Sycamore Hill Read Online Free PDF Page A

truthfully. There was an
oak several yards away, and I walked over to sit in the shade. I dreaded the
thought of walking another step and looked up at Jordan Bennett leaning against
the tree trunk. Surely he would offer me a ride. No one would be so unkind as
to leave a woman walking out here in the heat of the day, I hoped. I did not
possess the nerve to ask.
    “I’m... glad to hear that,” he said, not really sounding it. I
wondered who Ross Persall was.
    “Who’s Ross Persall?” I admitted my curiosity.
    “A local resident,” Jordan Bennett answered as evasively as I
previously had. I sighed and decided not to press further. Besides, I was too
tired to be curious about much of anything. Except for him.
    “Are you a local resident?” I asked.
    “No.”
    I waited, hoping for more information. None was forthcoming, but
those blue eyes were dancing and obviously seeing right inside my head. My
mouth tightened, and I gave a faint shrug to indicate it didn’t matter one way
or another whether he was or was not from Sycamore Hill. The silence was
growing uncomfortable for me.
    “Is it always this hot in the summer?” I asked inanely, desperate
for anything to say.
    “No.”
    The man was determined to make me angry!
    “How far is it to Sycamore Hill?”
    ‘Two miles. Uphill all the way.” He was grinning now, and I closed
my eyes, saying a silent prayer. It remained unanswered, and I sighed heavily.
    “Well?” he drawled.
    “Well what?” I asked.
    “Aren’t you going to ask?” He was laughing at me again, the
dreadful man!
    “Ask you what?” I pretended obtuseness. There was a long silence,
and I looked away, unable to sustain his look. My eyes encountered the road,
parched, dusty and pockmarked, but worse, stretching out ahead of me for
another two long, painful miles. It wasn’t getting any cooler either. I looked
back at Jordan Bennett, but couldn’t bring myself to voice the question.
    “Are you always this stubborn?” he asked with slight impatience. I
couldn’t explain that it was a matter of reticence, not stubbornness, about
asking favors of strangers.
    “I give in.” He gave a dramatic sigh. “I must be the more curious
of the two of us. What’s your name first off?” He sounded as though he had made
up a list of questions, and I stiffened again.
    “Abigail McFarland,” I offered hesitantly, and then felt foolish.
After all, he had already introduced himself, hadn’t he?
    “Abigail.” He tested the name on his tongue. “A nice,
old-fashioned name, if a bit stiff,” he commented dryly, and then his eyes
widened as some thought, obviously far from pleasant, entered his head. “Good
God!” he exclaimed. “I think I know who you are!”
    “You do?” I asked blankly. “Why are you looking so thunderous?” I
added, alarmed at the sudden change in his expression.
    “You’re the new schoolmarm, aren’t you?” he accused, a wealth of
disgust in his tone.
    “Well... yes,” I admitted, bewildered by his reaction to my
occupation. I might have been some bug under a rock!
    He swore beneath his breath, renewing the color that had recently
managed to recede to normal. “I should have known,” he muttered and then glared
at me as though I had done something criminal. His eyes, when they coursed down
over me this time, were derisive and not the least bit friendly. Without another
word, Jordan Bennett walked purposely toward his buckboard.
    He was going to leave me here! I thought with sudden astonishment.
Without thinking, I jumped up and ran after him.
    “Mr. Bennett, wait, please,” I pleaded. “May I... may I...” The
words wouldn’t come. The only other time I had ever asked for anything, I had
requested freedom from my guardians. That had been denied to me. I had never
asked for anything again.
    “No!” he snapped. “If you’re about to ask for a ride to town,
forget it!” he continued curtly. “A schoolmarm ought to have enough good sense
not to be walking on a day