Devil's Daughter (The Ravenels #5)(42)

“It will bother you quite a bit if the wound turns sour!”

Justin was far more interested in the subject of sheep than hygiene. “How do you wash a sheep?”

“We created a temporary pool in the stream by damming it with a pair of old doors. Some of us stood waist-deep in the water while others handed over the sheep. My job was to help turn a sheep on its back and swish its wool in the water until it was clean. Most of them liked it, but every now and then one of them struggled to turn itself upright.”

“How do you turn a sheep over?” Justin asked.

“You grasp a handful of fleece near its cheek, then take a hold of the opposite foreleg, and—“West paused, giving Justin a considering glance. “It would be easier to show you. Let’s pretend you’re a sheep.” He lunged for the boy, who leaped back with a delighted yelp.

“I’m a sheep who likes to be dirty!” Justin cried, scampering away. “And you can’t catch me.”

“Oh, can’t I?” Adroitly West dodged and pounced, snatching up the boy and making him squeal with laughter. “Now I’ll show you how I wash a sheep.”

“Wait,” Phoebe said sharply, her heart thundering with anxiety. All her instincts stung in warning at the sight of her son being handled so roughly. “He’ll catch a chill. He—”

West stopped and turned toward her with Justin clasped securely in his arms. He regarded Phoebe with a mocking lift of his brows, and she realized too late that he’d had no intention of throwing Justin into the stream. They had only been playing.

After setting Justin down with exaggerated care, West approached her, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Well, then. I’ll have to demonstrate on you.”

Before her mind had quite registered the words, Phoebe was stunned to find herself being seized and lifted off her feet. A shock went through her as she was hoisted high against a rock-hard chest, his wet shirt soaking the thin fabric of her bodice. “Don’t you dare,” she gasped, giggling and squirming. “Oh, God, you smell like a barnyard—put me down, you lout—” She was laughing uncontrollably in a way she hadn’t done since childhood. Her arms clutched his neck. “If you drop me into that water,” she managed to threaten, “I’ll take you with me!”

“It’s worth it,” he said casually, carrying her toward the stream.

No one in Phoebe’s adult life had dared to manhandle her like this. She pushed against him helplessly, but any effort to escape was futile. His arms were like steel bands.

“I’ll never forgive you,” Phoebe said, but ruined the effect with another burst of wild giggles. “I mean it!”

West’s low laugh tickled her ear. “I suppose you’re not big enough for a sheep-washing demonstration. You’re only lamb size.” He stopped, and for a few seconds he kept her like that, cradled and close against him. Phoebe held very still in that stolen embrace, while her mind conjured a stunning image of his body weighting hers to the ground, human warmth above and cool earth below. A shiver chased down her spine.

“Easy, now,” West said gently. “I wasn’t going to drop you.” He cuddled her a little closer. “Poor lamb, did I give you a fright?” His voice was so dark and tender that it almost made her shiver again. With great care, he lowered her feet to the ground. But her arms didn’t want to unlock from around his neck. A strange feeling had come over her, as if she were listening to the haunting prelude of a song that would never be written. Slowly she let go and stepped back.

Justin collided into her from behind, hugging her tightly and chuckling. A moment later, Stephen dove against her and clutched her skirts, grinning upward. The boys had loved seeing someone play rough-and-tumble with their mother.

Phoebe tried to sound casual as she told West, “We’re going to play here for a few minutes. You’re welcome to keep company with us.”

He held her gaze. “Would you like me to?”

Phoebe might have thought the question was a mocking attempt to make her plead for his company. But there was a subtle note of uncertainty in his tone. He wasn’t sure of her, she realized. He’d made no assumptions about her, or what she might want. The realization sent a flush of warmth through her.

“Yes . . . stay.”

Before long, West was wading with Justin in the ankle-deep shallows, helping him collect interesting pebbles. Phoebe, who had discreetly removed her shoes and stockings, sat on a bank with Stephen, holding him while he dipped his feet and watched the minnows darting across in the shallows. Nanny had spread a cloth on a patch of mossy ground and sat with her back against the trunk of a nearby willow tree, snoozing lightly.

Feeling a soft nudge against her side, Phoebe twisted to discover that the black cat had jumped from the pram and was rubbing against her affectionately.

“Kitty!” Stephen exclaimed, clutching at the cat.

“Gently,” Phoebe cautioned, and moved his little hand in a slow, stroking motion over the animal’s back. “Oh, she likes that. Can you feel her purr?”

“. . . the bands of white are chalk,” West was saying a few yards away, bending to examine a pebble Justin held in his palm. “It’s made out of the shells of creatures so tiny, you can only see them with a microscope.”

“Where did the tiny creatures come from?”