The tentative question hung in the night air. Grace was speechless. Her own husband hadn’t offered. Not once. For this forbidding stranger, a tough-as-nails sheriff who barely knew her, to have compassion on her plight brought tears to her eyes.
What had compelled her to admit her deficiency? Her inability to read had been a point of frustration and humiliation since childhood. Noah already viewed her as lacking. Adding to his poor opinion hadn’t been the wisest move. What if he spread this information and prospective grooms shared Ambrose’s opinion?
“That’s fine if you’re not interested. Just thought I’d ask—”
“I am interested,” she blurted, sensing his imminent retreat. “I’m surprised, that’s all. No one besides my daughters has ever read to me.”
“Anyone with good sense can see you’re an intelligent woman,” he muttered with a trace of anger. “You shouldn’t be made to feel lesser because of your issue.”
Noah Burgess was angry at her dead husband. Angry on her behalf. Containing her astonishment, she strove for a casual tone. “What’s the book about?”
“Our government and constitution.”
Grace tried to mask her dismay. She wasn’t certain she could stay awake for that.
“Oh. That sounds...interesting.”
The husky chuckle rumbling through his chest caught her off guard. She stared at the half smile curving his sculpted mouth. He almost resembled that young man in the photograph.
“I was joking. It’s Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens.”
She found herself smiling back at him. “An improvement over laws and procedures, to be sure.”
“Have you heard the story before?”
“I’ve heard of it. But I don’t know the story. My girls haven’t advanced to that level yet.”
“I’ll be right back.”
His movements efficient and fluid, he went inside and returned with a kerosene lamp that he set on a small, roughly constructed table. The light glinted off his blond hair, streaking it with gold. He looked slightly less forbidding than usual. His sheriff’s badge and vest were nowhere to be seen, his wheat-colored shirt was open at the neck and his undershirt visible.
Opening the book, he turned to the first chapter and began to read. At first Grace focused on the cadence of his words, the honeyed ebb and flow of his resonant voice. It wasn’t long before she got swept up in the story and was whisked away on an imaginary adventure. With the soothing night air wrapping her in its embrace, the scents of grass and sunbaked earth mixing with traces of mint, she closed her eyes and pictured the story’s setting and the colorful characters he described. When his voice trailed off some time later and the cover snapped closed, she experienced a sharp pang of disappointment.
She wanted so badly to ask if he’d continue the story tomorrow. But she’d stopped asking for things for herself a long time ago—the repeated rejections had been too hurtful—and focused on looking after the girls’ needs. Ambrose hadn’t loved anyone but himself. However, he’d purposed to keep his girls respectable in his social circles. Grace had learned to play on his pride in order to benefit them.
Standing, she pushed the heavy fall of her hair behind her shoulder and touched a hand to the march of buttons down the front of her housecoat. A feeling of vulnerability invaded her. Certainly the isolated setting and late hour contributed to it, as did her casual dress. More concerning was the fact he was now privy to her greatest weakness.
“I enjoyed the book very much. I appreciate you taking the time to read aloud when you’d clearly intended to read alone.”
“Tomorrow night I’ll have a glass of water with me.” Standing, he cupped his throat. “My throat’s too dry to keep going.”
Joy leaped in her chest. “You don’t mind?”
“Nah.” He looked sheepish. “When my younger sisters were little, I used to read them to sleep every night. I never admitted how much I liked it. I’d gripe and complain to my ma when all the while I was as eager for story time as the girls.”
“How many sisters do you have?” Grace found it difficult to picture him as a young boy with a family.
“Three.” His expression grew distant, a sad furrow drawing his brows together. “Lilly, Cara and Elizabeth. All in their early twenties by now.”
She wondered what they were like, if they were blonde and blue-eyed like their brother. “You must already be an uncle, then.”
Noah jerked his startled gaze to hers. This shouldn’t be a novel notion. Something wasn’t right.
“When was the last time you saw them?”
“Since before I left for Pennsylvania to join the Union army.”
Many years ago, then. “You haven’t been in contact with your sisters, have you? What about your parents?”
His frown deepened, and the marred skin on his jaw stretched thin. His mood went as black as the night, and yet, though keenly aware of his size and strength, she did not feel threatened.
