listen," he said, unable to stop the words. "Do you still want that ride to town?"

"Is there a store in town you missed?" called C.W. as he lugged four overflowing brown bags from his Jeep to the house.

Nora ran to open the door, smiling as she watched him hoist up the sagging bags with his knees.

"Let's see, we hit the hardware store, the butcher, the baker, the appliance store, the garden store, and of course, the grocer's. No, I think we got them all. For today's trip anyway."

He rolled his eyes as he pa.s.sed her, juggling the tilting bags. Plopping them down on the counter, he looked at the horde of bags and boxes that now littered the large kitchen.

"What in heaven's name did you buy? Or didn't you buy?"

She frowned and chewed her lip. "Just basic supplies. It's frightening, isn't it? I still have lots more to get."

C.W. cast a curious glance at her worried expression. All afternoon he watched her scout out the bargain tables, comparison shop, d.i.c.ker about prices, buy in bulk the generic brands, then finally pay for the goods after a careful search through her coupons. He admired her thriftiness and the determination behind it, but something wasn't adding up.

"Did you get your errand done?" she asked while putting canned goods in the cabinet.

C.W.'s hand stilled on the paper bag. In town, he'd tried again to call Sidney. His brother-in-law had refused the call.

"Hmm?" Nora asked, looking over her shoulder.

"Yes, yes I did, thanks." He swept up the bag and carried it over to the kitchen counter next to the others. "I was glad to be of help today," he said, "but I'll just lend you my Jeep next time. Lambing is coming on strong and I can't get away."

"Uh-huh," she murmured as she unpacked the groceries.

He was relieved she let it drop. All afternoon he had dodged glances, stayed with the car whenever possible and cloaked his features with dark sungla.s.ses and a cap. The streets were filled with "leafers," New Yorkers up for the fall foliage, and he dreaded running into someone he knew.

"Are you going to stand there or give me a hand?" she called from beside a large box.

"Nag, nag, nag," he bantered, jogging over and lifting with ease the large box from the floor. He pried open the top and began pulling out dozens of boxes of flypaper. "What every home needs," he announced holding up a strip with the pinched face, straight-backed manner of a butler. She laughed that tinkling laugh of hers and came to grab it from him with mock indignance.

"I'll have you know I've declared war against flies."

He heard himself laugh, surprised at how much he was enjoying this domestic scene.

She cast furtive glances his way as he hoisted boxes into place. He reminded her how special the companions.h.i.+p of a male could be.

They worked and parried as the time sped by. They were like old friends, chatting about the supplies, the farm, and other nonpersonal, safe trivia. He lifted while she sorted. He climbed stairs while she climbed stepstools. After hours of unpacking, sorting, and storing, Nora put away the final can and stood back to survey their efforts.

Night had fallen and the room held that cozy feeling of home. The pantry was filled with food and drinks, in the corner stood neat piles of linens, lightbulbs, cleaning supplies, and gear, and in the fireplace a red-and-blue flame crackled, snapped, and cheerily warmed the room. With a sigh of satisfaction, she slumped down on one dining room chair and propped her feet up on another.

C.W. strode to her side, checked her bruise, then without lifting his hands from her, walked behind her and began ma.s.saging her shoulders. His long fingers were strong and skilled, easing away, in small neat circles, all the knots of tension from her shoulders and neck.

Nora went limp in his hands and emitted a soft groan of pleasure. Up and down her neck he worked his fingers, finally caressing its small hollow base with a gentle pressure. His hands were strong and sure, and she felt her body come alive even as it relaxed. Yet, as she slumped forward, an inner voice nagged a warning: she was crossing lines again. Immediately, she sat straighter in her chair.

"Thank you, that was wonderful," she said terminating the ma.s.sage. "Except now I don't think I can move."

"That's the idea," he replied, promptly removing his hands. "Care for a drink?"

Tired and limp, Nora needed all the rallying she could muster. "Sounds perfect," she purred, stretching like a cat before the fire. "Though it will probably put me to sleep."

He watched as her lithe body stretched taut, arms high above her head, briefly lifting her sweater above her navel. A perfect belly b.u.t.ton, he thought, oval and deep. His gut stirred. Get a grip, he told himself, focusing on the drinks. He poured her a tall white wine and himself a mug of apple cider. When he handed her the wine, he barely looked at her.

Nora took a long sip of her wine, then leaned her head far back and stretched her legs far forward. "I can't remember when I've been so tired. I ache where I didn't even know I had muscles."

"You'll be sore tomorrow, and maybe the next, but sooner than later you'll tone up."

C.W. looked up again and caught sight of her stretched out like a feline before the fire. His gaze followed the firm line of her muscles from her rear all the way down to her toes, then back up again. Nora's eyes were closed and her head rested on her shoulder. He was mesmerized by the gentle rise and fall of her chest.

His own body responded with alarming ferocity and it took more control than it should have to rein it in. His face set hard as he stood there, cold cider in his hot hands, staring at her. He couldn't stop himself. d.a.m.n his needs, he cursed, glancing away, then under lowered lids, glanced back to Nora again.

It had been too long. He needed a woman. And from the looks of it, she needed a man. He gulped his cider down in a hurry, squelching any ideas that were beginning to spark. He might need a woman, he warned himself, but he had to make sure it was any woman but this one.

"I'm getting hungry," Nora said with a yawn, slowly opening her eyes.

"With all this physical labor," he said, sounding as brotherly as he could, "be careful to eat well and not lose weight. From the looks of it, you can't spare a pound."

Nora scanned her jeans and tugged at the loose waistband. Her lips pursed and she frowned. She took a final, long swallow of her wine. "Well, I guess I'd better eat some dinner. Let's see what I can whip up."

Nora swung her legs down and stood in one smooth swoop.

Suddenly she paled and reached out in a rush for the table. Just as C.W. thought she'd stumble, his hands were on her, steadying her.

"You all right?" he asked, holding her arms steady. They were as thin as matchsticks. One twist and he could break them. Nora nodded yes and C.W. caught the scent of roses in her hair.

They both knew they should draw back, but neither one did. He reached up and brushed a tendril from her face, letting his movements speak for him. She kept her eyes on him.

C.W. slowly released his hold, letting her slip back till he cupped her elbows in his palms. Her head tilted back, releasing a few more tendrils from the braid and sending them curling along her neck. Under half-closed lids her green eyes were dreamy and her lips, full and pink, parted in a lazy smile. She looked delightfully disheveled and decidedly wanton. He could have her tonight, he felt sure, and the very idea of bedding this woman sent his own head swirling.

But she was vulnerable. He had rules about such things. C.W. stretched his shoulders to shake off the s.e.xual tension. Just like any rutting dog, he thought derisively. He determined to raise himself to the human level of decency. He let her slip out of his arms and created a distance. She weaved, then sat down in her chair with exaggerated caution.

"Too much work today," she murmured.

"Too much wine," countered C.W.

"I only had one gla.s.s," protested Nora. Then rubbing her temples, she added, "But it was on an empty stomach."

"You need your dinner," C.W. said firmly. He went straight for the kitchen and pulled some thick slices of whole grain bread and Vermont cheese out of the fridge. In minutes, he set a plate before her next to a tall gla.s.s of milk.

Nora blushed furiously. "Aren't you having any?" she asked, eyeing the single plate.

He shook his head and went for his coat. "No, thanks. I have to go." He paused, hand on the doork.n.o.b. "See you tomorrow?"