Devil's Daughter (The Ravenels #5) - Lisa Kleypas Page 0,47
buttons of his kid leather shoes, an unexpected noise caught his attention. He stopped and looked for the source of the sound, which was coming from downstream.
Phoebe frowned as she saw a lone man walking along the bank of the stream, idly whistling a folk tune. A battered hat with a wide brim shaded his face. His build was rangy and athletic, the loose, confident stride curbed by the hint of a strut. Curiously, his loose shirt and cotton canvas trousers looked as if he’d gone swimming in them, the fabric clinging wetly to the hard lines of his body.
“Perhaps we shouldn’t stop after all,” Phoebe murmured, her instincts warning her to leave as quickly as possible. A pair of women and two young children were easy marks for a man that size. “Come with me, Justin.”
To her astonishment, her son ignored the command and ran toward the disreputable-looking stranger with a gleeful yelp.
The man’s head lifted. A husky laugh sent a thrill of recognition along Phoebe’s nerves.
“Oh,” she said softly, watching as West Ravenel settled the battered hat on Justin’s head, lifted him high against his side, and carried him back to her.
Chapter 16
Phoebe hadn’t seen West since she’d visited his room yesterday. Since the unforgettable kiss she was supposed to forget. Except the sensations had somehow become woven into her skin, a subtle but constant stimulation she didn’t know how to erase. Her lips still felt a little swollen, aching to be pressed and stroked and soothed—that was an illusion, she knew—but the feeling only grew stronger as he approached.
Justin was talking animatedly to him. “. . . but Galoshes wouldn’t stay there. She followed us from the barn, and now she’s riding in Stephen’s pram.”
“Galoshes? Why did you name her that?”
“It’s what Mama says when the cat puts holes in her dress.”
“Poor Mama.” West’s deep voice was edged with amusement. But his gaze was intent and searching as he looked at Phoebe.
She had already promised herself that when next they met, she would be composed and pleasant. Sophisticated. But that plan had already vanished like the fluff of a dandelion gone to seed, whisked away at the will of a breeze. She was filled with pleasure and excitement, momentarily too flustered to speak.
West turned to greet Nanny and grinned at the sight of the cat lounging in the pram. He set Justin down and slowly lowered to his haunches in front of Stephen.
“Hello, Stephen,” he said in a gentle, vibrant tone. “What a handsome fellow you are. You have your mother’s eyes.”
The sturdy toddler half hid behind Phoebe’s skirts and peeked at the engaging stranger while chewing on a finger. A shy grin split his face, revealing a row of little white teeth.
Phoebe noticed a dark bruise forming on West’s forearm, which was exposed by a rolled-up shirtsleeve. “Mr. Ravenel,” she asked in concern, “has some accident befallen you? What happened to your arm?”
He rose to his feet, his wet hair hanging over his brow in shiny dark ribbons. “It’s sheep-washing day. One of them caught my arm with a hoof as she tried to turn over in the water.”
“What about your stitches? Heaven knows what kind of filth your wound was absorbing while you stood in a filthy sheep bath.”
He seemed amused by her worry. “It’s not bothering me in the slightest.”
“It will bother you quite a bit if the wound turns sour!”
Justin was far more interested in the subject of sheep than hygiene. “How do you wash a sheep?”
“We created a temporary pool in the stream by damming it with a pair of old doors. Some of us stood waist-deep in the water while others handed over the sheep. My job was to help turn a sheep on its back and swish its wool in the water until it was clean. Most of them liked it, but every now and then one of them struggled to turn itself upright.”
“How do you turn a sheep over?” Justin asked.
“You grasp a handful of fleece near its cheek, then take a hold of the opposite foreleg, and—“West paused, giving Justin a considering glance. “It would be easier to show you. Let’s pretend you’re a sheep.” He lunged for the boy, who leaped back with a delighted yelp.
“I’m a sheep who likes to be dirty!” Justin cried, scampering away. “And you can’t catch me.”
“Oh, can’t I?” Adroitly West dodged and pounced, snatching up the boy and making him squeal with laughter. “Now I’ll show you how I wash a