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warmth she'd seen in his brown eyes had been replaced with scorn, and he crossed his arms impatiently. "I gather, Miss Walker," he said, "that you are more used to depending on servants than on being one." |
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She opened her mouth to protest. She was as self-reliant as anyone, not the pampered fool his gruff tone implied. But she stopped herself. In a way he was correct, though the servants on which she'd relied had been mechanical devices. "If you'll show me what to do," she said curtly, "I'll know the next time." |
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Without another word, he picked up some straw from a pile Mariah hadn't noticed, in a comer behind the fireplace. He scattered shafts throughout the wood Mariah had arranged so carefully, then made a neat pile on top of some small kindling pieces. |
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Next, he picked up the metal container. "This," he said, as though speaking to a not-very-bright child, "is a tinderbox." He lifted out the metal piece and struck it against the stone, creating sparks. Then he handed it to Mariah. "Here." |
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Smoothing her bedraggled pink skirt beneath her knees, she knelt back down on the hearth. She glanced up at him just once, wishing she could capture and use the sparks flying from her eyes. Instead, she turned back to the small pile of hay he had laid and went to work. |
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The minuscule beads of fire she created did not immediately ignite the straw. In fact, it took forever before she got the tiniest thread of smoke. She blew carefully on itand it went out. Frustrated, she tried again. And again. |
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She heard Thorn thump from the room. The noise had to be intentional, since he was so prone to sneaking. She turned to stick out her tongue at his retreating back, then returned to her work. |
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Eventually, her efforts paid off. The small heap of straw ignited, setting the kindling wood on fire and then, finally, thanks to her gentle blowing and prodding with a stick, the larger pieces. |
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Mariah rocked back onto her heels with a self-satisfied smile, ignoring her stiffness. Success! |
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