Born in Shame
Page 21

“Oh, sure you’ll want to see the sights.” Competently Brianna patted the dough into a ball and turned it into a large bowl. “The keys are on that hook there. You take them whenever you’ve a mind to ramble. Did you have a good night?”
“Actually, I—” She broke off, surprised she’d been about to tell Brianna about her dreams. “Yes, the room’s very comfortable.” Restless again, she took another sip of coffee. “Is there a gym anywhere around?”
Brianna covered her dough with a cloth, then went to the sink to wash off her hands. “A Jim? Several of them. Are you looking for anyone in particular?”
Shannon opened her mouth, then closed it again on a laugh. “No, a gym—a health club. I work out three or four times a week. You know, treadmills, stair climbers, free weights.”
“Oh.” Brianna set a cast iron skillet on the stove as she thought it through. “No, we’ve none of that just here. A treadmill, that’s for walking?”
“Yeah.”
“We’ve fields for that. You can have a fine walk across the fields. And the fresh air’s good for exercising. It’s a lovely morning for being out, though we’ll have rain this afternoon. You’ll want a jacket,” she continued, nodding toward a light denim jacket hanging on a peg by the back door.
“A jacket?”
“It’s a bit cool out.” Brianna set bacon to sizzling in the pan. “The exercise will give you an appetite. You’ll have breakfast when you get back.”
Frowning, Shannon studied Brianna’s back. It looked as if she was going for a walk. A little bemused, she set down her cup and picked up the jacket. “I don’t guess I’ll be long.”
“Take your time,” Brianna said cheerfully.
Amused at each other, they parted company.
Shannon had never considered herself the outdoor type. She wasn’t a fan of hiking. She much preferred the civilized atmosphere of a well-equipped health club—bottled water, the morning news on the television set, machines that told you your progress. She put in fifty minutes three times a week and was pleased to consider herself strong, healthy, and well toned.
But she’d never understood people who strapped on heavy boots and backpacks and hiked trails or climbed mountains.
Still, her discipline was too ingrained to allow her to forfeit all forms of exercise. And one day at Blackthorn had shown her that Brianna’s cooking could be a problem.
So she’d walk. Shannon tucked her hands into the pockets of her borrowed jacket, for the air was chilly. There was a nice little bite in the morning that shook away any lingering dregs of jet lag.
She passed the garden where primroses were still drenched with dew, and the greenhouse that tempted her to cup her hands and peer in through the treated glass. What she saw had her mouth falling open. She’d visited professional nurseries with her mother that were less organized and less well stocked.
Impressed, she turned away, then stopped. It was all so big, she thought as she stared out over the roll of land. So empty. Without being aware she hunched her shoulders defensively in the jacket. She thought nothing of walking down a New York sidewalk, dodging pedestrians, guarding her own personal space. The blare of traffic, blasting horns, raised voices were familiar, not strange like this shimmering silence.
“Not exactly like jogging in Central Park,” she muttered, comforted by the sound of her own voice. Because it was less daunting to go on than to return to the kitchen, she began to walk.
There were sounds, she realized. Birds, the distant hum of some machine, the echoing bark of a dog. Still, it seemed eerie to be so alone. Rather than focus on that, she quickened her pace. Strolling didn’t tone the muscles.
When she came to the first stone wall, she debated her choices. She could walk along it, or climb over it into the next field. With a shrug, she climbed over.
She recognized wheat, just high enough to wave a bit in the breeze, and in the midst of it, a lone tree. Though it looked immensely old to her, its leaves were still the tender green of spring. A bird perched on one of its high, gnarled branches, singing its heart out.
She stopped to watch, to listen, wishing she’d brought her sketch pad. She’d have to come back with it. It had been too long since she’d had the opportunity to do a real landscape.
Odd, she thought as she began to walk again. She hadn’t realized she wanted to. Yet anyone with even rudimentary skills would find their fingers itching here, she decided. The colors, the shapes, and the magnificent light. She turned around, walking backward for a moment to study the tree from a different angle.
Early morning would be best, she decided and climbed over the next wall with her attention still focused behind her.
Only luck kept her from turning headfirst into the cow.
“Jesus Christ.” She scrambled backward, came up hard against stone. The cow simply eyed the intruder dispassionately and swished her tail. “It’s so big.” From her perch on top of the wall, Shannon let out an unsteady breath. “I had no idea they were so big.”
Cautious, she lifted her gaze and discovered that bossie wasn’t alone. The field was dotted with grazing cows, large placid-eyed ladies with black-and-white hides. Since they didn’t seem particularly interested in her, she lowered slowly until she was sitting on the wall rather than standing on it.
“I guess the tour stops here. Aren’t you going to moo or something?”
Rather than oblige, the nearest cow shifted her bulk and went back to grazing. Amused now, Shannon relaxed and took a longer, more comprehensive look around. What she saw had her lips bowing.
“Babies.” With a laugh, she started to spring up to get a first-hand look at the spindly calves romping among their less energetic elders. Then caution had her glancing back into the eyes of her closest neighbor. She wasn’t at all sure if cows tended to bite or not. “Guess I’ll just watch them from right here.”
Curiosity had her reaching out, warily, her eyes riveted on the cow’s face. She just wanted to touch. Though she leaned out, she kept her butt planted firmly on the wall. If the cow didn’t like the move, Shannon figured she could be on the other side. Any woman who worked out three times a week should be able to outrun a cow.
When her fingers brushed, she discovered the hair was stiff and tough, and that the cow didn’t appear to object. More confident, Shannon inched a little closer and spread her palm over the flank.