Page 21 of Beneath the Harvest Moon

She dipped her chin. “Mrs Simmonds, and it is a pleasure to meet you, Mr Kemp.”

“So, you are Mrs Simmonds, the famous beauty of the parish, returned to the bosom of her family.”

Heat flooded her cheeks. “I would not go so far, but thank you, Mr Kemp.”

He leaned into his scythe. “I’m pleased to see the rumours are true, for I’ve heard nothing but exclamations of the charms of Blythe Simmonds, née Dixon, since I started working here seven seasons ago. I’m happy to discover that those exclamations are founded.” The Lord of the Harvest winked. “If you’ll allow me to say so, you’re a fine beauty, Mrs Simmonds, one that fair steals my breath.”

Good heavens, her lips twitched at the man’s roguish charm. “You are too kind, Mr Kemp.”

“I hope you’ll do me the honour of standing up with me at the harvest supper.”

Now she was no longer in mourning, she could do as she pleased, including dancing with the nomadic harvest hands. “It would be my pleasure, Mr Kemp.”

He brought her knuckles to his lips. “I hope we meet again in the meantime, Mrs Simmonds.”

“I suppose we may.”

His impish grin highlighted his handsome countenance, despite his sweat-dampened forehead. He replaced his hat before claiming a cup of cider.

She followed his cocky swagger until her gaze met Gabriel’s.

His brow furrowed before he returned his attention to Elijah.

Any joy she had gained from her brief flirtation evaporated.

John signalled that the time had come to return to work, and everyone rose with weary sighs.

She checked that everything on the cart was secure before untying the reins from the gatepost. As she climbed aboard, firm hands grasped her waist and hefted her onto the bench. She turned to find Gabriel below her. “Thank⁠—”

“Beware of Kemp. He has a reputation for misleading women and leaving a trail of heartbreak in his wake.” Gabriel scowled.

Before she could reply, he stalked back to the field and collected his scythe.

She stared at his broad back. Her skin tingled with the imprint of his hands.

Perhaps it was too much to have expected that they could return to being friends. She flicked the reins and headed back to the farm.

CHAPTER 8

The knuckle clicked back into place, and Thomas Kemp inhaled through gritted teeth.

An oily, perverse pleasure spread through Gabriel. You are a physician. You are supposed to ease the suffering of others, not enjoy it. Perhaps he was not the better man after all.

Kemp was his patient. That the man had been flirting with Blythe should have no bearing on Gabriel’s treatment. After bracing the fourth and fifth fingers of the Lord of the Harvest with a short splint, Gabriel resisted the urge to jerk the bandage while he fastened the appendages together. “Keep those fingers bound for the next month.”

Kemp grimaced.

Gabriel rummaged in his bag and withdrew a small bottle of laudanum. “Take this to help with the pain.”

“How much do I owe?”

“It can wait until you have been paid.” Not that he planned to collect from a man who could not work for the rest of the season. Kemp nodded before gathering his belongings with one hand.

At least he would not have to witness the man dancing with Blythe at the harvest supper. For God’s sake, he needed to stop. Blythe could dance with whomever she wished, and he should be above petty resentment.

The sun dipped below the horizon, and John Dixon called an end to work.

Gabriel stretched his stiff limbs.