Excerpt from chapter 7
Mrs. Egan called from a window and Susanna gathered the baskets. "Our talk must wait.” Her grin returned. "Want to meet Cousin Alex? I hear he’s extremely handsome."
“No, not even if he’s the handsomest man in the world.” Eden waved and ran around the house. Besides, dressed as she was Mary and Rosaleen would have fits—
A screaming whinny ripped the air; a horse reared, front legs flailing. Eden dropped to the ground. Her hat flew off and spun circles in the dirt. For the second time that morning her heart drummed a furious beat.
Hooves hammered the earth, raising clouds of dust. The rider slid from his saddle and charged through the dust storm, dropping to one knee beside Eden.
Grit fouled her mouth and clogged her nose. She lifted her head, coughed and spat, and when the dirt settled, turned to him. He sat back on his heel. Heat washed her cheeks, prickles skipped across her nape. She dragged her knuckles over her mouth.
"What is it you’re staring at?"
"You speak!"
She caught a sneeze. "I speak. I walk, too, if you'll move, sir."
When he rose and took two steps back, she sat and wiped her cheeks with her palms. Like her hair and her frock, they wore a thick coating of dirt. "Perhaps you should watch where you’re going, sir."
He slapped dust off his breeches. "Damn it girl, it's you who should watch. You nearly collided with me on the road a while back, riding hell-bent as would a boy."
She wrinkled her nose. "Better than riding as would a girl.” She rubbed her hands on her skirt and brushed her sleeves. “Seems now we are even."
"Allow me to assist you."
She eyed his outstretched hand with skepticism but extended hers. He grasped it and with a firm, fluid tug, pulled her up. Though both wore riding gloves, her palm pulsed against his. A fiery wave traveled up her arm and splashed through her body. Images flared— a dark sky, a dim room, a glowing fire. She yanked her hand free and brought it to her forehead.
"Are you all right, Miss?"
The concern in his voice snapped her out of her daze. "I'm fine, thank you." Steady now, she retreated further and, shaking out her skirt, gave him a sidelong look. Cousin Alex, the English cousin. Puzzling, because Susanna’s mother was French. Still, Mrs. Egan also had tawny hair, and eyes of a similar amber hue, but without the metallic edge of his.
She continued her covert assessment. His white linen shirt and tan riding breeches fitted him well. Wide shoulders, muscular thighs. A sun-bronzed face, eyes fixed on her with cool arrogance. She averted her gaze and spied her hat, trampled flat by his horse. She snatched it up. "Damnation! Look what you've done."
"My deepest apologies, Miss. I'll replace it, of course." Having tidied his clothes, he tied on an ascot.
“No replacement. I will, however, accept your apology." She fashioned the hat into a semblance of what it had been, jammed it on her head, and marched to the mare.
Why didn’t he go into the house? She felt the prod of his gaze and had an appalling vision of struggling to climb into the saddle, undignified, awkward, girlish.
Her cheeks burning, she led Wildflower to the edge of the road. Cousin Alex shrugged into a jacket, still watching her. Using the mare as a screen, she pulled up her skirts and mounted, allowing the fabric to settle around her. Wildflower trotted forth.
Beset by a river of odd feelings, she couldn’t bring herself to glance back. She needed to get home, clean her face and hair, and toss the old yellow frock into the rubbish.
— Cat