Chapter Nineteen

Sarah eyes skimmed over the gleaming parlor. There wasn’t a hint of dust on the cherrywood tables, moss-colored drapes, or hand-hewed oak mantel. The open window carried the scent of lemon oil throughout the immaculate room. It was clear her dusting services wouldn’t be needed here.

She’d woken thinking she would most definitely write Papa this morning and tell him that she was married and about to pen her first book, but the idea quickly dimmed. She had thought it would be so easy to confess what she’d one, but she was finding the ruse easier and easier to perpetrate with each passing day. If she told Papa she would have to tell Walker, who would tell Flo and S.H. The list went on and on. She’d wait a while longer before stirring that hornet’s nest. Forgive me for worrying Papa, Father, but at least he knows I’m safe. I hope he isn’t too concerned, but he probably is. What father doesn’t worry about his child when he has no idea where she is?

Strolling into the room, she paused at the open window, sniffing. Mouthwatering aromas drifted from the bunkhouse kitchen. One glance at the mantel clock assured her that the old cook would be up to his elbows preparing dinner and wouldn’t want to be bothered, but she fairly longed to tell someone about the book. Walker had not been impressed, but that didn’t surprise her. His praise was hard to come by. As she left the parlor and started back upstairs, she noticed that the door to her husband’s study was closed. Was he working at home this morning? She’d overslept, and by the time she’d read another chapter of the dime novel, dressed, and come downstairs for breakfast, Flo informed her that Walker had been up for hours.

The closed door lured her back down the stairs. Obviously, if he was in, he was busy, but too busy for a brief visit from her?

Stepping off the last stair, she edged toward the study door and rested her hand lightly on the door handle.

“Sarah! You’re not to go in there!”

Sarah jumped, hastily withdrawing her hand. Rubbing her palm on her skirt, she turned to face Flo. “I was only going to say good morning.”

“You know Walker doesn’t like anyone to bother him when he’s in his study.”

“But I was just—”

“You’d better stay clear of Walker when he’s in there, honey. His patience goes only so far.” Flo eyed her sternly on her way back to the kitchen.

Sarah sighed and then followed the housekeeper, looking for a notepad and pencil. She was eager to start her book. A little while later she was settled in the parlor and jotting down plot ideas when a ruckus in the kitchen drew her attention. S.H. burst through the doorway, heading for Walker’s study in a dead run.

Sarah listened as the foreman explained about a bull being down in the north pasture. A minute later, the two men left the house with a flurry of boots on the wooden floor and the slamming of doors.

Sarah sat until the sound of galloping horses left the barnyard. Laying the book aside, she stepped into the hallway. Her gaze swept the deserted foyer. She was relieved to see that Flo had disappeared too.

The open door to Walker’s study beckoned to her. Edging along the length of the foyer table, she argued with herself about the inadvisability of entering sacred ground. Walker had forbade her to rearrange the furniture, and he didn’t want her writing her book in his study, but he hadn’t said anything about taking a peek inside. Besides, from the sound of things, he and S.H. would be tied up with the lame bull for most of the morning. Her slippers eased along the polished floor. If Walker’s study was anything like Papa’s, it could use a little attention. Papers, books, and journals would be everywhere. Sarah didn’t think it would hurt anything to just step in for a moment and look the room over.

In a flash she entered the study and quietly shut the door. Leaning against the wooden panel, she paused to let her racing heart catch up.

A delicious sense of expectancy washed over her as she waited for her pulse to return to normal. Her glance slid over the masculine lair with its rich furnishings: the massive desk, burgundy leather sofa, and wingback chairs before a cold fireplace. Heavy gold damask draperies opened to reveal a large picture window that overlooked the unkempt rose garden. Closing her eyes, she released a quick breath. She was in.

Hurrying to the window, she feasted on the garden’s fountains pouring water from the large vases perched onto a lovely, lily pad-covered fishpond. What an exquisite sight it would be if only it were tended. Maybe one day she would be able to convince Walker to allow her to plant new flowers in the spring.

Turning back to the room, she walked among the furniture, touching each piece and admiring the quality. This room would please Papa greatly, but nice things meant nothing to her. In many ways, she wished her husband were a struggling farmer who needed a young wife to help him make his way in the world. Money made people independent. Maybe if they were poor, Walker would need her more.

Sitting down in his chair, she leaned back, closing her eyes. Walker’s scent surrounded her: leather, soap, and musk. Opening her eyes, she spotted an open ledger and a stack of unpaid bills. Today must be the day Caleb came for dinner. Every two weeks he and Walker combined business and pleasure over a plate of Flo’s fried quail and hot biscuits.

Caleb Vanhooser was a strange little man. If he weren’t Walker’s friend, Sarah wouldn’t like him. He’d done nothing to her personally, and he was ever the perfect gentleman, yet her instinct kept her reserved. There was something odd about the way he had avoided her at their party, as if she were an outsider and would never be anything more.

Shifting the ledger ever so slightly, she scanned the columns of numbers. Spring Grass’s handsome profit impressed her, as well as Walker’s generous tithes to the church. She sighed. Walker was her dream husband, and this was an area in which she could offer competent help. If there was one thing Sarah knew, it was numbers. A teacher had once told her she could keep books for the government if she wanted. Cooking and housekeeping came hard, but she excelled in mathematics.

Scanning the ledger, she felt a twinge of conscience; she hadn’t meant to snoop, but she wanted to skim Walker’s books and make sure they were accurate. He wouldn’t have to know—not until he felt more comfortable with her delving into his business.

Sarah heard the back screen door open. Hurriedly shoving the ledger back into place, she arranged pencils the way they had been. Today wasn’t the best time to start her fact-check, but the next time the house was empty, she would begin.

At least writing Love’s Eternal Flame and rechecking Walker’s figures would give her something productive to do.