Page 5 of Calling on the Matchmaker
There was only one way to find out. He shoved the door open the rest of the way.
A horseshoe flew straight at him and hit him in the chest. Through the layer of his heavy wool coat, he could hardly feel the iron bounce against him before it fell to the ground cushioned by hay.
Something else flew his way—a farrier’s nailing hammer. He dodged it before it could hit him. “What the devil!”
At the sound of his voice, Finola paused with her arm stretched back, ready to throw again, this time a hoof nipper. Her eyes were wide and wild, the blue as bright and captivating as it had been when he’d first looked into them after saving her. It was a shade he seldom saw, like the sky on the eastern horizon along the river after sunrise.
“Riley Rafferty?” The surprise in her voice was genuine—and was it tinged with relief? “What are you doing here?”
Whatwashe doing there? He still didn’t know.
“My father owns the place.” He said the first thing that came to mind. In addition to the wagon shop on Front Street, his dad had invested in several liveries in the area, mostly to have teams of horses and mules that he could sell with the wagons.
Those going a longer distance, however, needed oxen, and William Rafferty, being the savvy businessman he was, had purchased land south of the city to breed and sell oxen.
She lowered her hand, clearly deciding Riley wasn’t a threat and that she didn’t need to attempt to impale him with farrier tools.
“What areyoudoing here?” He mimicked her question, but as soon as the words were out, his gaze dropped to find that she was standing in nothing but her undergarments. Silky undergarments that clung to her body and left little to the imagination.
Sweet saints above. She was half naked. Not only was she curvy, but her arms and lower legs were bare, showing milesof pale skin covered with more of the same freckles that were sprinkled across her face.
He swallowed hard. He needed to tear his gaze away from her, but he was a starving man at a feast. He’d denied himself womanly pleasures for so long that this glimpse was awakening hunger in him. Hunger he didn’t want to feel.
He let his sights drop to her slender feet and her delicate toes.
As if just realizing the indecency of her attire, she gasped. Her gaze darted around. She was searching for an escape, or a blanket, or perhaps a cloak to use in covering herself. But in finding nothing, she glanced at the tool still in her hand. And then she threw it at him.
He tried to tell himself to move, duck, or even lift a hand to at least block the thing. But he couldn’t move, was too dazed to do anything but stand still like a daft old man. In the next instant, the hoof nipper hit his jaw with a thud before it fell to the floor next to the other items she’d thrown.
She stared at him, at his jaw, then released another gasp before cupping a hand over her mouth.
A sting in his flesh told him the tool had punctured his skin. He lifted his hand to the spot, and when he drew it away, blood coated his fingers.
“Oh holy mother, have mercy.” She dropped her hands from her mouth. “I don’t know what came over me.”
He knew exactly what had come over her. Righteous indignation for his behaving like a bull in heat. He’d deserved to be hit with the nipping tool. In fact, he deserved to be whacked over the head with a four-by-four for gawking at her state of undress instead of immediately retreating from the stall.
Before he could let his attention wander to her chemise and drawers and all her bare skin again, he spun on his heel and closed the door behind him.
“I’m sorry, to be sure.” Her voice was stretched thin with worry.
He leaned back against the door and took a deep breath, trying to make his lungs and heart start working again. Then he scrubbed at his eyes, as if that could wipe away the image of her in her undergarments.
But it didn’t. The picture of her standing in the stall practically bare was at the forefront of his mind once more. Bother it. He had to think on something else. And fast.
The wagon for the government. The axle. The flat strap of iron he still needed to add to give the wagon the extra strength and structural support to make the long haul over the Santa Fe Trail without falling apart.
At the shuffling of garments, he guessed she was putting on her clothing. Thank the good Lord for His mercies.
She gave a tiny huff, and suddenly his mind was right back on her bare skin.
The wheels. They still had to be boiled in linseed oil. Then they’d need painting by one of the apprentices. Green. He’d have the wheels painted green this time.
“Riley?” She seemed to pause in her dressing.
He closed his eyes. “I’m here.”
“Don’t leave yet.”
