Kissing in the Dark (8 page)

So did Faith. Her casual tugging and smoothing of her apron made him vividly aware of what lay beneath the fabric of her dress.

“Dahlia was just entertaining our guests.”

“Your guests were my mother and my sisters-in-law, decent people who don’t deserve to be manipulated.”

Her head jerked up. “Manipulated?”

“Misled, if you prefer.”

Her eyes sparked with anger. “In what way, Sheriff?”

“Dahlia’s story is leaky as a sieve.”

“Because she was shamelessly embellishing her past, which she confessed to your mother. Storytelling is a great pastime in my family, but I can’t see any reason for her silly story to upset you. Dahlia admitted she was ‘decorating the cake’.”

He lifted his eyebrows. “Then you’re saying those women aren’t your aunts?”

“I’ve already answered that question, and the answer hasn’t changed.”

He eyed her for a moment and decided she would defend those crazy women as fiercely as she would defend Cora—and Adam, who was walking down the street toward them.

“Your brother is nearly here.” He nodded in the boy’s direction.

Faith looked peeved. “Adam and I have to finish our planting, so if you’ll excuse me.”

“One more question.” He thumbed toward the greenhouse. “What else are you selling here? What are those special services you and your aunts offer?”

Faith’s scowl deepened. “Healing massages.”

“What exactly is a ‘healing massage’?”

“It’s the practice of manipulating muscle while applying healing herbs and oils to a sore or injured area of the body.”

“Will you be offering this service to men?”

Her eyes sparked with anger and she refused to answer.

“How do you intend to apply oils and balms without asking your patrons to remove their clothing?”

She tried to step around him, but he caught her elbow and stopped her from opening the door.

“Mrs. Wilkins, I’m responsible for what goes on in this town, and I want to know what manner of business you’re running. How will you and your aunts provide these massages?”

“With our clothes on!” She tried to jerk her elbow free, but he held fast.

“Let go of my sister!” Adam pushed between them, shielding Faith with his skinny body. His chest heaved and his fists clenched at his sides. “Leave her alone. She didn’t do anything to you.”

Duke yanked his hand away as if he’d touched a hot poker, ashamed that he’d been gripping her so tightly. He was used to apprehending men. He would never handle a woman roughly. But damn it, he couldn’t allow anything, including Faith’s pretty face, to stand in the way of doing his duty. He’d taken an oath and he would uphold it come hell or high water.

“All right, son.” He nodded to acknowledge the boy’s anger, but spoke to Faith. “I hadn’t meant to insult you, or to hurt you.”

She put her hands on Adam’s shoulders and turned him to face her. “I need to talk with the sheriff.” Adam opened his mouth, and she shook her head to silence him. “Go check on Cora while I have a final word with him. When I finish here, I want to get the rest of the cabbage planted.”

Adam glared at Duke. “You better not hurt her,” he said, then stormed inside and slammed the door.

Duke felt a mix of admiration and concern for the boy. Adam was justified in his anger, and right to defend his sister, but if he wasn’t careful, he could be heading down a path that would put him on the wrong side of the law.

“I’m sorry I pushed you.” Duke rolled his aching shoulder and released a sigh of regret. “Adam told me you dislike men. I guess I haven’t helped improve your opinion of us.”

A startled look crossed her face. “I never . . . I dislike being bullied is all.”

“I hadn’t meant to bully you. But it’s my job to look out for the residents in my town.”

“I know that.” She rubbed her elbow and met his eyes with an openness that shocked him. “I’m one of those residents too, Sheriff. My aunts and I are struggling to build a new life here. If my business doesn’t thrive, I can’t support my family. I’m out of money, and I’m mourning someone I love, but despite being desperate and so scared I can hardly take a full breath, I’ve never once considered performing the crude services you’ve unfairly accused me of selling.”

A slap across the face couldn’t have been more effective in snapping him out of his single-minded pursuit of information. Shame snaked through his gut as he looked through the greenhouse window. Adam stood amidst the mass of greenery, watching them. The plants were stretching upward, alive and healthy, proof that Faith was selling herbs. No harm had come from the balm she had given him, or from the massage Iris gave his mother, or from the existence of Faith’s greenhouse.

