A Headstrong Woman(91)

“Goodnight,” he called after her. Good morning would have been more accurate, but he didn’t correct her.

Jonathon stared at the fire. He felt overly warm but he suspected the fire wasn’t to blame. He was going to have to remember to keep his hands to himself where Alexandria was concerned. He didn’t want to put either of them in a position that they’d later regret.





Chapter Seventeen



Alexandria dressed for work with leaden limbs. Between the events of the night before and loss of sleep, she wanted nothing more than to climb back into bed. After leaving Jonathon, she had tossed and turned for hours, her mind troubled by the changes in their relationship. He shouldn’t be touching her and kissing her as he had and she shouldn’t be allowing it, enjoying it even. She had been blissfully unaware that she could feel such things and wanted that back. She sighed as she shoved her hat on her head and moved out of her room to dress Lilly. She arrived in the kitchen to find Millie bustling about as usual and a subdued Anna standing at the stove. Her sister appeared to have been crying and looked as exhausted as Alexandria felt.

“Has Jonathon gotten up yet?” she asked as she started setting the table. Anna’s shoulders rose and fell in a quick shrug.

Alexandria frowned.

“If he has I haven’t see him,” Millie answered.

Alexandria turned and went to the parlor to wake her foreman. She smiled at the sight that greeted her. He was sprawled on the too small settee, one arm over his head, the other across his chest, and one foot on the floor. He sported the beginnings of a beard and her fingers itched to rub it; she resisted. She had always loved rubbing her dad’s unshaved cheeks in the morning, however that action would be entirely too familiar with a man who wasn’t her relation.

“Jonathon,” she shook him gently.

She hated to wake him.

Jonathon moaned; his eyes opened slowly. When he opened his eyes to find Alexandria leaning over him he was struck with the urge to pull her close and hold her; he knew better.

“Good morning,” he said sleepily.

“Breakfast is almost ready,” she stepped back to allow him room to get up.

“I’ll have to go make myself presentable,” he told her as he struggled with his boots.

“You’re fine, just come eat,” she told him.

Jonathon rubbed at his stubbled jaw and frowned. “I’m not presentable…”

“Jonathon, Millie is a widow, I’m a widow; Anna has a father and brother, what is so shocking about some whiskers? You’re worse than a woman about your appearance,” she accused.

“You look tired,” he noted.

“And you look wide awake,” she smiled.

“I like bantering with you, Alexandria,” he informed her; then added thoughtfully, “maybe too much.”

“What?” Alexandria frowned.

“Nothing,” he said as he stood.

Alexandria let the comment go.

After breakfast, Jonathon shaved and changed before he and Alexandria joined the men on the range. Each of the men looked over her bruised face and fought against anger. Nick had been the only one among them that would even consider hitting a lady. Sparky had a few bruises himself Alexandria noted as he approached her.

“Alex, I’m sorry none of us was here to help you when you needed it. I just wanted to tell you that none of the rest of us would ever offer to harm you,” he assured her.

Alexandria smiled at him. “I know that, Sparky. Nick has made me uncomfortable for some time. How old are you?”

“Twenty-two.”

“How old were you when you came?” she asked with a frown. She could remember him showing up in town years earlier.

“I was fifteen, just turned. I had run away from an abusive stepfather. I stayed until my Mom died and my older sister married, then I struck out. Elijah took me in, showed me the ropes… I have a lot that I owed Elijah,” he said quietly.

“Do you find my being here and my attending yesterday’s festivities inappropriate? You respecting Elijah as you do.”

“No, Alex. I don’t begrudge you any happiness you can find. I wish you the best,” he said sincerely.

Alexandria smiled at him. “Thank you, Sparky. Is that a nickname?”

“Yeah, Elijah gave me that nickname, said all it took was a spark to set off my temper, then started calling me Sparky,” he admitted with a boyish grin. “I manage my anger better now than I used to though. At least most the time,” he added as he rubbed his bruised jaw. “I swore when my Mama died that I’d never stand by and let another man hit a woman….” his voice trailed off; his face was anguished.