Corbin's Fancy Read Free Page A

I’ll try.”
    “Thank you,” said the pastor, and his large, calloused hand closed over both of Fancy’s, encouraging and warm.
    *   *   *
    Jeff watched from an upstairs window as the guests began clamoring away in their assorted wagons, carriages, and buggies. The seedy little circus, hired for the special amusement of the children, had long since gone, but one of the performers had stayed—that disturbing, elfin creature wearing stars on her dress. Something about her made Jeff feel uneasy, though even from a distance there was no denying that she was an appealing little piece.
    He sighed, not quite able to turn away from the window. She was talking earnestly with Keith, he could see that—in fact, the two had never been very far apart all day. Who was the woman, anyway, and why hadn’t she left with the others?
    Jeff’s features formed a scowl. Come to that, why was Keith squiring a good-looking woman about, when he was engaged to marry Amelie Rogers in less than a month’s time? He was still pondering this question when the imp suddenly stopped her conversation with Keith and stared up at the window where Jeff stood. She couldn’t see him—that was impossible—and yet she seemed to be bidding him.
    Because something inside Jeff urged him to obey her, he turned quickly away from the window. Shirtless, he went to stand before the mirror above his bureau. He turned to one side, just far enough so that the crimson, puckered scar on his back was clearly visible. It made a broad swath between his right hip and the top of his left shoulder. That scar, like the similar one on his arm, wasrooted deep inside him, reaching beyond muscle and bone to his very core. He closed his eyes and tried to summon Banner O’Brien, now his brother’s wife, to his mind. Instead, he saw a small, fair-haired vixen with a galaxy strewn upon her dress.
    Through the open door of his room, Jeff heard footsteps on the stairs. He cursed and dived for the closest shirt, which was hanging over one of the posts of his bed. He was fastening the first button when Keith rapped at the doorjamb.
    “There’s someone I want you to meet,” the pastor announced with that peculiar combination of tenderness and determination that only he could manage.
    Jeff glared at his brother and muttered a round curse. Perhaps out of deference to the man he had been before he’d lost his father, Banner, and his ship practically in one fell swoop, he ran the fingers of his left hand through his hair.
    “Hello,” said the imp, stepping out of the shadows and into the doorway. “My name is Fancy.”
    Diplomatically, Keith turned and walked away. His boot heels made a forlorn, echoing sound on the stairs.
    “What the hell kind of name is ‘Fancy’?” Jeff snapped, all the while taking note of the wayward, sun-colored hair curling around a saucy face. Her eyes were a deep violet.
    “It’s a nickname for Frances,” the sprite retorted, ignoring his rudeness.
    There was a dimple in her chin—just the tiniest dimple. “Where did you get that silly dress?”
    The dimpled chin lifted, the violet eyes flashed, but Fancy stood her ground. “I made it myself. I wear it when I perform.”
    Even though he was standing in the middle of the room, Jeff felt oddly cornered. He ignored the fact that the sensation wasn’t all that unpleasant. Setting his feet wide apart and lifting his hands to his hips, he made a deliberate effort to look ominous. “Unless you’re going to tap-dance or something, why don’t you get the hell out of my bedroom? A man could get the wrong idea, you know.”
    “You’re full of wrong ideas, I think,” imparted the minx, completely undaunted. Her pert little nose crinkled disapprovingly. “Goodness, it’s musty in here,” she said, and then she had the unmitigated gall to march over to the wall and wrench open one window and then another. This done, she proceeded to fetch discarded shirts and trousers up from the floor, bunching