Miss Abigail's Beastly Beau by Maggie Dallen (amazing books to read TXT) 📕

a shake. “I don’t think I shall tell you.”

She turned, heading toward the door. Her little army, as her father referred to the children, would fall into line behind her. They always did.

“Who was it?” Oh my, he was snarling now.

Abigail bit her lip. She really oughtn’t take such enjoyment in his frustration. It was probably quite wrong of her.

“Tell me who made you cry,” he demanded.

She shook her head. But too bad for him, because she was tired of being the only one contributing to their conversations. And besides, she hardly wished to cry on his shoulder because the reasons she’d been crying had been foolish. Pathetic, even.

“Was it a man?”

The question had her stopping short, one hand on the doorknob.

“Was who a man?” little Edith asked.

Abigail smiled down at her chubby-cheeked little friend with a calm she did not feel. “Nothing, dear. Why don’t you and the others run ahead, hmm?”

The door opened and she stepped to the side as they obediently ran on ahead. The silence that followed felt thick and heavy. She could feel his heavy stare on her but that didn’t stop her from jerking back from the intensity of it as their gazes collided.

She’d started to think she was immune to his glares, but none of the others had felt anything like this.

“Who hurt you?”

She shook her head. This was ridiculous. “No one.”

He leaned forward as if he could read the truth in her eyes if only he leaned in close enough. “Someone must have done something.”

All at once his demeanor changed. Wariness stole over his features. It did not suit this fierce warrior. “It wasn’t, er, that is...” He scratched the back of his neck as he eyed her closely. “I didn’t make you cry, did I?”

He looked so horrified, so uncomfortable...

She burst out in a laugh before smothering it with a hand over her mouth. “Sorry,” she mumbled as he let out a long exasperated sigh. “But how would you have made me cry?”

“Well...” He looked around as though the answer might be hidden behind the stacks of unopened crates he’d no doubt lugged over here himself from the tavern. “I know I’m not always easy to be around.”

Her chest seemed to swell and tighten at once at the admission and her lips curved up with an affectionate smile. “You’re really not as bad as you believe.”

His eyes widened slightly in surprise.

“Oh yes, Mr. Calhoun, I’m afraid I know your secret.”

There was that wariness again. “You do?”

“Indeed.” She smiled. “Your bark is far worse than your bite.”

He gave a guttural sound that she’d heard only a few times before. A laugh, she suspected. Amusement flickered in his eyes as he leaned in close and she was struck by a wave of warmth, as though this man were a walking, talking furnace. “You should not tell that to my enemies.”

She giggled. Giggled!

Abigail never giggled, but the silly sound escaped before she could stop it. It was a rare day indeed when the fierce and grumpy pirate teased.

And that was what he was doing.

He seemed to realize it at the same time she did and he drew back with a frown. “Well then, if it wasn’t my ill manners that upset you, what was it?”

She bit her bottom lip as she studied him from that thick black hair, to the dark eyes that seemed to hold more mysteries than she could imagine. Every time she looked in his eyes, she wondered what all he’d seen. Where he’d come from. How he’d come to be here.

But it wasn’t her place to ask. Just like it wasn’t his place to pry into her personal life.

Her gaze caught and held on the scar that marred his jawline. It wasn’t a particularly handsome face to begin with. Not in the traditional sense, at least. His features were too harsh, too broad, too fierce. She could far easier imagine him in battle than she could in a ballroom.

And yet, he was compelling. Attractive in a way that was not refined and far from ordinary.

“Well?” he demanded.

She let out a huff of a laugh.

He was also not patient. Not in the least. And he was used to having his way, this much had become obvious by his commanding nature and the way he strode through the world as if he owned everything in his purview.

“Well what?” she shot back. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw the children playing outside waiting for her. They’d need to get back to their families soon enough, they all had chores to do and she had a home to get back to as well.

Just a very empty one.

“I’d best be going,” she said. “I promised the children I’d read them a story before it gets too late, and the book they want to read is at my house.”

Also, this little cottage, run down as it might have been, had seemed cozy and comfortable when there were others around. Now that it was just the two of them, it merely felt too small. And too warm. And lacking in oxygen.

He gave a jerk of his chin toward the door as if sending her on her way but as soon as she stepped through, he followed behind her.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Walking you home,” he said.

“But your leg—”

“Is fine,” he snapped. “How many times do I have to tell you?”

Her face fell before she could stop it, and she didn’t turn away quickly enough.

He cursed under his breath. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be so gruff.”

She shook her head. “It’s all right.”

He fell into step beside her, his leg wasn’t even causing the slightest limp anymore. It had been nearly a fortnight since that dreadful night in the cave. Abigail had known the knife wound would heal in time. Sally had told her before she’d left that he was out of danger from infections and that it would heal just fine on its own now.

Abigail really had no need to keep bothering him with visits