Adrienne deWolfe Read Online Free Page A
Author: Texas Lover
course not."
"Much obliged... Mrs. Sinclair. It is Mrs. Sinclair, isn't it?"
"I am Aurora Sinclair," she admitted grudgingly, less annoyed by the reminder of her failed marriage than by the rush of her silly pulse.
Those green eyes laughed at her as he started to turn away. To her surprise, he limped. His easy masculine confidence couldn't conceal his grimace, and her annoyance ebbed slightly. He hadn't mentioned he was hurt. What had happened to him?
Chagrin trickled through her; she struggled against a swell of motherly instinct. Had she judged him too quickly? After all, he could have pleaded pain or injury and then, when her guard was down, he could have jumped her. If she were back in Cincinnati, where young men didn't wear revolvers during social calls, she would have known immediately where she stood with Wes Rawlins.
But in Texas, a genteel, impeccably dressed gentleman might ride into town and dynamite the bank, while the grizzled, squinty-eyed type might turn out to be a traveling preacher. Rorie hated to pass judgment simply on appearances, but there was too much at stake in her cellar.
"So." He looked curiously around him, his gaze traveling from the chicken coop's half-hinged door to the cistern's rusting pump, and from the house's one boarded window to the fence's tumbled posts. "Are you running a school here, Mrs. Sinclair?"
"A school for some. A home for others."
He turned, dipper in hand, and rested his weight on the well. "A home? You mean you've made this old rat-trap into an orphanage?"
"The children have nowhere else to go, Mr. Rawlins, and our neighbors in Elodea are not inclined to charity."
"I see."
I doubt it, she thought, but she kept her peace. The Negro and Mexican farmers had always been kind to her, sparing what grains and livestock they could in exchange for their children's education. But the townsfolk of Elodea had yanked every one of their children from her tutelage. The parents had been aghast to learn that their precious Billy Bobs and Peggy Sues were sharing readers with her orphans. Preacher Jenkins and Mayor Faraday had tried repeatedly to replace her, but no teacher could satisfy the Elodean ideal.
"So how long have y'all been living here, if you don't mind my asking?"
"One year."
"That's all?"
She eyed him sharply. What kind of question was that?
"Well, if you must know, Mr. Rawlins, I was hired one year ago as Elodea's schoolmistress. But I was denied the house I was promised because certain elements in Elodea cannot suffer to live beside people of a different color. Fortunately Gator took the orphans in so we would all have a roof over our heads."
"And your husband?" Rawlins's face had darkened in a way that suggested anger. "Where was Mr. Sinclair when you were being booted out of town?"
In some whorehouse, no doubt. But she didn't need to tell Rawlins about Jarrod's peccadillos.
"My husband is none of your concern. And I will thank you now to leave our home."
Rawlins shook his head, and her heart leaped. Anxiously she watched him replace the dipper in the pail and let the pail sink into the well. The whizzing crank and groaning rope were the only sounds in the yard until several seconds later, when she heard a muffled splash.
"Begging your pardon, ma'am, but you seem eager to get rid of me. It kind of makes me wonder." Frank eyes searched her own. "Did I give you some reason to be scared? 'Cause even with this hair and all, I don't usually send children running and ladies reaching for their six-shooters. Not on purpose, anyway," he added with the tiniest, self-deprecating smile.
Rorie swallowed. For a moment, she spied concern, warm and genuine, in the jade recesses of his gaze. Guilt warred anew with her doubts. She started to wonder if, perhaps, she should try to explain. Or at least to apologize. She was on the verge of doing the latter when a sudden nerve-rattling howl made her jump.
"Flower bit me! Flower bit me!"
Rorie spun, her heart in her throat. She
"Much obliged... Mrs. Sinclair. It is Mrs. Sinclair, isn't it?"
"I am Aurora Sinclair," she admitted grudgingly, less annoyed by the reminder of her failed marriage than by the rush of her silly pulse.
Those green eyes laughed at her as he started to turn away. To her surprise, he limped. His easy masculine confidence couldn't conceal his grimace, and her annoyance ebbed slightly. He hadn't mentioned he was hurt. What had happened to him?
Chagrin trickled through her; she struggled against a swell of motherly instinct. Had she judged him too quickly? After all, he could have pleaded pain or injury and then, when her guard was down, he could have jumped her. If she were back in Cincinnati, where young men didn't wear revolvers during social calls, she would have known immediately where she stood with Wes Rawlins.
But in Texas, a genteel, impeccably dressed gentleman might ride into town and dynamite the bank, while the grizzled, squinty-eyed type might turn out to be a traveling preacher. Rorie hated to pass judgment simply on appearances, but there was too much at stake in her cellar.
"So." He looked curiously around him, his gaze traveling from the chicken coop's half-hinged door to the cistern's rusting pump, and from the house's one boarded window to the fence's tumbled posts. "Are you running a school here, Mrs. Sinclair?"
"A school for some. A home for others."
He turned, dipper in hand, and rested his weight on the well. "A home? You mean you've made this old rat-trap into an orphanage?"
"The children have nowhere else to go, Mr. Rawlins, and our neighbors in Elodea are not inclined to charity."
"I see."
I doubt it, she thought, but she kept her peace. The Negro and Mexican farmers had always been kind to her, sparing what grains and livestock they could in exchange for their children's education. But the townsfolk of Elodea had yanked every one of their children from her tutelage. The parents had been aghast to learn that their precious Billy Bobs and Peggy Sues were sharing readers with her orphans. Preacher Jenkins and Mayor Faraday had tried repeatedly to replace her, but no teacher could satisfy the Elodean ideal.
"So how long have y'all been living here, if you don't mind my asking?"
"One year."
"That's all?"
She eyed him sharply. What kind of question was that?
"Well, if you must know, Mr. Rawlins, I was hired one year ago as Elodea's schoolmistress. But I was denied the house I was promised because certain elements in Elodea cannot suffer to live beside people of a different color. Fortunately Gator took the orphans in so we would all have a roof over our heads."
"And your husband?" Rawlins's face had darkened in a way that suggested anger. "Where was Mr. Sinclair when you were being booted out of town?"
In some whorehouse, no doubt. But she didn't need to tell Rawlins about Jarrod's peccadillos.
"My husband is none of your concern. And I will thank you now to leave our home."
Rawlins shook his head, and her heart leaped. Anxiously she watched him replace the dipper in the pail and let the pail sink into the well. The whizzing crank and groaning rope were the only sounds in the yard until several seconds later, when she heard a muffled splash.
"Begging your pardon, ma'am, but you seem eager to get rid of me. It kind of makes me wonder." Frank eyes searched her own. "Did I give you some reason to be scared? 'Cause even with this hair and all, I don't usually send children running and ladies reaching for their six-shooters. Not on purpose, anyway," he added with the tiniest, self-deprecating smile.
Rorie swallowed. For a moment, she spied concern, warm and genuine, in the jade recesses of his gaze. Guilt warred anew with her doubts. She started to wonder if, perhaps, she should try to explain. Or at least to apologize. She was on the verge of doing the latter when a sudden nerve-rattling howl made her jump.
"Flower bit me! Flower bit me!"
Rorie spun, her heart in her throat. She
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