Chapter 2

Patrick woke the next morning to the sound of birds chirping loudly. He stood and stretched, then gathered up his blanket, folded it and placed it into his satchel. He reached behind his head and pulled the leather tie loose, letting his black hair fall around his shoulders.

Exploring this new land was the agenda for the day, but first, he wanted to meet the woman who lived in that house. As he walked to the door, he felt his heart race. Patrick knocked. No answer. He knocked again. Silence. He headed behind the house to begin his exploration, now that he’d rested and had more time - and daylight - he could survey the area better.

The late summer sun was just above the horizon and already Patrick felt it was going to be a warm day after the rain the night before. There were parts of the ground that sloshed under his feet when he walked and he looked down to see that his boots were covered in mud. He let out a quiet chuckle and continued walking away from the house toward what looked to him like a horse corral. I did not notice that last night, he thought.

There was only one horse that Patrick could see as he approached the wooden fence and made a clicking sound with his tongue to call the animal to him. The horse was beautiful with its shiny brown fur and golden blonde mane and tail.

“Where is your owner?” Patrick asked aloud as the horse approached, chuckling to himself. People would think him crazy for talking to a horse.

The horse nickered and nuzzled Patrick’s chest when he ran his hand down the horse’s neck. While he pet the horse, he breathed in the fresh morning air and looked around. He recalled from the previous night how the moon shone through the rustling leaves of trees. “That explains why I do not remember seeing you last night.”

Where is she? he wondered as he continued his exploration. With the gentle breeze at his back, Patrick scrunched his nose at the foul smell emanating from him. I shall need to bathe before I go any further. If there’s a house on this land, a stream or creek shouldn’t be too far away. He knew it wouldn’t be proper to break into the woman’s house to use her tub, so he ventured into the woods. With his hand on his chin, he surveyed the land, and it occurred to him he hadn’t shaved since leaving his homeland.

He did indeed encounter a creek, and as he walked back to the shed to gather his belongings, his mind drifted to the woman who lived in that house. How had she come to be here alone? What is her name? Most importantly, how can I incorporate myself into her life? Where did that LAST thought come from? He wondered all these things to himself, and he felt his cock stiffen after the recollection of the night before.

Patrick made his way to the creek and set his satchel down on a small boulder near the shore. He removed his shirt, then his boots. As he unsnapped his trousers, suspicions of being watched startled him. Turning to see who was there, he saw nothing.

“Hello?” he called out. No response.

“Is anyone there?” he called out; again, no response. As he turned to face the creek again, he heard the snap of a twig. With a quick glance over his shoulder, Patrick saw a raccoon scurrying away. He shrugged and continued to undress. He reached into his satchel and retrieved a small bar of soap and his razor. With a few steps forward, he entered the cold water, drawing in a breath at the invigorating sensation against his skin.

Who could that be? The woman Patrick had seen the night before wondered as she walked up the path to her home. She’d returned to her house just in time to see Patrick walk from the shed and disappear into the woods. As she neared, she thought he resembled the man who’d purchased the ring from her the day before. Maybe he is the one stealing my chickens, she thought. Quickening her step, she followed him to confirm her suspicions and ask why he was in her shed.

When she saw him standing on the bank of the creek naked from the waist up, she froze. He was magnificent. His black hair rested gently on his muscular shoulders. The muscles in his back flexed when he turned to see who was watching him. She ducked behind a tree, but kept her eyes fixed on him. His chest was broad and muscular, and she suddenly found herself wondering how his skin felt.

She watched as he removed his trousers and underclothing. She’d nearly given herself away when she gasped at the sight of his erect member bouncing with the few steps he took when he entered the water. Who is he?

The woman started, unable to pull her eyes away as he lathered himself up, then ducked into the water to rinse. When he resurfaced, his black hair clung to his head. With lathered hands, he worked the soap through the long, silken strands. He dipped his head into the water again, rinsing the soap from his hair.

Anxiously, she shifted from one foot to the other and, in the process, stepped on a twig, which caused a loud snapping noise that drew his attention to her direction. She froze and suddenly locked eyes with him, although she was positive he couldn’t actually see her through the thick underbrush. Her heartbeat increased, and she felt a longing course through her. Get hold of yourself, Kimberly, she thought, once she was able to tear her gaze away from him, then backed slowly away from the trees and returned to her house.

Kimberly Paxton hadn’t always lived alone. Her husband, Donald, had perished the previous winter while assisting with a search for one of the children from the village schoolhouse who’d wandered away. Donald had gotten separated from the search party, and by the time he was found, huddled and frozen, it was too late.

