Page 22 of A Second Chance for Love

Christ. It would be a bloody miracle if he managed to keep his hands off her.

But he’d given his word, so he forced a smile and said, “Tell me about your pet. I promise I won’t tease. Much.”

“We kept a few hens where we lived and one of them, Mimi, was just lovely.”

“You had a pet chicken,” he said, and then held up both hands when she scowled. “Sorry, not mocking.”

She looked unconvinced.

“Tell me how one has a pet hen? My own experience with hens is limited to—” he stopped, deciding she wouldn’t like any mention of axes and chopping blocks. “Never mind about that. Tell me about, er, Mimi.” He could tell by her smile that she was pleased that he’d remembered the name.

“Mimi would sit on my lap and take bits of biscuit from my hand; she’d follow me around while I gardened; she’d come beg at the kitchen door for scraps—things a dog or cat might do.”

Her eyes had softened and her smile was gentle as she remembered her hen. Juss wanted to tell her that he’d follow her around and eat from her hand if she smiled at him that way. Luckily he said nothing of the sort.

He shook himself. Lord, he was becoming a sentimental fool in his dotage.

Just then the carriage shuddered and slid to the side before grudgingly rolling to a stop.

“Is this it?” Oona asked.

They peered out the window, barely able to make out a building beyond, the snow too thick to see much more than a big, dark shape.

Rather than use the window when Beekman came to talk to him Juss opened the door and hopped down, the snow almost to his knees.

“The old fella said the barn around back could take the carriage, guv.”

Juss nodded. “You get the team settled and then bring the luggage to the house. We’ll go help Charles after.”

“Aye.” Beekman turned and trudged to the head of the team.

Juss held out his hand. “Come. I’ll carry you.”

Oona opened her mouth—no doubt to demur—but then glanced at his legs. She hesitated and then placed a small hand on his shoulder and lowered herself into his arms.

As he recalled from a few nights before, she was as light as a child. But despite her spencer and cloak he could feel her soft curves; she was not shaped like a child.

“Pull a couple of those rugs onto yourself and then take the lamp,” he ordered. If his voice was a tad bit husky that was probably due to the cold, wasn’t it?

∞∞∞

Oona hadn’t been so warm since the last time she’d been cradled in Juss Taylor’s arms. Thankfully she was so bundled up he wouldn’t notice either her body heat or the inconvenient quivering that came over her whenever he touched her—even through four or five layers of clothing.

She forced her attention toward the small farmhouse just ahead. The closer they came to it, the more she could see little details, like the charming rolled roof and the glossy black shutters that only allowed slivers of light. There was a covered porch and Juss set her down gently. It was lucky they’d brought the lamp because the one in the holder beside the door was dark. Likely the couple only used this entrance for guests, which they’d not expected tonight.

Juss knocked and they waited.

“It seems very nice,” she said softly, her words accompanied by fluffy clouds of steam.

“It seems very small,” he said, glancing down at her. “As much as it might pain you, I think you’d better be Mrs. Taylor.”

Oona glared up at him, her body thrumming at the meaning in his heavy-lidded gaze. “If you are trying to warn me that we shall likely have to share a room, I had already discerned as much. I am hardly a—”

The door creaked open to expose a wizened old woman who was even smaller than Oona. As she blinked up at them Oona saw her eyes were clouded almost white. She smiled uncertainly. “Yes?”

“Mrs. Cantrell?” Juss asked.

Her expression shifted from confusion to fear. “Did something happen to Jon—”