“I’d rather you weren’t.” He walked out the door and closed it softly behind him.
Ruth’s heart hammered and her nipples poked through the gauzy fabric of her chemise. How scandalous to be dressed this way when he returned. His bronze gaze would rake over her body and heat her skin. Perhaps he’d pull her into his arms and kiss her again. Maybe cup her breast as he had earlier. Suck on her hard nipple. The sensation had been something out of heaven itself. Every nerve in her body had responded. Tingles had shot through her and landed between her legs, in the private place that was throbbing now at the mere thought.
She shook her head rapidly, trying to shake away the images and feelings. She grabbed her dress that was draped over the foot of the bed. She stepped into it, when another soft knocking jarred her. Tiptoeing to the door, she said, “Yes?”
Behind her, the soft click of a door. She turned to see Garth standing in the doorway between the two rooms.
“I hurried,” he whispered, “so you wouldn’t have time to change.”
The heat of a blush seared Ruth’s cheeks and neck, and she clenched the fabric of her dress tightly.
Garth walked to her slowly, took her hands and unclenched them. The calico dress pooled at her feet.
“I wish I could kiss you.”
“I—”
“But I won’t. I’m filthy as a pig right now.”
“I suppose it’s too late to have a bath sent up for you,” Ruth said, her voice shaking. She hoped Garth didn’t notice.
“Afraid so.”
“No matter. Go into your room so we don’t wake Mary Alice. I’ll bring the basin of water.” She gripped the porcelain basin and lifted it, but Garth took it from her, his fingers brushing hers. A tremble surged through her. Had he not taken the basin, she would have dropped it.
Though she knew it a bad idea, she followed Garth into his room. She closed the door, but only so they wouldn’t wake Mary Alice.
Garth set the basin on the bureau and lit a table lamp, and soon the room was aglow in soft light.
He turned to Ruth and walked toward her. Standing in front of her, he fingered a lock of her hair.
“You look pretty like this, with your hair down, falling over your shoulders and down your back.”
Ruth looked away, unable to meet his gaze. “Mr. Mackenzie—”
“Garth. Please.
“I can’t—”
“You did this afternoon. You used my first name.”
“It was inappropriate.” Ruth concentrated on a knot in the wood floor under her bare foot. “I shouldn’t have.”
“Are you in love with the doctor, Ruthie?”
“In love?” She looked up.
His bronze eyes burned. “Did he give you that fancy writin’ paper?”
Ruth furrowed her brow. “You’re talking nonsense. What writing paper?”
“That you used at the schoolhouse. To write down the books for Mary Alice.”
“Oh.” Her linen stationery. “That was a Christmas gift from the children. They all pitched in a few pennies.”
He closed his eyes. Was that relief on his face?
“So you’re not in love with Doc?”