A Man Apart. Ginna GrayЧитать онлайн книгу.
veranda and sit in the shade and rest a bit? You look plum peaked. I’m real glad you’re making an effort to recover, but it’s not good to push yourself too hard, you know. Particularly at first.”
“Funny, I don’t recall asking for your opinion,” Matt said in the cold voice he used to keep people at arm’s length.
“Well, you got it, anyway. No charge.” She waved both hands in a shooing motion. “Now go on out there and sit down before you fall down.”
He was tempted to refuse, just because she’d ordered him, but the veranda did look inviting. Besides, he was tired of being cooped up in his room.
“All right, all right. I’m going.”
The first thing Matt saw when he stepped out onto the back veranda was Maude Ann and the children working in the vegetable garden, about thirty feet behind and to one side of the lodge.
He gingerly lowered himself into a swing and settled back against a pillow to observe Maude Ann and her crew of pint-size gardeners.
As he followed her movements, his first thought was the same one he had over and over for the last four days. What the devil was she doing with this motley bunch of kids and only Jane Beasley to help her?
It didn’t make sense. She was an educated woman, a doctor. She could have a successful and lucrative career in Houston. She wasn’t his type, but she was an attractive woman. She was also incredibly sensual and responsive. He had firsthand knowledge of that. So why had she buried herself out here in the middle of nowhere?
Despite the nagging questions, a smile teased Matt’s mouth when he noticed that every one of the kids wore a straw hat. More of Maude Ann’s mothering, no doubt. Probably slathered them all with sun block, as well.
Most of the kids were working diligently. All except Tyrone. He merely leaned on his hoe, looking bored.
All Matt could see of Maude Ann was the top of her straw hat bobbing among the tall stalks of corn. Suddenly two corn stalks parted, and she stuck her head through the opening
“Tyrone, those weeds aren’t going to jump out of the ground, you know. Get busy.”
“I don’t want to hoe no weeds.” He shot her a look, his mouth set in a mulish pout. “I ain’t no farm boy.”
“No, you’re not. But you are a boy who likes to eat. Around here everyone does their part, so either get busy with that hoe or come over here and help me with the corn.”
For a moment Matt thought the boy would refuse, and he sat up straighter in the swing, preparing to lend a hand if the little hoodlum gave her any trouble. Then Tyrone threw down his hoe and stomped over to the corn patch, high-stepping over the rows of plants and muttering under his breath. He was a city boy, he groused. He didn’t belong here.
For the next fifteen minutes or so the seven-year-old miscreant trudged along behind Maude Ann, looking sullen and ready to revolt, while she broke ears of corn off the stalks and dropped them into the basket he carried. By the time she finished, Tyrone’s load had grown so heavy he was gripping the handle of the basket with both hands.
Maude Ann wiped her brow with her forearm and arched her back. “Tyrone, sweetie, take the corn into the house and give it to Jane.”
“Yes, ma’am!” Before she got all the words out he headed off as fast as the heavy basket would allow. “And come straight back!” she called after him.
Watching the boy move away, Maude Ann shook her head, but a smile curved her mouth.
Turning her attention to the other children, Maude Ann moved around the garden checking their progress, assisting some and correcting technique where necessary.
“She’s something, isn’t she?”
Startled, Matt looked up and found Jane standing beside the swing holding a tray containing a pitcher of lemonade and glasses, her gaze fixed on Maude Ann.
Matt turned his attention back to the garden and said nothing, but that didn’t deter Jane.
“That gal’s a natural with children. She’s never met one she didn’t adore. And they love her back, too. Even the problem ones like Tyrone come around after a while. You ask me, it’s a darned shame she and her husband didn’t have any of their own. A woman like that should have a houseful.”
Matt had to agree, but he merely shrugged and said, “There’s time. She’s still a young woman.”
“Huh. Fat lot of good that does. She hasn’t been out on a date with a man since Tom was killed, and she ain’t likely to go anytime soon. Where is she going to meet a man, stuck out here in the country with a passel of young’uns seven days a week, I’d like to know? She never takes a day off, though the good Lord knows, I nag her about it enough.” Jane glanced his way. “I was hoping when you showed up that something might happen between you two, but I can see now that you’re not suited.”
Matt frowned. He agreed, but somehow, hearing it from Jane annoyed him. “Really? What makes you say that?”
“Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it? She’s a warm, loving woman who adores children. Pardon me for saying so, Detective, but you’re about the coldest, most unfeeling man I’ve yet to meet. You act as though the children don’t exist. Why, that poor little angel, Debbie, chatters away at you all the time, and you ignore her. If there’s an ounce of tenderness or love in you, I’ve yet to see it. No insult intended, but Maudie deserves better.
“Now then, I’d best be getting back to work. Those young’uns are going to be starving when they’re done in that garden. Here’s your lemonade.” She plunked down the tray on the wicker table beside the swing and went back inside.
That was certainly plain talk, Matt thought, frowning after her. Oh, well, he did ask.
Matt turned his attention back to Maude Ann. It was funny—when she’d worked for the department, he would never have pegged her as a nurturer. He had assumed that all psychiatrists were cool, analytical people who stood a little apart from the rest of the world, observing, rather than participating. That was part of the reason he’d steered clear of her. That and the fact that he had always preferred chic blondes with a bit of an edge.
Maude Ann, however, was neither cool and distant nor chic and sophisticated. She was totally natural and unaffected. She was a woman who went around barefoot in cutoff jeans and T-shirts without a speck of makeup. A woman who opened her arms to children with problems. A woman who was compassionate and loving and maternal, a natural born earth mother.
Her husky laugh rang out, and Matt saw her grab Debbie up and swing her around.
He’d seen her do that sort of thing constantly since his arrival. Daily, she gave each child an equal amount of attention and time, listening to their earnest chatter as though it was the most important thing she’d ever heard, laughing with them and giving them smiles and praise. He’d noticed, too, that she constantly touched the children, ruffling their hair, patting their cheeks or their shoulders, giving them hugs and kisses or squeezing their hands.
No doubt, that sort of thing was important to a child’s emotional well-being. The kids certainly seemed to eat it up.
What baffled Matt was, why the devil did those simple actions suddenly seem so damned sexy?
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