Page 13 of Beneath the Harvest Moon

The rooster strutted with his chest puffed out. His bright red comb and wattle wobbled while he surveyed his territory.

“Do you mind crowing a little louder tomorrow to prevent me lingering in bed?” she asked her beady-eyed companion.

The jingle of a harness drew her attention. Her breath caught in her throat when the black-clad, but familiar figure of Gabriel Sharpe dismounted.

Alongside Samson, Gabriel blinked.

Indeed, Blythe Dixon stood in her garden at Silverdale. Her golden curls gleamed like a halo. Despite her dull brown gown and lumps of soil splattered along the hem of her apron, his chest ached. Why could she not have developed warts?

The rooster fluttered its wings, breaking his dumbstruck awe.

“Gabriel,” she said with little more than a breathless whisper.

He swallowed against his parched throat. “Blythe.”

“What are you doing here?”

The brim of his hat stuck to his sweaty brow. The late morning sunshine must be addling his thought processes. It had nothing to do with the woman before him, the woman who still haunted his dreams—and now his waking moments.

She frowned. Dear God, had he been staring in silence again? Do not let her distract you! He cleared his throat. “I came to see your father.” Why else would he be here? Why indeed?

“Oh.” She brushed at her gown and the stained apron. Her gaze wandered over him from head to toe. “You look well. Being a physician clearly suits you.”

“I find my black attire a little vexing at this time of year.” His insides squirmed. Why did he allow this woman to confound him so?

She nodded.

He fiddled with Samson’s reins. Say something! “We thought you would have visited sooner.” It was a mean blow, but he could not help himself.

“Yes, well…” Her cheeks pinkened. “I brought my children to see their grandparents and learn a little about my life when I was a girl.”

Would her tale include how she had treated him? He snorted. No one would want their children to know they had behaved in such a way. Instead, he said, “The fresh air will do them good, but surely you will not wish to remain here longer than necessary, and your father should be fully recovered within a few weeks.”

Her face crumpled, and her fingers played with the edge of her apron.

You are better than this! Damnation! He should be above such a vindictive response, but his scarred heart demanded retribution.

Another awkward silence passed before she said, “And your family, I trust they are well.”

“They are in excellent health.”

“Does your mother still practice?”

“Yes, and she has a new apprentice.”

Blythe’s chin dropped to her chest.

His wriggling insides would never settle at this rate, but why should he hide the truth from her? Gabriel glanced at the maid peeking over her shoulder. The girl’s head shot back around before pegging a shirt on the line.

As though sensing their discomfort, Samson nudged Gabriel’s shoulder. Come now, you are an educated man. Indeed, he should rise above this belittling urge to lash out at her. “How goes the harvest?” he spluttered.

“John says the spring barley has done very well and will bring in a good crop this year.” She re-arranged the dandelions in her hand.

“We will need it to feed the nation since war has resumed.”

“Many are concerned that we may be invaded by the French.”

“The swelling ranks of the militia will stand up to any forces sent by Napoleon.”