Читать книгу Legacy of Secrets - Sara Mitchell - Страница 12

Within two minutes, Gray was forced to slow his pace. Wet shrubs newly leafed slapped his sides; low-hanging branches tried to gouge his face, and he slipped twice on the narrow path that seemed to delight in its number of twists and turns.

After ten minutes he stopped completely. He swiped at his face, then tugged off his jacket and hung it on a dead branch. Irritation boiled through him. This whole day had been nothing but one infernal nuisance after another. And some timid female who couldn’t find her way out of a potato sack…Well, this was just what he needed, tearing through unfamiliar woods like some stupid Galahad, only to wind up more lost than the equally stupid female. And she wasn’t helping much at all.

“Where are you?” he roared. “Blow the whistle again!”

He waited, yelled again. Nothing. Very well. Stay lost, then. A chilly night in dark woods would teach a valuable lesson.

The whistle blew.

Gray ignored the quick tug of relief, turned on his heel, plunged off the narrow path and fought his way through yet another thicket of wet leafy shrubs, only marginally pacified when the whistle continued to blow at regular intervals. The young miss deserved a blistering lecture for getting herself lost—and he deserved to deliver it.

Of course, a remote possibility existed that she actually had hurt herself, along with getting lost. Aunt Bella needed to apply a firmer hand with her students, since these woods doubtless were home to bears, maybe even a wildcat or two. Trespassing hunters…

The skin at the back of his neck tightened. No matter how helpless or irrational a woman behaved, she never deserved to be mistreated. If this one had been harmed in any manner, or even frightened by some wandering weasel, Gray would track the vermin down and teach him a few manners.

He burst into a small clearing, and a feminine voice called loudly, “Halt this instance! You’ve been shooting at me, not a deer or a…bear!”

What—? Gray swiveled toward the voice, which emanated from behind a large two-trunk oak. “Shooting at you?” he shouted back, marching across the glade. “Stop spouting nonsense and show yourself.” With an effort he moderated his tone. “You’re safe now. I’m here to guide you back. You’ve nothing to fear.”

He reached the tree, peered around, and barely avoided getting brained with a dead tree limb.

“I don’t need a guide. And I don’t believe you.” A bedraggled moppet with curly brown hair and snapping brown eyes brandished the limb in his face. “Who are you? You’re trespassing, and furthermore hunting is forbidden on this land.” Her irate gaze fastened on Gray’s revolver. The flushed cheeks paled.

Gray propped his shoulder against the tree trunk and crossed his arms over his chest. Her head scarcely reached his chin; she’d gotten herself lost, and she was alone in the middle of the woods with a man she’d never met. Yet she stood there, taking him to task without a shred of awareness of her helplessness. “Your stick wouldn’t deter a tabby cat, much less a man with a gun. Even a man without one,” he drawled, palm itching to slip the weapon from its holster to scare a modicum of common sense into her.

For a second the girl stared at him wide-eyed. Then she popped the whistle back in her mouth and blew. The sound at close range shrilled into Gray’s unprotected ears, and he covered them in a reflexive action worthy of the greenest tenderfoot.

“Mr. Pepperell will be here any moment,” she confidently stated after trying to deafen him. “Also a very husky Irishman. They won’t take kindly to a trespassing hunter. You could have killed someone through your carelessness.”

Disbelieving, for the first time Gray studied the woman objectively, without the haze of resentment fogging his mind. At first he’d pegged her for one of Isabella’s youngest students, too naive to grasp her circumstances. Upon closer examination he realized she had to be in her early twenties, possibly a few years older. The wild tangle of curls and guileless eyes were nothing but a smoke screen.

She might be orphaned now, but he’d wager she’d had siblings at one time, all of them younger, poor saps she ordered about with the same officious superiority his sisters had inflicted upon his own miserable childhood.

“For your information,” he finally said, mildly enough considering his mood, “I happen to know that your husky Irishman is only an inch taller than you, say, five feet six inches? And he’s about as husky as a plucked rooster. As for Mr. Pepperell, he’s nearing seventy. Had he come hunting you down, by now he would have expired from heart palpitations.”

He lowered his head until their faces were mere inches apart. “Did you bother to consider the shock to his heart, the risk he’d face trying to race over a mile of rough terrain, to rescue you? I volunteered instead.” He paused. “But turns out you’re not lost. Or hurt. You’re only supposed to blow that whistle if you’re in danger, or dire straits. Ever read the fable about the boy who cried wolf?”

