He grunted, shifting instinctively closer to her shivering.
Chapter 5
By the time dawn arrived, Matthew had turned in his sleep, his arms wrapped tightly around the golden girl. Drawing in a deep breath, the man froze, the scent of warm things, the unaccountable feeling of his nose and lips pressed to soft hair, snapping him out of what had been one very peaceful moment. Realizing what he’d done—what he was doing—pale eyes went wide.
Mortified Charlie would wake up to find him all over her, he uncurled, moving as if he might set off a landmine. Easing out of bed, watching for signs of disturbance, Matthew found he couldn’t help but think it nice to see her natural—to see the telling scar on her lower lip usually hidden under rouge.
After dressing quiet as a church mouse, he made his way downstairs, anticipating that Eli would come bounding through the back door any minute now demanding breakfast.
Matthew was kept waiting.
By the time his cousin decided to grace the grill with his presence, it was obvious what had caused his delay. Grinning madly, a half-awake Nathaniel was in tow behind the kid.
“Well, I’ll be. When Eli came running to tell me there was lady clothes hanging on your back porch, Matthew, I just had to come see it for myself.” Nathaniel wasn’t even half sober, but he sure was sly enough to rile up his brother. “I’m certain I recognize that dress. Must’ve taken a goddamn miracle to get her into your bed.”
Eli snorted a laugh.
“Lower your goddamn voice before she hears you.” Matthew thumped down his coffee, splashing the clean counter with pitch black brew. “Charlotte was run off the road yesterday and got stuck walking in the storm. Heard her pounding on my door in the middle of the night, half frozen and hurt. She’s sleeping now, and I swear to God, if you wake her up and embarrass her, I’ll wring your fuckin’ necks.”
Instantly abashed, Nathaniel’s smile slipped. “She all right?”
“Sprained ankle’s all.” Matthew glared at Eli. “Make breakfast, then you two jackasses go find her car and pull it out of the ditch it’s stuck in.”
Nathaniel took to sucking down what coffee was left on the stove, Eli going about his business, ears red, and looking guilty.
In no time flat, the boys ran out to do as they were told.
When two hours had passed, Matthew was certain Charlotte would be waking soon. The woman probably hadn’t eaten the night before and must have walked pretty far if the time it was taking his kin to return was any sign. She would be half-starved. Setting his chores aside, Matthew fired up the grill, and went to get the special tea he’d purchased at the general store—the flashy brand he’d picked up the day after he’d hurt Charlotte’s feelings.
Tray in hand, he climbed the steps. Matthew found her still sleeping, sprawled on her belly, one arm reaching to where his body had been.
Clearing his throat, he tried to wake her. “Miss Elliot.”
Charlie pressed her face into the pillow and groaned. He was about to leave when he heard her grumble, “For God’s sake, Matthew, would you please start calling me Charlie?”
He set the tray on the bedside table, watching her turn over and peep up at him through her messy hair. “Thought you might be hungry.”
Sleepy eyes sharpened. With a grin, Charlie sat up. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather I ate downstairs? I don’t want to get crumbs in your bed.”
“S’alright.” Trying not to stare where her shoulder peeked out of his nightshirt, Matthew said, “Your dress ain’t dry yet. It’s best you stay up here and rest your ankle in the meantime.”
He’d brought her quite a spread—flapjacks, eggs, bacon—more than she’d ever be able to eat. There was even a steaming cup of tea she smiled over. Tray in her lap, she called for him before he shuffled off. “Matthew?”
Pausing at the door, he threw her a glance.
Bottom lip caught between her teeth, it seemed she’d changed her mind about talking, but just as he was about to turn she blurted out, “Could I copy down a few of your recipes? Not any Emerson family secrets, mind you, just the simple ones. I... I like your cooking.”
Ears turning red, he made some low, unintelligible mutter and shut the door.
* * *
At least she’d tried... but talking to that man was damn near impossible.
So Charlie ate. When she had all but licked the plate clean, she lay back on the pillow, awful sleepy again, and stared about the lackluster room.
Her room at the boarding house wasn’t showy, but it was a far sight nicer than this. Flaked plaster walls, sparse spindle furnishings. Aside from the quilt on his bed, there were no decorations. No curtains, no rug—nothing.
The room was downright spartan.