She’d struggled to maintain the small farm alone for nearly a year. When she discovered that someone had been stealing her chickens and had no means to reinforce the coop, a hope and a prayer kept her going to survive the upcoming winter.

Hurricane-force winds from the last storm had torn loose boards from the roof of her house, leaving it open to the elements. She’d found some pieces of lumber in her shed and used one to brace another from the inside, stopping most of the rain and snow that would pour in. The water eventually warped the wood, allowing water to leak in, but Kimberly was at a loss as to what else she could do. Having neither the skills nor the means to repair the roof, Kimberly was at a loss as to what else she could do besides follow her instincts.

Kimberly placed the vegetables she’d gathered from her garden in the small washbasin near the fireplace. She placed a large cauldron of water on a hook just inside the fireplace to heat while she cleaned the vegetables.

With the vegetables prepared for cooking, she used a ladle to transfer some of the hot water from the cauldron into a smaller pot and dropped the vegetables into it. She placed the smaller pot on a rack just to the right of the cauldron. Her husband had this rack made for her by the town blacksmith, allowing her to cook more than one item at a time.

Kimberly wiped a tear from her eye as thoughts of him invaded her mind. All attempts not to think about Donald failed as she cooked her food. She placed a few chunks of bread on a small tin plate, then took a tin mug and filled it with water from the pump beside the washbasin, also something her husband had made for her.

The pump allowed her to draw water from a well and into her house. It had taken two years for her husband and a few of the men from the village to build the well, but she was happy to not have to run to the creek every time she needed water.

She shook the thoughts of her late husband aside as she pulled the vegetables from the boiling water and prepared her plate with the vegetables and bread.

Kimberly found her thoughts drift to the man she’d seen in the creek. She missed the touch of her husband, but at the same time wondered how her skin would feel with just one touch from this stranger who took refuge on her property. The sight of him in all his naked glory had her heart racing and also had her thinking all sorts of sinful thoughts. But who is he? she wondered again.

She cleaned and dried her plates and placed them in the cupboard. She turned and took the few steps to the door. She reached overhead and pulled the shotgun from the nails, which secured it to the wall above the door. She checked to see that it was loaded, then opened the door and headed for the creek. Kimberly wasn’t the violent type; she wouldn’t purposely harm the man. She just wanted to scare him into confessing to stealing her chickens. Donald had taught her how to use the shotgun to protect herself when he was away.

As she approached the shed, she saw Patrick as he walked up the path from the woods. He wore only his trousers; his shirt draped his arm, and the strap of the satchel was over his shoulder. She felt that feeling of longing course through her again and forced herself to shake it off. He’s stolen your chickens; you need to control yourself now, she thought as she brought the butt of the shotgun to her shoulder.

“Who are you and why are you stealing my chickens?” she shouted as she aimed the shotgun at him, her arm strong, her stance steady.

Patrick stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the woman from the house aiming a shotgun at his chest. “My name is Patrick Ainsworth.”

“Well, Mr. Ainsworth. You had better tell me why you’ve been stealing my chickens or --”

“I have stolen nothing from you, Miss.”

“Why did I see you come out of my shed this morning, Mr. Ainsworth?” she asked, relaxing her grip on the shotgun but not lowering it.

“I am new around here, and I needed a place to sleep,” he replied quietly, taking a step closer.

“Do not come any closer, sir.”

“Are you always this polite with chicken thieves?” he asked, a grin spreading across his handsome face.

“You said you did not steal my chickens.”

“I did say that, yes. But if you honestly believed I stole your chickens, you would not be so polite with me. Please put the gun down; I mean you no harm, Miss.”

“You are the man who purchased the ring from me yesterday,” confirming her suspicions from earlier. She lowered the shotgun.

“Yes,” he said, looking down at the ring on his finger. “You are a very talented young lady. You must make quite a bit of money from this.” Patrick made note of the way she looked at him and it caused the muscles in his groin to tighten. Bloody hell! I just got this under control, he thought then pulled on his trousers.

“I do all right,” she replied. “Why are you here? Where did you come from?” she added.

“I will answer any questions you have if you would be so kind as to offer me a meal. I have not eaten since I arrived here yesterday.”

“Were you the one who took some of my vegetables?”

“Yes.”

“You said you did not steal anything from me, Mr. Ainsworth.”

“I am sorry; I was hungry, and the vegetables were very tempting. So tempting, in fact, that I could not resist.”

Kimberly flashed him a small smile, and it caused his heart to leap in his chest. She turned and walked back to the house, then glanced over her shoulder at him. “Are you not hungry now?” she asked as she reached her door.

