my face is as scratched up as a pair of old boots, but I value it all the same. It's well lived in and still has its uses. At least it has the required number of features and mostly in the expected order."
Old boots, indeed! Her gaze drifted from his damp, ruffled hair to his thick arms, firm chest and the fluttering tail of his shirt as he continued tucking it sloppily into his breeches. She closed her lips tightly, gritting her teeth.
Now she knew how Eve felt in Eden, with only one man as far as the eye could see. And oh, what the eye could see!
"You must be ravenous," he said, apparently misinterpreting her expression when he saw it again. "Eat up, madam. There's plenty of food." Leaving one side of his shirt casually adrift, he began to whistle that jaunty tune again as he moved around the room. Whatever irritation she'd caused by rejecting his compliment was now dispersed as easily as seeds on the wind, it seemed.
The front door creaked as he opened it to let his dog out. Instead of closing it again, he left it ajar. "My plowman will be by in a minute," he said. "He's such a shy fellow he won't dare knock on a closed door." Then he laughed softly and shook his head. "He'll think something's amiss if he sees my door shut."
"Why?" Flynn wanted to know.
"It's usually open in the daylight. Man, woman and beast coming in and out. Seems rude to shut my door to visitors."
It was the oddest thing Kate had ever heard. Wasn't he afraid of robbers?
"Besides," he added, a sudden naughty gleam sparking in his sky blue eyes as he looked directly at her, "they might think we're doing something we oughtn't, behind a closed door." Amusing concern, she thought, coming from a man who thought nothing of parading shirtless in her view.
Anxious to look at something other than him and finding her teacup empty, she quickly reached for the butter and then realized she hadn't cut herself a slice of bread yet.
"What things might you be doin', mister?" Flynn wanted to know.
"All sorts."
"We always bolted our doors in London, didn't we, Ma?"
"Yes, we certainly did," she replied, terse.
"We ain't got none now though. Our house is in that ol' cart. All our worldly treasures. But carts don't have doors."
Neither adult spoke. Kate looked down again, glad of her coal-scuttle bonnet, the wide brim providing a cooling shade for her blushes of humiliation.
"What if it's cold out, mister?" Flynn continued, apparently stuck on the subject of front doors. "You leave it open even then?"
"I put some extra coal on the fire and wear another coat." Smiling amiably, Deverell rubbed his palms together and came back to the table. "Fresh air, and a quantity of it, is the best thing for a man's health and spirits."
"Bacon's good too, I reckon," exclaimed Flynn. "This tastes better than any I ever 'ad before."
"That's because the pigs are raised happy here and well cared for."
"Until they're slaughtered," Kate muttered.
He shot her a surprised glance. "We all have to go sometime." Taking a seat across the table from her, he picked up a knife and began carving a thick slice of bread. His hands were clean now, the fingers long and square at the tips, the palms broad and weathered. Capable hands. Strong hands. At least he had enough manners to wash them before he sat at the table. "Best we can do with the time we have," he added, "is enjoy life every day to the fullest. Make our mark. Do some good in the world. Go out knowing we did our best. I keep my life simple."
"A sound philosophy, Mr. Deverell. You make it sound so effortless."
"Isn't it?"
She wished it was. At times it felt as if she had never stopped fighting and struggling, yet she couldn't get anywhere. Like her cart trapped in the river today, the harder she tried to get herself out of the mud, the deeper her wheels stuck. There was little time to enjoy the living when one's every breath was taken up by the requirements of survival.
"I suppose you're all in," he said suddenly, changing
Old boots, indeed! Her gaze drifted from his damp, ruffled hair to his thick arms, firm chest and the fluttering tail of his shirt as he continued tucking it sloppily into his breeches. She closed her lips tightly, gritting her teeth.
Now she knew how Eve felt in Eden, with only one man as far as the eye could see. And oh, what the eye could see!
"You must be ravenous," he said, apparently misinterpreting her expression when he saw it again. "Eat up, madam. There's plenty of food." Leaving one side of his shirt casually adrift, he began to whistle that jaunty tune again as he moved around the room. Whatever irritation she'd caused by rejecting his compliment was now dispersed as easily as seeds on the wind, it seemed.
The front door creaked as he opened it to let his dog out. Instead of closing it again, he left it ajar. "My plowman will be by in a minute," he said. "He's such a shy fellow he won't dare knock on a closed door." Then he laughed softly and shook his head. "He'll think something's amiss if he sees my door shut."
"Why?" Flynn wanted to know.
"It's usually open in the daylight. Man, woman and beast coming in and out. Seems rude to shut my door to visitors."
It was the oddest thing Kate had ever heard. Wasn't he afraid of robbers?
"Besides," he added, a sudden naughty gleam sparking in his sky blue eyes as he looked directly at her, "they might think we're doing something we oughtn't, behind a closed door." Amusing concern, she thought, coming from a man who thought nothing of parading shirtless in her view.
Anxious to look at something other than him and finding her teacup empty, she quickly reached for the butter and then realized she hadn't cut herself a slice of bread yet.
"What things might you be doin', mister?" Flynn wanted to know.
"All sorts."
"We always bolted our doors in London, didn't we, Ma?"
"Yes, we certainly did," she replied, terse.
"We ain't got none now though. Our house is in that ol' cart. All our worldly treasures. But carts don't have doors."
Neither adult spoke. Kate looked down again, glad of her coal-scuttle bonnet, the wide brim providing a cooling shade for her blushes of humiliation.
"What if it's cold out, mister?" Flynn continued, apparently stuck on the subject of front doors. "You leave it open even then?"
"I put some extra coal on the fire and wear another coat." Smiling amiably, Deverell rubbed his palms together and came back to the table. "Fresh air, and a quantity of it, is the best thing for a man's health and spirits."
"Bacon's good too, I reckon," exclaimed Flynn. "This tastes better than any I ever 'ad before."
"That's because the pigs are raised happy here and well cared for."
"Until they're slaughtered," Kate muttered.
He shot her a surprised glance. "We all have to go sometime." Taking a seat across the table from her, he picked up a knife and began carving a thick slice of bread. His hands were clean now, the fingers long and square at the tips, the palms broad and weathered. Capable hands. Strong hands. At least he had enough manners to wash them before he sat at the table. "Best we can do with the time we have," he added, "is enjoy life every day to the fullest. Make our mark. Do some good in the world. Go out knowing we did our best. I keep my life simple."
"A sound philosophy, Mr. Deverell. You make it sound so effortless."
"Isn't it?"
She wished it was. At times it felt as if she had never stopped fighting and struggling, yet she couldn't get anywhere. Like her cart trapped in the river today, the harder she tried to get herself out of the mud, the deeper her wheels stuck. There was little time to enjoy the living when one's every breath was taken up by the requirements of survival.
"I suppose you're all in," he said suddenly, changing
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