Chagrined, he blew out a breath. “This is a peculiar business you’ve opened, and I won’t deny being skeptical about what you’re doing here, but I had no right to insult you, and no intention of doing so. I’m sorry.”

“Sheriff Grayson, everything I do here is with the intention of helping people improve their health. How can that be bad?”

He didn’t question her sincerity, but his gut insisted there was something about these women that would bite him the minute he turned his back.

“Did my balm help your shoulder?” she asked.

“For a few hours.”

“But your shoulder is growing worse, isn’t it?”

It was, but he wouldn’t admit it.

“I can see that it is, Sheriff. Your grimace gave you away when you took your handcuffs off your belt for Cora.”

“I’m fine.”

“Lift your arm then.”

“What?”

“Lift your arm above your head.”

He stared at her, liking the challenge in her eyes, but confused by her odd request.

“You can’t do it, can you?”

He didn’t know because he hadn’t tried. It hurt too damned bad just maneuvering his arm into his shirtsleeve.

“I can fix your shoulder for you,” she said, with a confidence that surprised him.

“How do you propose to do that?” His own doctor hadn’t been able to repair the injury or ease the pain, and he strongly doubted Faith could do so.

“Herbal massage.”

“I’m not interested in Iris’s massage.”

“I’ll do it.”

“You?”

Her chin dipped once in a decisive nod. “I’ll make an exception and treat your shoulder, only to prove that I can make it better.”

It would be no hardship having the pretty widow massage his shoulder, but he could, and would, resist his base desire. He’d been sheriff for a long time and had faced life and death situations that taught him how to ignore distractions. If this worked out like he expected, he could get some answers to his questions and prove her healing massage was just a ruse, saving his friends and family from discovering this for themselves. With elections coming up, he couldn’t afford to let anything unsavory take root in this town.

“All right, Mrs. Wilkins, when do we start?”

“Now, if you like—but with one stipulation,” she said. “If I succeed in restoring your shoulder, you must publicly acknowledge that my business is legitimate.”

“If you succeed to my satisfaction, I’ll gladly make a public statement. But I have a condition, too. I pay for my treatment.”

He could see a calculating look creep into her eyes. “Would you consider paying me with lumber?”

He lifted an eyebrow, wondering what she was angling for.

“I need to put up walls in the building we’re living in.”

“I’ll donate the lumber.”

She shook her head. “I can’t accept anything from . . . I can’t accept a donation.”

From him, she’d been about to say. Did she think a donation would leave her in his debt? “My brothers and I donate lumber to several causes.”

“I’m not a cause, Sheriff. I insist on paying for it by fixing your shoulder.”

“Let’s get started, then.”

Duke followed Faith to the back of the greenhouse and sat on a long, wooden table. She retrieved his cuffs from Cora, then sent her daughter outside with Adam and two of her “aunts” to finish planting their vegetable garden behind the cavernous building they called their home.

“You’ll have to remove your shirt, Sheriff.”

His gut clenched, even as he felt an instant stirring of desire. No respectable woman would ask a man to bare his torso in a public place, and he was so taken aback, and so taken with the thought of her hands touching him, that he couldn’t decide whether to chastise her or welcome her invitation.

“I know what I’m doing, Sheriff. I’ve been studying botany and anatomy and forms of healing since I was old enough to read. I’m a widow, not an innocent. I’m capable of tending to your shoulder without compromising my morals or damaging my reputation. But if you’re too uncomfortable with this arrangement—”

“It wasn’t my discomfort I was worried about,” he said, then gritted his teeth and struggled out of his shirt.

Her cheeks flushed as she tied a long length of linen toga-style around his torso, leaving his injured shoulder exposed. She poured a sweet-smelling oil into her cupped palm, rubbed her hands together, then moved behind him. “This is almond oil mixed with arnica.” She smoothed her warm palms up his back and over the crest of his shoulder. “The massage will relax your muscles, and the herb will soothe the ache.”

Relax him? Her touch snapped his body to attention. His stomach muscles quivered and his thighs tensed. His heart thudded so hard it vibrated his rib cage. Damn, he was reacting to her stroking hands like a boy experiencing his first romantic moment with a lady.