Patrick pulled his shirt on and caught up quickly with each stride equaling three of hers. Once inside the house, he paused, astounded that there wasn’t much more to the dwelling than what he’d seen from the window the day before. He glanced at the quilt, which hung beside a chest of drawers, and deciphered the enclosed area to be where she slept. The clawfoot tub he’d seen the night before was pushed into the corner near the fireplace, tipped on its side.

He dropped his satchel to the floor just inside the door, closing it behind him. He glanced around the house, noting a small wooden table and two chairs in the center of the room. He saw that the quilt was pulled back slightly and caught a glimpse of a mirror and brush on the dresser and also a tin vase which held a spray of wildflowers from her garden.

In one corner, near the chest of drawers, there was a small bench with an afghan draped across it and beside that, a small table. Upon the table, Patrick saw a frame with pressed flowers. On a hook near the quilt, hung a sweater for chilly nights. Winter clothing hung on a hook near the front door, boots and sandals placed neatly beneath the clothing.

“I do not have much to offer you, Mr. Ainsworth, just some vegetables and bread, but you are welcome to them.”

“Anything you have is fine, Miss. And you may call me Patrick.”

Kimberly worked quickly, cleaning and heating some potatoes, beets, and carrots for him, then broke off a chunk of bread and placed it on a plate. Patrick stood behind her, admiring the view and glancing over at the pump next to the washbasin.

“This is an interesting contraption,” he said, pointing to the pump.

“My husband built that.” She turned to hand him the plate and noted his stiff posture. “Did I say something wrong? You look tense.”

“Your husband is a fool to leave you alone in a place like this every day.”

Patrick watched as she fought back tears. He obviously struck a nerve. He suddenly wanted to find this woman’s husband and pummel him into the dirt for leaving this beautiful woman alone all day in a place of such ill repair.

“My husband passed on last winter,” she said quietly, then turned away from him and wiped the tears from her eyes.

Now I feel like a fool, he thought. “I am sorry, Miss. I was not aware --”

“Of course you were not aware. How could you be?” she said as she turned to face him again.

Patrick reached out and wiped a tear that had settled on her cheek. She blushed at his actions, and he felt desire and excitement wash over him with the slightest contact to her soft skin. He jerked his hand away quickly, then felt himself blush at the sensations and thoughts he was having. He sat down at the table and began eating the bread and vegetables put in front of him.

Kimberly just stared at him, unable or unwilling to do much else. Her skin tingled where he touched her, and she felt that longing return; a hunger, yet more wistful, something that she wasn’t sure she wanted to feel about a complete stranger.

“My name is Kimberly,” she said quietly as she slowly returned to reality.

“Pardon?”

“My name. It’s Kimberly,” she repeated. “As opposed to Miss.”

Patrick rose to his feet and offered his hand. “Very nice to meet you, Kimberly. Thank you for the meal.” With her hand in his, the contact between them lingered longer than it should have, causing them both to blush again. Patrick returned to his chair and motioned for her to join him at the table.

“I have other things to do, Patrick. Take your time,” she said as she walked across the room and disappeared behind the quilt.

Patrick glanced around the room again, and suddenly a thought entered his mind. He rose to his feet, nearly knocking the table over in the process, and rushed to the quilt. He knocked on the wall, then stood and waited for her to answer.

Kimberly pulled the quilt back, evidence of her sadness pulled at Patrick’s heart, and he reached out and wiped away her tears with his thumb, willed his erection to subside, then cleared his throat before he spoke.

“I -- you -- “ he stammered. Any thoughts he’d had vanished upon seeing her face.

“Patrick?” she asked, watching as he closed the gap between them.

“Is there anything I can do to repay you for your kindness?” he asked with concern.

“I need some things repaired around here,” she replied.

Kimberly took a step forward, enjoying the heat that was radiating off of him. They were mere inches apart; she inhaled his scent and felt her head spin. She pushed past him and sat down on the small bench, keeping her gaze fixed at the floor.

Patrick turned and took a seat beside her, taking her hand and entwining their fingers. “I am sorry if I upset you, Kimberly. That was not my intention.”

She gazed at their joined hands and felt her heartbeat increase. She looked up into his eyes and felt that same longing course through her again; she wanted desperately for him to kiss her.

His eyes left hers and found her lips. He gazed at her full, plump lips and longed to press his lips to them, to taste her, to feel her passion. He resisted the urge and brought his eyes back up to hers.

He rose to his feet and broke the awkward moment of silence between them. “I can start repairs by shoring up that board on the roof,” he told her as he walked to the door. “Is there more lumber in the shed?”