Mail-Order Man Read Online Free PDF

peach. All in the blink of an eye.
    A person could be ravenous for sweets, but it was downright greedy not to offer to share. Brax’s favorite treat happened to be the sweetness of a woman, but how many months—years—had it been since Geoff tasted a candied repast?
    On the forty-mile trip between the candymaker and the nearby community of Ecru, it had taken much guarding to keep Geoff out of the fudge and the melting sun off the pan.
    His gaze slid to the Belle of Biloxi, who was chewing with her mouth open. He couldn’t imagine getting it up for her, despite his long dry spell since that gal in Richmond. Now what?
    Skylla St. Clair slurped the last of the syrup, then looked up. “Oh, you. Sit down.” She waved the pan; he remained standing. “What’s your age?” she asked. “You look pretty old.”
    â€œThir—Twenty-nine.” He recalled the age limitation. “Thanks for the compliment.” His lip curled. “How old are you?”
    â€œOld enough. Fifteen.”
    Girls sometimes got married as young as twelve in Mississippi. Judging from first impressions, this girl would forever be eleven to Brax.
    California slipping between his fingers, Brax had a word with himself about judgments. “Miss St. Clair, my batman is outside. It’s a hot, hot day. He’s mighty thirsty. Do you think he could impose upon your well? He has his own dipper.”
    â€œIf you’re so broke you’re here about the advertisement, how come you can afford an attendant?”
    â€œHe works cheap.”
    She wriggled over to a window near the staircase, drawing back the drape. Brax took a look around. The front room and the dining room—connected by an archway—hadn’t changed since Titus’s days. Racks of horns decorated the walls. Four chairs, with cow horns for arms and legs, were clustered incongruously around a lyre-shaped settee. The house still had a masculine cast to it, with none of the doodads women like to set around. Certainly nothing in the soft-currency line of plate or cut crystal caught his eye.
    But the jewel-cutting wheels and polishers remained on a bench by the window, just as Brax remembered them. A strange feeling of familiarity went through him. After a life of upheaval, Braxton Hale took comfort in that small anchor.
    â€œThose sure are nice-looking horses,” the girl baited, smothering a laugh and catching his attention.
    â€œThey got us here.” Offended for Impossible and his sidekick Molasses, Brax glowered.
    â€œBy the way, your batman’s helped himself to the water.” She dropped the curtain, leaving the room in shadows again. “What are you doing with a darkie? We aren’t supposed to have them anymore. You’ll have those awful Federal people down on us the minute they reach Mason County.”
    â€œWould ‘awful Federal people’ bother you so sorely? They’re downright friendly with some Southerners.”
    â€œIf you’re referring to that nasty Biloxi business, hold your tongue.” She made for the settee to sit down, Brax rushing to help seat her. The springs groaned as her weight hit them. “Sometimes people have to do what people have to do,” she explained. “And if you don’t like it, tough.”
    He chewed aggravation. California rearing its beautiful head, he asked, “Miss St. Clair, may I call you Skylla?”
    â€œIf you call me Skylla, I won’t answer to it.”
    He read the situation. She was obstinate for the sake of obstinacy. Could it be she played some sort of game? It wouldn’t surprise him. She had all the earmarks of deviousness.
    â€œAll right, Miss St. Clair, be that way. You do have to do what you do have to do,” he mocked. “But we might as well get acquainted as quickly as possible.”
    â€œAren’t we doing that?”
    â€œIf you’ll indulge me in a question or two, I’d be