The Edge of Hell: The Mitchell Brothers Series Book One

12

Over the next several weeks, Wolstan did his best to avoid Mae as much as possible. He worked in the fields during the day or remained in his room until heat drove him outside for relief, only to find himself face to face with her in the hallway, the kitchen, or on the veranda.

So, after bathing the sweat and dirt of a hard day's labor from his body, he gathered some of his art supplies and retreated to the barn. There, he set up a little studio in a corner of the hayloft, hoping the smell of manure would keep Mae away.

And his sanctuary remained a secret for a week until Luella escaped her leash while Mae was walking her on the property late one day at the end of July when they both discovered his favorite hiding spot.

"Afternoon, Captain," Mae said, shielding her eyes from the glare of the setting sun with her bandaged right hand, her left perched at her waist. "Or evening, I suppose."

Mottled yellow bruises marred her face and collarbone. Yet he still thought she looked prettier than she had any right to be in her blue summer dress.

"Just about, Corporal," he replied, hating that the reminder of her identity did little to slow the rapid beating of his heart or settle the unwanted fluttering in his gut.

"Your brother's getting his splint off today."

Wolstan grunted. "I'm sure he's pleased."

Mae nodded. "Your Uncle's putting him in a plaster cast as we speak; hence Luella and I unknowingly intruding on your attempt at solitude. She was getting a little underfoot, so I decided to take her on a walk."

"Seems she's taking you for one."

"That's the truth." She smiled, and Wolstan's heart leaped within his chest at the sight—despite knowing it was directed at the dog, who'd wandered over to sniff an ancient oak tree.

"I think it's quite touching how much she loves and adores him," Mae said before looking at Wolstan. "It speaks highly to how Declan raised and treats her."

"Does it? What makes you so sure?"

Mae shrugged. "Because none of my daddy's hounds ever regarded him with such devotion—they either tried biting his hand off or ran away."

Wolstan studied Mae, hating how his stomach dropped to his toes and the sense of dread that danced across his skin as he bit his tongue to keep from asking, "And how did he raise and treat them?"

If he could have punched himself in the face right then without looking a fool, he would have.

He didn't want to know more about Mae or feel the rush of compassion and protectiveness for her coiling around his heart, further weakening his resistance. And he sure as hell didn't want to be attracted to her.

But he was—to an alarming and ever-increasing degree—and the longer he was around Mae, the more she intrigued him.

"Same way he did me," she answered with a sad, lopsided smile tilting her lips.

He'd stared at Mae, unsure of what to say that wouldn't draw her into further conversation and prolong his misery. All while fighting the irrational and near-overwhelming urge to sprout wings, fly down, and take her in his arms.

When the silence stretched between them for several awkward moments, she cleared her throat and said, "Well, forgive me for disrupting you, Captain... it won't happen again."

"With Luella along, that'll be a difficult promise to keep."

"Yes, perhaps," Mae nodded and briefly studied his face, "but not impossible."