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Outside at the vat of water, Tilly squatted down. The fire under the water had nearly extinguished. She grabbed a few logs and jammed them underneath the iron grate using her good hand. Cradling the injured hand against her belly, she blew on the fire, instantly bringing it back to life.
Landon stood off to the side watching. She rose and drew a deep breath, still light-headed. She didn’t want to go into the whole history that every member of her family was prone to passing out when faced with the sight of blood. Her own mother passed out when giving birth to Tilly, out so cold the midwife thought she’d died at one point.
Tilly wanted Landon to leave, but saw that having him stay to help her finish the work was wise. She’d seen plenty of people with gangrene hands or feet, and while the lucky ones lost the limb, the rest died in days. Angry as she was at him, it would be worth it to let him repay her.
“Grab that skimmer and get the shells out of the bottom of the pot.”
He did that and splayed them on the table. The mussels had curled into themselves and she silently thanked them for their life’s work.
“Now remove the meat.”
She sniffed at one.
“No good. Because of your idiocy and my passing out, I wouldn’t eat that meat. You’re going to have to harvest a few more for me for a recipe for Helen DeSimone’s stew. She’s looking for love, that one, and she needs my stew.”
Landon made a face.
“Stop with the scowl. Someday you might want a nice stew and if I remember you making that mocking expression I’ll deny you all day long for the rest of your life.”
“You underestimate me and my ability to be charming.”
“So I’ve only seen the bullnose part of your personality?”
He smiled. “Exactly.”
“Hmm.” She searched his eyes for signs he was being condescending, but there was only warmth. Something about what she saw made her feel she could trust him, even if her mind disagreed.
“All right. I’m listening.”
She ordered him to put the shells back in the vat of water then guided him to the riverside. She pointed in one direction, then another, then another. “Just go to the edge where the cove waters meet the river, and dive under and very gently cut a dozen shells free. Those are the wartybacks and I need them to make some button sets. If I’m lucky, that dozen will give me enough for the commission and some spares for my old dress.”
Landon looked her up and down and she followed his gaze. She’d forgotten she was dressed in her swimming chemise.
“I could ride you into town for a new dress if you like,” he said. “I owe you after cutting up your hand.”
“I’ve plenty of dresses. Stick to the topic at hand. How about that?”
He laughed and started to pull his shirt out of his waistband. She crossed her arms and tapped her foot, watching him.
“Don’t you want to turn around?” he asked.
“You going down to your skins?”
“Of course not. I’m a gentleman.”
She snorted. “Gentleman.”
Landon removed his shirt.
She glanced away then back. “Fancy man, yes, but—”
He unbuttoned his trousers and stepped out of them.
She realized she was staring, so she waved her hand in front of her face, trying to ignore his powerful presence. But his wide shoulders and narrow waist kept her attention. His quiet movements, subdued, unlike his manners, made Tilly’s insides twitch. And she wanted to touch him, wanted his arms around her. She shook the thought out of her head. Change the subject. “You trespassed twice. Caused me to injure myself and lose work time...”
He folded his clothes and set them on the table, his long limbs cut like braided wire, the muscular fibers defining his skin.
Entranced again, she lost her sense of what she’d been saying. “So, a gentleman... Um...”
He made a face at her, confused.
She couldn’t find words that made sense. What had they been talking about?
He rubbed his palms together as though he’d been told where the treasure was and took off for the water. She raced behind him and grabbed his arm. “You can paddle around out there and cool off all you want, but do not run roughshod over the shallows, disturbing my shells. And...” She pointed toward the back side of the cove and then to the opposite bank. “Those two beds are my heelsplitters. Beautiful, pearly blue or pink insides. But the shell will puncture your foot like a balloon. Then you’ll be the one with gangrene.”
He nodded and jogged toward the shoreline.
“Ho!”
He turned back.
“Easy with those big clod feet. The mussels grow better when treated gently.”
He nodded and went into the water with her sack tied around his waist and her knife in hand, disappearing under the surface. She watched him emerge and dive under many times, moving toward the shore, drawn to him, surprised, but liking the sense of contentment she felt having him near.
It reminded her of Billy that Alice had mentioned at the dance. Billy, the boy who’d visited for a summer when Tilly was sixteen. He had been picking his way west and Tilly’s father invited him to sleep in the loft in the barn. Ended up staying from the flower moonrise until the sturgeon moonset, helping around the grounds, with the mussel harvesting. Tilly had fallen for him, hard. His attentive gaze, his hand on hers, those conditions created the same sense of warmth and yearning inside her that this Landon did. It had been instant with Billy and then he was gone, a few letters left in his wake, then nothing. And she had easily grown used to the nothing that followed Billy’s presence. It was just how things were.
When Landon surfaced for the last time she couldn’t deny that there was a distinct sense of knowing each other between them. Yet, they’d just met. She hadn’t thought of Billy in a long time, but this, this connection to Landon was just like that and something about it made her think her parents would have liked him, invited him to stay in the barn loft and gotten beyond his arrogance. Or maybe it was just that his appearance brought a new layer of yearning for her parents.
He untied the bag and set it on the table. Water droplets slid to the end of his dark lashes and flipped off with every blink. His green irises magnetized her.
She handed him a linen sheet and he dried his face and arms. His sopping long johns adhered to his body, his pink skin showing through the now translucent underthings. Heat flooded her. She looked away, because watching him dry his stomach and thighs was much too intimate.
“Tilly? You all right?”
She broke out of her paralysis and put her palm to her throat.
He raised his eyebrows. “Oh. You’ve seen my charms.”
Her mouth dropped.
“I told you I could be charming.”
She started to speak but his gaze tracing along her body, thrilled her and shut her up.
“You’re charming, too,” he said.
“Ha. That’s funny.” She’d fought the urge to cover herself with her arms. This was her cove, her work and she wasn’t going to feign modesty just because his gaze lit her body on fire. She knew the underthings she chose to swim in that morning weren’t see through even when wet.
Landon lifted the sack. “Should we empty this?”
“There.” She gestured toward the table, thankful for the chance to stop gaping, to stop feeling him being drawn to her. “Slide them into the water to boil them out. All the shells need to soak for a day or so, then I’ll scrub them and soak some more. Then when the shells give in just the right way I’ll cut them into blanks—pieces for the commissions.”
He took each shell one by one, putting them into the water. “What about the necklace I saw and all those bowls of pearls?”
She searched his face for evidence of why he was asking. “That necklace has taken me nearly a year. A very good commission.”
“How do people place orders?”
She shrugged. “Local orders are placed in the basket that hangs by the door. Sometimes I get a letter from Chicago requesting I harvest baroques or slugs or once even a four-grain pearl. Mama sold that for...” Tilly wouldn’t release the sum of two thousand dollars out of her mouth to a virtual stranger, even if she did feel safe around him.
“For what?”
She leaned against the table watching him. “For a ring, silly. What else would a jeweler in Chicago want a pearl like that for?”
He lifted his jeans and snapped them into the air. “Anything else I can do for you?”
She looked at her hand. His tone had shifted, their easy back and forth truncated, letting her know he was getting ready to leave. “Before you go, show me those salves you brought and let’s wrap this again. Your box’s inside. You paid for it. I gather you’re busy with dinner and a show tonight.” She suddenly wanted him to go, not willing to get tangled in whatever it was that she was feeling when he was near.
