Chapter Eight
Minny heaved a sigh as she placed the final nail on the bench. “And that’s the last.”
She almost laughed at the look of relief on his face.
“Are you sure?”
“Quite sure,” Minny said, opening the furnace and the kitchen door to allow the heat to pour through. It was one of the few benefits of living so close to the forge. She never had to worry about the cold in the winter.
Henry collapsed onto the stool, almost missing it in his haste. “Oh, dear Lord, I thought we’d never get there!”
“It wasn’t that large an order, really,” Minny said, carefully placing back her tools as she wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. “Just one hundred nails…”
A groan muffled her words. “And you call that a small order!”
Minny looked at the man who had somehow become just as much a part of the forge as her leather apron or the heavy gloves or her order book.
Henry Everleigh. To think, she had been so determined to keep him out of the forge…
“I am sorry, Mr. Everleigh, but there is no apprentice position available at my forge. Goodbye.”
Now she rather wondered how she had managed to keep the place going without him. All that wood chopping may have brought down his pride a little, but it also had kept her furnace well heated for weeks now.
She hadn’t been able to lift the plough that Farmer Jones had sent. Without Henry, she would not have been able to placate Mr. Anthony’s stallion when it came in yesterday—how he had known how to calm a horse, she did not know. He had not explained.
The trouble was, Minny told herself darkly as she cleaned the last of the hammers and placed it back in its position on the wall, she was getting too accustomed to him.
Her heart contracted painfully as she looked back at the handsome man, his hair darker thanks to the grime of their day’s work.
How long would she have him?
How long, she corrected, would he be here? For he was not hers; he owed her nothing, and she certainly owed him even less.
But the idea he could leave, suddenly disappear…
Minny had always told herself she would never be dependent on someone again, not after…
But that had been before Henry Everleigh had arrived at her door.
“You’ll be heading back to the King’s Head, I suppose,” she found herself saying.
Henry shrugged, the muscles in his strong arms flexing as he did so. “I suppose so—unless you have a meal for me here?”
Minny’s breath caught in her throat. It was a line they had never crossed. They worked hard, him perhaps harder than her, now she knew she could relieve some of the burden from her shoulders. They laughed together. She was altogether far too conscious of Henry’s body…
And then he said that. Easily, as though he suggested they eat together all the time.
Well, they did have lunch together, Minny tried to tell herself, as her throat closed up and all thoughts of how to respond vanished. At least, what he called “luncheon.”
She had fair laughed when he first said that. Bread, meat, and whatever vegetables she could find that hadn’t gone moldy in the store was hardly “luncheon”!
But there was no reason, Minny thought wistfully, he could not stay for dinner. It was not as though there was anything particularly scandalous in it. They would be alone, to be sure, but then…they were always alone.
“Minny…”
Minny swallowed. She was not, she thought firmly, going to think about that kiss. The kiss. The kiss that had awakened something in her she did not understand—could not understand without speaking of it to someone.
And who else was there?
“Minny?”
“What?” she said distractedly, Henry coming into focus. “Yes, a food—I mean, of course. You can stay. If you want.”
There was something odd crystalizing in the air between them.
A smile threatened to dismantle all her self-control. That was, she would very much like to put her finger on what it was, but touching Henry Everleigh was surely a recipe for disaster…
“Excellent,” said Henry, slapping his hands together and rubbing them. “What shall it be? Lord save me from a pork pie, I believe that is the only sustenance the King’s Head offers.”
Minny giggled as she removed her leather apron, carefully folded it, and started toward the kitchen. “Sustenance?”
“Food—you know what I mean,” said Henry good naturedly as he followed her.
He was a strange one, with his peculiar words and funny phrases. But Minny could not think on that. Not with Henry stepping into the kitchen, his looming presence making the place feel small.
It had felt perfectly serviceable when she was a child. It was just her father and Alan and herself for so long, and her brother had left—escaped, he’d called it—when she had been…what. Twelve?
So it had only been the two of them. The older man had never taken up much room.
Minny swallowed. Not like Henry Everleigh.
She did not know how he did it, but the man always seemed to take up so much more…space than any other man. He was tall yes, and broader than herself, but that did not go all the way to explaining just how present he was in a room.
As though he was sucking in all the air, preventing anyone from breathing. Or was that just her?
