Once a Rake (Drake's Rakes)
“she challenged, the bucket held up. “And be careful of Harvey as you go by. He is in a snappy mood today.” Finally conceding with a grunt, George grabbed the pail and stomped out, taking a wide berth around Harvey’s stall. Harvey lunged for him anyway, great horse teeth clacking together as George scooted past. Turning back to her task, Sarah pulled out the garlic mash she had prepared and opened it. The sharp scent stung her nose, reminding her of just what she would have to do the next few days to see Ian Ferguson off her land. If his fever was any indication, she was going to have to sneak out time and again to apply poultices, dose fevers, and change bandages. She should let George take Ian off her hands, just as he wanted. George would get Ian away, and she would be left with no more to burden her than her daily struggle to survive. There would be no more divided loyalties, no speeding heartbeats or damp palms, no sudden, unfamiliar yearnings. No danger of any kind. Well, no new danger.
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