“This isn’t a good idea,” he said.
“What isn’t?”
“Sharing our pasts. Personal information. We’re not engaged to be married. Pretty soon you’ll be married to someone else, and you and I will have limited contact with each other.”
The regret squeezing her heart didn’t make sense. She had no ties to the sheriff. She’d known him less than a week.
But you trust him, don’t you?
Grace was confident Noah would never hurt her or the twins. If they were part of his family, he’d do anything to protect them. He’d provide for them. Maybe he’d even do things to bring them happiness...like reading to a grown woman who couldn’t do it for herself. He might not be effusive in his welcome, he might keep people at a distance, but behind the badge Noah’s heart beat pure and true.
While he and his friends intended to guide her to a good second choice, she couldn’t be sure exactly what type of man she’d be marrying.
“I have a request.”
Noah shifted his stance, clasping the book firmly by his side. “Name it.”
“I don’t wish to rush into a decision. I would like some time to gauge my potential husband’s character for myself.”
His brows shot up. “You were ready to marry me sight unseen.”
“I trusted Mr. Canfield’s account. You’re one of the original town founders and highly respected. I’m not angling to stay with you until Christmas.” Surprise crept over his features. “A few weeks will suffice. And if you can’t stomach our presence that long, we’ll move to the hotel at my expense.”
“Take the time you need. Will, Daniel and I will make good on our promise. We won’t let you make a mistake.”
“You can’t guarantee me a good marriage, Sheriff. Not unless you’re willing to marry me yourself.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. “My decision’s been made.”
“Then the best you can do is pray God leads me to the right man.”
Spinning on her heel, Grace escaped into the house, leaving him to stew on her words for once.
* * *
“She’s the reason I couldn’t sleep.” Noah jabbed a finger toward the house the following morning. “This is why being alone is for the best. No one’s around to stir up the past.”
Wolf cocked his head, his golden stare seeming to commiserate with him.
Dreams of his sisters had plagued him throughout the night. In his mind, they were the same age as the year he’d left Virginia. Constance had reminded him that they hadn’t remained unchanged. Lilly, Cara and Elizabeth were young women now, most likely married with children. He probably had nieces and nephews. Blood kin he’d never met.
Homesickness stole over him, a yearning to see his family stronger than it had been in years. Constance’s fault, of course.
Noah flicked straw from his shirt. “I’m too old to be sleeping in barn lofts, I tell you that.” Not that he had a choice. Couldn’t very well expect the widow and her daughters to bunk with the livestock.
He strode into the yard, lugging a full pail of milk. The first rays of sun scattered across the pastures, setting the dewdrops to sparkling. A robin called to its mate. The temperature was still in the pleasant range.
Inside the house, he was greeted by an anxious-looking Jane. Her hair wasn’t in its usual style, and she was wearing her nightclothes. Noah glanced at the closed bedroom door as he lifted the pail to the counter.
“Everything all right?”
Twisting her hands together, she quickly shook her head. “Momma’s sick.”
Alarm worked its way through his body. Not bothering to knock, he entered the bedroom, his focus on the dark-haired woman beneath the covers.
“Sheriff.” She struggled to sit up. “I didn’t realize how late it was.”
“I’m still not used to being called that,” he muttered, moving to her side.
“Mr. Burgess—”
“Noah,” he corrected, noting Abigail hovering on the far side. “Jane said you’re ill. What are your symptoms?”
“It’s nothing.” Pushing the quilt off her seemed to leach her of strength.
He put his hand to her forehead. The heat confirmed his suspicions. “It’s not nothing. You have a fever.”
“I don’t get sick.”
Her protestations might’ve been comical if not for her obvious suffering. Her hair was a tangle about her slim form. Her skin was pallid and clammy, her lips almost white.
“Everyone gets sick at some time or another in their lives.” Gently, he placed his hands on her shoulders and nudged her against the pillow.
“I’m sorry.”
Noah paused in replacing the quilt. “Why would you apologize for something you have no control over?”
A small voice answered from the doorway behind him. “Momma apologized to our father a lot. He used to yell at her.”
His gaze shot to Constance, whose trembling lower lip was at odds with her jutting chin. “Let’s not discuss that with strangers, Jane.”