Her thumbs traced the sore muscles beneath his shoulder blade, and he willed his body to settle down. She moved her fingers upward along his spine, then pinched lightly across the crest of his shoulder. The tension in his neck melted by degrees as she worked downward to the muscles in his upper arm. He could hear Iris and Aster talking as they worked together in the greenhouse, and Faith’s soft breathing near his ear as she leaned over him. A hint of flowers and mint and almond teased his nose, and he wondered if the nice smell was the oil or Faith. Her touch was innocent and pleasing, but his aroused body leapt at every sweep of her palms over his skin. A man would have to be dead, or completely in love with another woman, not to be aroused by Faith’s stimulating fingers.

“Lie down, Sheriff.”

“Do what?” he asked, astonished at her boldness and at his eagerness to do whatever she desired.

“I’m going to stretch your muscles.” Her soft hands pressed him toward the table. “I can’t do it with you sitting.”

He yielded to her touch and lay on his back, wanting to see how far she would take this “massage.” The table was several inches wider than his shoulders, but his heels hung off the end.

She clasped his wrist, but her fingers didn’t come close to encircling it. “Your muscles are so tight they’re restricting your movement.” She cupped her other hand beneath his elbow. “I’m going to lift your arm above your head and exert pressure. Tell me when you can’t bear it.”

She was going to kill him. He braced for the pain, knowing it was going to hurt like hell, but when she raised his arm, his breath exploded outward through his clenched teeth. “Sweet Jesus!” he hissed. It felt as if she’d driven a spike into his shoulder socket.

She lowered his arm an inch, which blessedly allowed the pain to ebb. “Your shoulder will get worse if you don’t move it,” she said. “You need to stretch your muscles or they’ll weaken and shrink around the joint. It’s already happening.”

That flew in the face of his doctor’s orders. “Doc Milton said to rest it.”

“With all due respect, I disagree with his advice.” She lowered his arm to the table. “If you won’t allow me to stretch the muscles, I can’t fix your shoulder. That means our agreement is off.”

“How will wrenching on my already sore shoulder help it improve?” After hearing Dahlia’s outlandish tale, and feeling the blinding pain Faith had caused him by raising his arm, he was more than suspect of her healing skills.

“I had a . . . friend who injured his shoulder and it ended up frozen like yours is getting. His doctor said the only fix was to stretch or tear the muscles to free up the arm, then keep the muscles stretched until they healed, otherwise the arm would remain useless. Your doctor should know that.”

Well, he obviously didn’t or he wouldn’t have told Duke to rest his shoulder. Doc Milton had doctored his family for as long as Duke could remember. Duke should listen to him, especially since he didn’t want his sore muscles stretched or torn. But he couldn’t. He had to yield to his gut, which insisted he needed to keep an eye on Faith and her aunts. He needed to be here, inside the greenhouse, participating in these massages they were offering. In all fairness, Faith did seem confident in her knowledge, and hardly the type of woman to swindle anyone, but her aunts with their bent for telling tales were another story. And his shoulder wasn’t improving on its own.

So he would stay, for whatever good it might do him. Without a doubt, Faith and her aunts would behave in his presence, but he would ask one of his friends, someone like Anna Levens who could be trusted to partake of Faith’s services and keep him informed. One negative word from Anna, and he would shut them down at the first sign of wrongdoing.

He lifted his wrist to Faith’s waiting hand. “All right, Mrs. Wilkins, work your magic.”

“Are you sure?” she asked. “My friend said the doctor’s treatment was excruciatingly painful.”

“But it worked?”

She nodded. “It can take months, though.”

“Then we’d better get started.”

Faith had half-hoped the sheriff would take his questions and suspicions and his too-male body and leave her greenhouse. He’d been imposing with his shirt on, but when he’d exposed his broad, muscled torso, her stomach had done a crazy dip that left her breathless.

Her breathing was still so shallow she felt lightheaded. But now that she had an opportunity to win the sheriff’s support, she couldn’t back down. She had to show some of the same starch and wit her aunts displayed. Dahlia had been brilliant to say they were here to serve the ladies in town. That was a perfectly reputable way to earn an income. The ladies would receive great pleasure from spending their husbands’ money, and as long as Faith could bear touching the sheriff’s bare body, she would eventually get his muscles stretched and his shoulder healed. Then he would have to give them his public approval.