Wings of the Morning (Kensington Chronicles) by Lori Wick Page B

fire in her eyes, he turned to Dallas.
    "Take my seat, Dallas." The older man's voice was filled
    with relief. In truth, insult was the farthest thing from his
    mind "I'm ready for a break, so go ahead and sit here and read
    for Smokey."
    As Dallas collapsed his tall frame into the chair Darsey
    had vacated, shame washed over Smokey so quickly that she
    had trouble breathing. Never had she been so mortified. She
    turned frantic eyes to Darsey, but he was headed through the
    trees without a backward glance.
    "Now," Dallas' voice was as calm and collected as if this
    were an everyday occurrence for him. "I believe you were
    working on tea service."
    102
    103
    Dallas began to read. Smokey kept her eyes on the table,
    her face still aflame. She would have given anything at that moment to be able to walk away, but something detained her.
    For some moments she only half-listened to the book. Then
    Dallas spoke her name, his voice tender and compassionate.
    "Okay, Smokey, pick up the teapot with your right hand."
    Smokey moved to obey him without ever looking in his direction.
    "Put the fingers of your left hand over the lid and pour us
    some tea. Oh, now, that won't do at all!" Dallas suddenly said,
    and Smokey looked up in surprise, wondering what she'd
    done wrong.
    "Darsey didn't even take time to put water in this. Here,"
    he handed her the book, "you read that first page yourself
    while I fill this."
    Smokey watched him walk away and then glanced at the
    trees overhead The sun was headed high into the sky, and the
    day was growing warm. Smokey looked at the book in her
    hand and for a moment forgot about the heat. On the opposite
    page was a lovely ink sketch. The picture showed a beautiful
    parlor where three ladies were seated, one of whom was
    pouring tea. Smokey scrutinized the picture, studying it with
    intense longing.
    So consumed by the picture and the words of the chapter,
    Smokey reached without thought to remove her knit cap.
    Dallas came through the trees from the pond and stopped
    dead at the sight of Smokey with her hair down her back.
    It fell to her waist in black waves, and he continued to
    gawk as she unconsciously ran her fingers through the mass
    and gently rubbed her head. Dallas got ahold of himself just
    before she glanced up to see him.
    "All right," Dallas said as he worked at not staring at
    Smokey He placed the teapot back on the table and resumed
    his seat. "Now, try it again."
    In the last moments, Smokey had become completely
    relaxed. All humiliation over Dallas' presence deserted her,
    as with studied concentration she lifted the teapot and filled
    glasses to the three-quarter mark, just as the book
    jcted Her hand never wavered, and when she put the pot
    i, she gave Dallas a huge smile. Dallas couldn't stop
    self from laughing. Smokey joined him before asking him
    read on.
    u In the next hour Dallas read while Smokey set the table,
    served from a standing position and drank her "tea" without
    spilling a drop. Dallas thought she might go on forever, but his
    stomach suddenly growled very loudly.
    "I didn't take time for breakfast," he said with a sheepish
    grin.
    Smokey frowned "I didn't either, now that you mention it.
    I guess we had better head back."
    They were gathering the tea set to return it to the box
    when Smokey realized she couldn't find her cap. She searched
    around a bit, but stopped on Dallas1 words.
    "Why do you need it?"
    "Because I don't want to cut my hair."
    "Why would you have to do either; I mean cut it or cover
    it?"
    "The wind, Dallas," Smokey explained patiently. "I can't
    let it hang down while on the Aramis. It blinds me."
    "Here," Dallas stepped toward her, "turn around a minute."
    Smokey did as he directed without question, but she stiffened
    when she felt his hands on her hair. When they were
    both working on her ship, it was easy to remember their
    positions; she was the captain and he was pan of her crew. But
    in Maine or here on the island, she was a woman and he