Jane moved to take his hand. “Mr. Noah isn’t a stranger, Momma.” She lifted her face. “You’re not going to fuss at her, are you?”
The innocent trust in her blue eyes gutted him. “No, I’m not.” Crouching to her level, he pushed aside the anger swelling once more at a faceless man. Noah was glad Ambrose Miller wasn’t able to hurt them anymore. “Your ma is going to need a lot of rest today. Will you help me take care of her?”
“Yes, sir.”
He squeezed her hand. “The first thing I’d like for you to do is fetch a washrag from the kitchen.”
When she’d gone, his gaze settled on the quieter twin. “Amy, bring me that hairbrush, will you?”
Abigail obediently did as he asked, maintaining ample space between them when handing him the brush. He wondered how long it would take for her to work up the courage to correct him about her name.
“Did you know I used to brush and braid my little sisters’ hair?”
Sucking on her lower lip, she watched him with solemn eyes.
“Well, I did. I know how to be gentle.”
Seeking reassurance from her ma, who nodded and smiled tremulously, Abigail turned and presented him with her back. He brushed the clean strands and plaited them into a tidy braid and tied a ribbon around the end.
“All finished. Go look at yourself in the mirror and check my work.”
She fetched an ornate mirror that belonged to Constance and studied herself from different angles.
“How’d I do?”
His reward was a shy smile that made his spirits soar like a hawk on an updraft.
Jane returned with the cloth. Setting it aside, Noah braided her hair as well, and then sent them both to set out the dishes and utensils. Constance tracked his movements with her gaze. Her hands clutched at the quilt, and he noticed she was once again wearing those gaudy rings that screamed money and advantage. He wet the cloth, wrung out the excess water and laid it across her forehead.
A grateful sound sighed out of her as her sooty lashes lifted. “If you’ll take care of breakfast, I’ll see to lunch.”
Noah shoved his hands deep in his pockets to resist smoothing her hair away from her face. “I’m afraid you won’t be leaving this bed today. Maybe not tomorrow, either. Seems to me you’ve contracted whatever sickness Abigail had.”
Her dry lips parted. “But your sheriff’s duties—”
“I’ve got a pair of deputies who can oversee things for me. I’ll run into town after breakfast and check in with them. Then I’ll swing by the general store. Did you have time to make a list?”
“I’m inconveniencing you.” She frowned. “More than I have already. The girls...”
“Will be fine. I may even take them into town with me so you can have peace and quiet.”
Her winged brows rose. “You would do that?”
He wasn’t jumping at the bit to escort twin six-year-olds to town, but Constance needed sleep in order to recuperate.
A tremor shook her petite frame. He couldn’t resist sitting on the mattress and laying his palm against her cheek. To check her fever again, he reassured himself. Her skin was silky soft, smooth as a flower petal. Sleek strands of hair brushed his knuckles. She held herself very still, blinking up at him in silent inquiry, and he got the impression she hadn’t been on the receiving end of kindness very often.
“I hope he suffered when he died,” he growled. “I know that makes me a terrible person, but it’s the truth.”
Her forehead bunched before clearing a second later. “Ambrose perished in a train accident. His skull was crushed. That’s the only detail I was given.”
Noah fixed the displaced cloth. God forgive me. I can’t help how I feel.
Jerking a nod, he removed his hand and stood, wishing he could stay and keep her company. “Is there anything I can get you? Dry toast? Tea?”
“Tea would be nice.”
He was at the door when she whispered, “Noah?”
He twisted around at the sound of his given name on her lips. “Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
Her eyes were bright with gratitude he didn’t deserve. Not only had he repeatedly told her he didn’t want her, he was pawning her off on another man, a stranger who may or may not put her and the girls’ needs above his own.
Careful, Burgess. You’re starting to care.
Constance hadn’t wanted him, specifically. She’d answered a bride-wanted letter as a way to get out of Chicago and provide a better life for the girls. It didn’t matter who she ultimately married, he told himself firmly, as long as he was a God-fearing man who’d treat her right.
The sooner she found that man, the sooner she’d move out. She’d cease to be Noah’s concern and his life could finally return to normal.