Lady Lavender Read Free Page B

it. Why else would they hire a lawyer with courtroom smarts to supervise railroad crews?”
    God knew he didn’t want to think about it. He especially didn’t want to think about those slim bare legs flashing through that purple field.
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    Late afternoon shadows stippled the trail as Wash guided General back to Green Valley. He didn’t fancy returning, but Rooney was right: he had his orders.
    When the path narrowed and began to slopedownward, he fought off an attack of belly butterflies. Pretty ironic, to have lived through Laura’s betrayal and then the War, the Yankee prison in Richmond and Sioux-Cheyenne skirmishes near Fort Kearney only to find his entire frame laced up with nerves over one lone woman. A woman who had no legal claim to the land she sat on.
    Now on a level with the thick, waist-high field of bushy growth, he reined General to a stop and dismounted. It had to be done; he’d best get it over with.
    Dropping the reins where he stood, Wash patted the animal’s neck and made his way toward the small cabin at the far end of the valley. The greenery on either side of him was so close to the uneven footpath his elbows brushed against the purple fronds. A pleasant spice-like scent rose. Lavender! That’s what she was growing. Looked damn nice in the hazy sunlight, like an ocean of blue and purple waves.
    He raised his head and glimpsed a movement on the cabin porch. Miz Nicolet had seen him.
    He didn’t slow his pace until he was maybe twenty yards away, and then suddenly she pulled a rifle from behind her skirt and aimed it at his heart.
    Wash put his hands in the air. “It’s me, ma’am. The jackrabbit hunter, remember?”
    She said not a word, and he kept walking toward her, the slight hitch in his gait more noticeable now. When he was close enough to see the dark curls escaping the blue kerchief tied over her hair, he stopped.
    â€œYou do remember me, don’t you?”
    Her mouth opened. “Oui,” she snapped. “I remember you. What do you want?” She moved the gun barrel an inch to the right. If she pulled the trigger at such close range, she couldn’t miss. His heart would be splattered all over the path.
    â€œI’d like to talk to you, ma’am. About your farmland.”
    The teal-green eyes narrowed. “I own this land. It is not for sale.”
    â€œOh, I don’t want to buy it…well, yes, I do, in a way, but let me explain. You see—”
    â€œYou are trespassion —trespassing,” she corrected. “I ask you to leave.”
    â€œI can’t do that, ma’am. See, I’ve been ordered to—”
    â€œGo away,” she interrupted. “Or I will shoot.”
    Frantically Wash racked his brain for some words in French. Bonjour? No, that didn’t fit. Au revoir? Not yet. Not until she had heard him out. Comment ça va? That would do.
    He pushed his stiff lips into a smile, but it was dicey with that rifle trained on his shirt buttons. “Comment ça va?”
    Her gaze widened. “I am quite well,” she replied, her voice tightening. “But I am not patient. Go!”
    He waited three heartbeats. “My name’s Washington Halliday, ma’am.”
    He took another halting step forward, and then another, until the toes of his boots stubbed the bottom step. At each step she adjusted the angle of the gunto accommodate his position. He was so close now he could see those odd flecks of gray in her eyes.
    Wash drew in a long breath and began to recite the first French words that came to mind. “O, claire de lalune…” Damn. He wished he hadn’t switched his long-ago college language class to Latin.
    She frowned and tilted her head, obviously puzzled.
    â€œMon ami…” On the word ami he charged straight up the single step toward her and knocked the gun barrel upward. It went off with a crack, the shot skimming off into the trees