The chit searched his face with nothing but relief showing on hers. “If you know Liam and Mr. Pepperell, you couldn’t be the irresponsible hunter, even though you are wearing a gun.” She heaved a long, unladylike breath. “Are you one of the sheriff’s new deputies?” With a quick flick of her wrist, she tossed aside the stick, then absently tucked wayward curls behind her ears. Her expression remained as bright and friendly as a puppy’s.

“No!” Gray ground out, his back teeth snapping together in an effort to keep his temper from exploding full force. “I happen to be Isabella Chilton’s nephew. I just arrived for a visit—a much-needed, peaceful visit. But my aunt wasn’t there. So I didn’t have anything better to do than chase through the woods to rescue an idiot girl who doesn’t have enough sense to steer clear of an angry male.”

“Well, what on earth are you angry for? You’re not the one who could have been killed by a trigger-happy hunter.”

A late-afternoon breeze dislodged more of her hair. Sighing again, she plucked out some hairpins and haphazardly stuffed the loose curls back into a slipping topknot. Despite his extensive travels, Gray had never encountered a woman so indifferent to her appearance. “Since you’re not the hunter,” she finished, “would you mind scouting the area before we leave? I doubt he’s around, since I finally remembered to blow the whistle, but it wouldn’t hurt to check.”

“Are you seriously suggesting that someone was, ah, shooting at you?” He swept her disheveled form with another raking glance while the memory of Mr. Pepperell’s worried eyes and trembling fingers filled his mind. “How about telling me what you’re really up to, and save us both from a scene I’ll probably regret. I despise liars, especially female ones who never consider the consequences to anyone but themselves.”

She blinked, the self-assurance squaring her shoulders and tilting her chin fading. As rapidly as the sun disappeared behind the mountains, she transformed into an uncertain young girl whose aura of wounded dignity pricked Gray’s conscience. “It’s probably safe enough now,” she murmured. “I’m going back this way.” She gestured with her hand. “It’s longer, but less strenuous.” Without another word she headed off, her every step away from Gray a silent reproach.

He fought a losing battle with the nettles pricking his conscience. “Wait,” he called, reaching her in half a dozen strides. It was a half-dozen more before he gathered the courage to speak again. “Listen. I apologize. I had no right to speak to you the way I did.”

He yanked at his shirt collar, feeling stupid, petty—and a complete churl. Impossible to explain how her innocent query about his being a sheriff’s deputy had ripped wide open a wound so painful to his soul he wasn’t sure he’d ever heal. But he owed her something. “Will you stop a second, so I can at least offer a proper apology?” he growled.

She hesitated, then glanced up, her expression solemn. “All right.”

“I’m sorry.” He bit the inside of his cheek, then shrugged. “It’s been a long day. I lost my temper. I’m usually not this boorish.”

A shy smile flirted at the corner of her mouth. “It’s all right. I shouldn’t have accused you of being a careless hunter.”

Gray still didn’t believe her story, but finally had enough presence of mind to keep the thought to himself. “Well, we’d best make haste. By the time we return, Aunt Bella should be back.”

“With my ‘husky Irishman’ driving the coach,” the young woman added dryly. “Not to mention all the others, who aren’t going to be happy at all with my latest snarlie.”

Latest…snarlie? Where had Aunt Bella unearthed this creature?

“Well, it’s over now,” Gray said, and managed what he hoped was a comforting smile. “All is well, hmm?” Ha. His need for peace was unlikely to be satisfied now, and the talk he’d yearned to enjoy with his aunt unfortunately would revolve around someone other than himself.

He started down the path, but the woman didn’t budge. “What is it?” Regrettably, he was unable to erase the edge in the words.

For a few seconds more she stood there, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. Then she shrugged. “Yes. You’re right. All is well. Thank you for…coming to rescue me.” There was a pause, then she added in a wistful tone, “You’re nothing at all like your aunt, are you?”

They didn’t speak again. Thirty long minutes later, grateful for the excuse, Gray left her at the edge of the woods to return and fetch his jacket. Slanting sunbeams poured across the lawn, bathing Miss Shaw with a golden aura that contrarily enhanced her aloneness. Gray stomped back into the woods, and considered seriously the temptation to find a very large oak tree so he could bang his head against its trunk.