“What can I do?” Henry said eagerly, leaning against the small table and sliding it a few inches. “Whoops!”
Minny tried not to stare. How strong was this man, if the mere act of leaning could shift the old oak table?
“You,” she said sternly, “can sit.”
Like a dog newly trained, Henry sat obediently. Right down on the floor.
Minny tried to stifle her giggles. “Were you always this troublesome?”
“No, it’s something new you’ve bred into me,” said Henry cheerfully, stretching out his legs. He was so tall; he almost stretched the full length of the little room. “Are you sure I cannot—”
“Wood,” Minny said with a wry smile. That was one of the surprising things about Henry; he liked to be doing things. The moment he realized he could do something, he was itching to do it.
Not a common feature in the men of Pathstow.
“Now, you can tell me all about the village gossip you’ve heard in the King’s Head,” said Minny with a mischievous grin after he brought in a few more logs. “While I chop.”
It was remarkably pleasant. As the sun slipped below the horizon and the two candles on each side of the kitchen were lit, Minny chopped vegetables while listening to Henry chatter away.
His ease at storytelling was something she had never encountered before. Though he had been here less than a month, he appeared to be on speaking terms with half the village and on gossiping terms with the rest.
“—and there’ll be a scandal, I suppose, if they do not wed,” Henry said with a raised eyebrow. “You know how gossip can spread.”
Minny’s jaw tightened. “I do indeed.”
The forge extended into the kitchen with another small door so she could place the large cooking pot within. Her fingers only slightly stumbled as she tried not to think about the gossip which had forced her brother to leave Pathstow.
Oh, if only he had…well, it was all water under the bridge now. He could never come back. Not truly.
He had done too much to be forgiven, it seemed. Which was why the letters—
“And how long will that take?” Henry said eagerly.
Minny didn’t answer. “Minny?”
“What?” she said distractedly.
Henry was grinning. “What were you thinking of just now?”
Her cheeks flamed. “Nothing.”
“You were thinking of something,” he teased, rising to his feet and stepping toward her. “Do you not think we are good enough friends for you to tell me?”
Minny looked into the handsome face of the man she trusted implicitly, despite all evidence telling her not to.
She was alone here. He could do anything to her—not that she thought he would hurt her, but still…she was alone. And he was running from something; she had worked that much out herself.
If he had not have kissed her, she would have wondered…
“Minny?”
“Nothing,” she repeated, stepping away from the little door to the forge.
Yes, that was why she was burning up. That had to be the reason. Not because she had just imagined reaching out and touching…
Minny was grateful that Henry stepped back and sat at the table, hands folded. He started to talk about another exciting piece of gossip from the village—a pair of twins, newly born—and she could relax.
By the time the stew was ready, Minny had almost collected herself. He was just a man, she told herself. A man she was alone with. That was why she felt…odd in his presence.
Pride seared her heart as she served up a healthy portion of stew in one of the few unchipped bowls. She may not be the sort of woman a man would take to wife—she had long ago accepted she would never marry, not as a blacksmith—but that did not mean she couldn’t feed a man.
She watched, eagle eyed, as Henry dipped his spoon into the dish and brought it to his mouth.
And grinned as his eyes widened.
“Good God, this is—”
“Not too hot?” Minny asked sweetly, dishing up her own bowl.
Henry shook his head. “You know it is delicious, don’t you?”
“Well, I have had a little practice,” Minny said, seating herself opposite. “One doesn’t make stew over and over again for ten years or so without—”
“Ten years?”
For some reason, Henry looked more astonished than when he had tasted her delicious stew—which was odd.
Minny was not that old. Almost one and twenty, a perfectly respectable age. What daughter did not start helping her mother as she reached her tenth birthday, if not before?
“Yes, ten years,” she said, a mite defensively. “Why?”
Henry was staring as though he had never seen her before. “But…I mean to say, you cannot be more than twenty!”
“One and twenty,” said Minny with a frown as she had another mouthful of her stew. Oh goodness, it was good. “And?”
“But…but…” spluttered Henry, frowning as if a complex calculation had been presented to him. “But that would mean you were working in the kitchen from the age of—”
“Ten, yes, just like every daughter in this whole village, I’ll be bound,” Minny said with a dry laugh.
Why was he looking at her like that?