Janna knew that there would never be enough time in the whole world for her to grow into a man, but she had just enough common sense and self-control to keep that revealing bit of truth to herself. With steady motions she shoveled soup into Ty's mouth.
"You trying to drown me?" he asked, taking the soup from her. "I'll feed myself, thanks." He crunched through a pale root of some kind, started to ask what it was, then decided not to. The first thing a man on the trail learned was that if it tastes good, don't ask what it is. Just be grateful and eat fast. "What's this about herbs and Shakespeare and letters?" he asked between mouthfuls of soup.
"My father and I used to divide up a play and read parts to each other. It helped to pass the time on the trail. I still have a trunk of his books," Janna said, helplessly watching the tip of Ty's tongue lick up stray drops of broth. "When I need supplies, I'll go to the Lazy A or the Circle G and write letters for the cowhands. Most of them can't read anything but brands, so I'll also read whatever letters they've saved up until someone like me happens by."
Ty looked at the thick, dark lashes, crystalline eyes and delicately structured face of the youth who was much too pretty for Ty's comfort. "Where did you go to school?" he asked roughly.
"On the front seat of a buckboard. Papa had a university degree and a case of wanderlust."
"What about your mother?"
"She died when I was three. Papa told me her body just wasn't up to the demands of her spirit."
The spoon hesitated on the way to Ty's mouth. He pinned Janna with an intense glance. "When did your Daddy die?"
Janna paused for an instant, thinking quickly. If she told Ty her father had died five years before, he would ask how a kid under ten had survived on his own. If she told Ty that she was nineteen, he would realize that the only way a nineteen-year-old boy could lack a deep voice and a beard shadow and muscles was if said boy were a girl wearing men's clothing. She wanted Ty to figure that out for himself-the hard way.
"Papa died a few seasons back," she said casually. "You lose track of time living alone."
"You've lived alone since then?" Ty asked, startled. "The whole time?"
Janna nodded.
"Don't you have any kin?"
"No."
"Wouldn't any of the townspeople let you trade room and board for work?"
"I don't like towns."
"Surely one of the ranches would take you on as a cook's helper or fence rider. Hell, if you can tame a mustang, there isn't a ranch anywhere that wouldn't take you on as a mustanger," Ty added, disturbed at the thought of an orphaned child wandering homeless over the land. "You could make a decent living catching and breaking horses for the rough string."
"I don't catch mustangs," Janna said flatly. "Too many of them refuse to eat once they're caught. I've seen them starve to death looking over a corral fence with glazed eyes."
"Most mustangs accept men."
Janna simply shook her head. "I won't take a mustang's freedom. I've gentled a few ranch-bred horses for women's mounts or for kids, but that's all."
"Sometimes a man has to do things he doesn't want to in order to survive," Ty said, his eyes narrowed against painful memories.
"I've been lucky so far," Janna said quietly. "More soup?"
Slowly, as though called back from a distance, Ty focused on Janna. "Thanks, I'd like that," he said, handing over the plate. "While I eat, would you mind reading to me?"
"Not at all. Anything in particular you want to hear?"
"Do you have Romeo and Juliet?"
"Yes."
"Then read to me about a woman more beautiful than the dawn." Ty closed his eyes and smiled. "A well-bred lady of silk, softer than a summer breeze, with pale hair and skin whiter than magnolias, and delicate hands that have never done anything more harsh than coax Chopin from a huge grand piano…"
"What's her name?" Janna asked tightly.
"Who?"
"The silk lady you're describing."
"Silver MacKenzie, my brother's wife." Ty's eyes opened, clear and hard. "But there are other women like her in England. I'm going to get one."
Abruptly Janna came to her feet. She returned a few minutes later with a heavy book tucked under her left arm and carrying a bowl of soup with her right hand. She gave Ty the soup, opened the worn book to Romeo and Juliet, Act II, Scene II, and began to read:
"'But, soft! What light through yonder window breaks?
It is the East, and Juliet is the sun…'"
Chapter Seven
That day set the pattern for the next two weeks. When Janna thought Ty had been pushing himself too hard in his efforts to regain full strength, she would bring out the Bible or the Shakespearean plays or the poetry of Dante, Milton or Pope, and she would read aloud. Ty saw through what she was doing, but didn't object. He had too much fun teasing "the boy" over the real meaning of the words in The Song of Solomon or Pope's The Rape of the Lock.
"Read that verse to me again," Ty said, smiling. "You ran over it so fast I missed most of the words."
Janna tilted her head down to the worn pages of the Bible and muttered, " 'Vanity of vanities… all is vanity.'"
"That's Ecclesiastes," Ty drawled. "You were reading The Song of Solomon and a woman was talking about her sweetheart. 'My beloved is gone down into his garden, to the beds of spices, to feed in the gardens…' Now what do you suppose that really means, boy?"
"He was hungry," Janna said succinctly.
"Ah, but for what?" Ty asked, stretching. "When you know the answer, you'll be a man no matter what your size or age."
Janna looked at Ty's long, muscular arms and the smooth give-and-take of his skin over his chest and torso and vowed again that she would go into Sweetwater first thing tomorrow and get Ty some clothes. She wasn't going to be able to look at him running around in a breechcloth much longer without reaching out and running her hands over all that tempting masculine hide.
The thought of Ty's shocked expression if she gave in to temptation restored her humor. It would be worth almost anything to see him shocked. Until that time came, she would have to be satisfied with watching his unease when she leaned too close or casually brushed against him, making him uncomfortable because of "the boy's" closeness.
When Ty saw Janna's full lips curve into a slow, almost hidden smile, he felt a jolt of something uncomfortably close to desire lance through him.
That boy is too damned feminine for my self-respect, much less for my peace of mind. I think I'd better take another long soak in that hot pool in the head of the valley. Doubt that it will take the starch out of me, though. I haven't been this hungry since I was fourteen. Dammit, but I need a woman.
Disgusted with himself, Ty came to his feet in a muscular rush. Janna was so surprised by the abrupt movement that she dropped the book she was holding. A sheet of paper that had been held safely between the pages fluttered out. Ty scooped it up before Janna could. He looked at the paper and let out a low whistle of admiration.
"Now there is a real lady," Ty said, gazing at the drawing of a woman in long, formal dress and elaborately coiffed hair. "Elegance like that is damned rare. Where did you get this?"
"Papa drew it when Mother was alive."
"This is your mother?"
Janna nodded.
"I see where you get your fine bones and…"