The Courtship

She stared at him, her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth.

“Miss Davis.”

“If you have come to watch me struggle, you can turn right around and…I declare you’re watching me just like a hungry tiger stalking its prey.”

“I assure you—”

“Waiting until I fail, and then you’ll pounce on me.” She heard Lefty make an odd choking sound, but he lowered his head so she couldn’t see his face.

And then she noticed something strange. Mr. Wilder looked lopsided. The right pocket of his well-fitted suit bulged out of proportion, and then, right before her eyes, it moved.

Mesmerized, she watched the dark fabric pooch out. Unable to contain her curiosity, Jane moved forward, eyeing Rydell Wilder’s coat pocket.

Chapter Six

Jane stopped two paces in front of Rydell, narrowed her eyes and pointed at his coat pocket. “What have you got in there?”

With a sheepish grin, Rydell plunged his hand into the opening in the soft worsted and brought forth the orange kitten. Jane’s eyes widened.

“Why, the darling little thing! Wherever did you find it?” She took an involuntary step forward, stretching both hands toward the tiny ball of fur.

“A young…bank patron found it in back of the livery stable. He entrusted it to me for safekeeping.”

Jane’s hand darted toward the animal, then retreated. If she touched the kitten, her skin might brush against his. She laced her fingers together behind her back. But oh, how she longed to smooth her fingertips over that soft-looking fur.

The hand holding the kitten moved nearer. “Jane?” a low voice spoke. “Would you like to have it?”

Yes! All those years when she was growing up she’d longed for a pet, something of her very own to care for. Papa always said an animal would make too much work for Mama.

“Oh, no, I couldn’t. It really belongs to your patron, you see, and I just couldn’t—” She broke off as Rydell offered the kitten. Taking extreme care not to touch the hand of the man who stood before her, she extended one finger and nuzzled the tiny face. A small pink tongue licked her forefinger, and at that moment her hand brushed his.

A zing of awareness raised the fine hair on her forearm and danced on up past her elbow. Her heart beat so loudly she could hear it. Could he?

He just stood there, looking at her with those knowing gray eyes and that firm, unsmiling mouth. It gave her the shivers.

Lefty grinned at her from the doorway, then dropped his gaze to the oak piece in his lap. Snick, snick went the blade of his pocketknife, and then he began to hum a tune to match the rhythm. Little Brown Jug.

A spell seemed to have fallen over her. She could neither move nor talk nor even think rationally. Why, merciful heavens, what a silly bit of nonsense!

She ordered her knees to bend, knelt and set the feline onto the plank floor. On wobbly legs, it headed for her sewing basket, climbed in and curled up next to the calico-covered pincushion. The soft rumbly purring rose into the quiet room, and no one moved.