|
|
|
|
|
|
than helped him; his anguish was etched even deeper in the lowering of his brow, the pain in his eyes, the set of his narrowed lips. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"Your chores still await you, Miss Walker. Go." He was not gentle as he pulled her to the door and thrust her outside. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
But she turned and stepped in front of him before he could disappear into the house. Ignoring his angry scowl, she ventured, "Your laundry . . . ?" |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
She nearly smiled at the show of emotions that eased his fury for just a moment: amazement, maybe even a glimmer of admiration. "I'll bring it, Miss Walker." He hesitated. "Thank you." |
|
|
|
|
|