Chapter 11
He scrubbed himself clean, and when he stepped out of the tub, he could tell by the slack look on Daisy’s face that she was asleep.
As much as Clay would like to have her, he didn’t think doing more than what he’d already done was wise.
He shouldn’t have even done that, truth be told, but he still had the taste of her on his tongue, and a small part of him wasn’t sorry at all.
The way she’d clutched his head to her and ground herself against his mouth, he didn’t think she was either.
He grabbed the drying cloth he’d picked up for her and wiped himself dry, noticing two stacks of clothing on the end of the sofa.
Liam’s, he assumed. Two pairs of pants, shirts, and clean wool socks.
He slipped the socks and trousers on, leaving the shirt where it lay, and saw the wet clothes hanging from a drying line he had just now noticed.
A washtub was in the sink, Daisy’s blue dress visible from where he stood.
It was laundry day, apparently. Grabbing his dirty denim jeans and shirt, he carried them to the kitchen and dunked them into the washtub.
His mind wandered as he washed their clothes, his thoughts always circling back to Daisy. It took nothing more than a glance at her to tell him she was still asleep. He’d need to move her. Her head was at an odd angle. She’d have a crick in her neck come morning if he didn’t.
An hour later, he had all the clothes washed, the water run out of them, and hung them up to dry. Daisy looked so innocent lying there in that chair. He hated waking her. It took nothing more than a few soft kisses to her mouth for her eyes to open. She smiled when she saw him.
“Sit up, and we can get something on you.” She did as he said, and his gaze fell to her naked breasts when the sheet covering her slipped to her waist. It took every ounce of willpower he possessed not to reach out and touch them.
He helped her put one of Liam’s shirts on.
It swallowed her whole, the material coming to her knees when she stood to let it fall past her hips.
The small glimpse of her naked lower half made thoughts he shouldn’t be having fill his head again, and the way she was looking at him said she was thinking the same thing.
He guided her to the sofa to lie down, covering her with a blanket before straightening.
She was asleep so fast he wasn’t even sure she was aware he’d helped dress her.
The tub was sitting where he’d been putting his blanket pallet. He spent the next ten minutes scooping water out of it, then lifted it to carry it back outside.
As he went to make his bed, he saw that the rug by the fireplace was wet. His blankets would be soaked through if he lay them there and tried to sleep on them. He blew out a breath before looking at Daisy, then smiled before grabbing his blankets.
Heat surrounded her. Daisy blinked her eyes open and found herself snuggled under her blankets with Clay.
The night before came back in a flash. She smiled and buried her head against his chest. His naked chest, she realized now.
She stilled. Were they both naked? No, she remembered putting on Liam’s shirt the night before with Clay’s help.
He’d had on pants then. He wouldn’t have stripped off his clothes to sleep, would he?
Moving her leg gave her the answer. She could feel the material of his pants. Her relief eased some of the awkwardness she felt. Memories of the night before assaulted her mind, and her cheeks heated with the thought. What they had done…
She grinned and buried her face against his chest again.
Standing from her bath to let him see her had turned out to be more than him getting a glimpse.
The moment he’d kissed her, pulling her flush against his body, she’d lost her mind, especially when he guided her to the chair, and he sat back to look at her.
Her skin had burned under his gaze and the look in his eyes…she’d felt desired. Beautiful. She knew he thought so too as he looked at her. And what he’d done to her. Her stomach clenched. It had been—euphoric.
Violet’s voice filled her head, her sister telling her Clay was in love with her, playing on repeat. She’d never truly believed Violet, but some secret place in her heart had always hoped he did. After last night, she believed it. The way Clay looked at her alone said he cared.
She glanced at his handsome face and sighed.
He was so perfect. And beautiful. And…hers?
The thought made her giddy. As much as she’d like to lie there all morning staring at him, her bladder had other ideas.
She slipped from the sofa, trying not to disturb him, and found her boots and cloak.
The trip to the outhouse was chilly, and she rushed back into the house, blowing on her hands to warm them.
Clay was still asleep. Hanging her cloak and removing her boots, she slipped on the wool socks she’d borrowed from Liam and got started on breakfast. She startled some time later when muscular arms wrapped around her waist, and bit back a goofy grin when Clay kissed the side of her neck.
He turned her to him, his hand lifting to run the back of his fingers over her cheek.
He was giving her that look again, the one that made her think he loved her, and when he leaned down to kiss her, his lips soft against her own, she thought maybe he really did.
The kiss grew heated in mere moments, her toes curling in her too-big socks.
He backed her up against the table, lifting her to sit on top of it, and she spread her legs so he could step between them before wrapping them around his hips, holding him to her as her body burned.
She wanted him. Wanted the pleasure he’d given her the night before and was so far out of her mind, she rolled her hips, wanting him to take her right there on the kitchen table.
He broke the kiss to look at her and grinned before saying, “Good morning.”
She whispered a breathless “Good morning” back.
He pushed her hair away from her face, his fingers threading through the long strands before falling to encircle her waist. “How do you feel?”
Like she’s been walking on a cloud all morning. “Good.”
“Just good?”
His grin had her ducking her head. She knew what he was referring to. He was asking about last night. What they’d done. What he’d done to her. A shiver ran up her spine just thinking about it, and she wondered how she could ask him to do it again.
Lifting her head, she noticed he was still shirtless.
His chest showed proof he worked hard, the muscles there firm.
She laid her palms flat against his skin before looking up at him.
“I’m not sure there’s a word for how I feel this morning.
Last night was—” The embarrassment she should have felt the night before finally appeared.
Instead of answering, she lay her cheek against his chest, and his arms tightened around her as he kissed the top of her head.
She could have stayed like that all day had she not smelled her biscuits burning.
Her eyes widened, and she jerked away, pushing him back so she could get off the table.
Where was the cloth she used to handle the hot pans?
Finally seeing it, she hurried and removed the biscuits from the oven.
They were darker than she liked, but they weren’t a total loss.
She set them on the counter before reaching for plates.
Clay was putting on a shirt when she turned around.
Breakfast was ordinary as usual. She fixed Liam a plate and filled two more when Clay took it in to him.
They ate, but said little. Too much seemed to linger in the air still for anything more serious than idle chitchat, but he told her the work he’d done for the stagecoach station owner didn’t take as long as they thought it would, which was why he’d come home earlier than she’d expected him to the night before.
Not that she was sorry he had. It had been a perfect evening.
He finished eating first and stood to retrieve the book she’d seen him with the night before. It was big and thick with what looked like hundreds of pages. When he presented it to her, and she saw the cover, her heart clenched. “Where did you find this?” she asked, looking up at him.
“The mercantile.”
She flipped through the pages, taking in the illustrations of hands and the symbols they were making with their fingers.
It was a language, the one she’d been going to Boston to learn.
Sign language is what Violet had told her it was.
They were all willing to learn it. Violet said that just because she couldn’t hear didn’t mean she couldn’t communicate with someone from across the room.
The entire alphabet was shown, as well as individual words that, when made together, formed complete sentences. She looked up at Clay and blinked back the wetness in her eyes. Did he know how much this meant to her? That he’d get her something so—personal.
“It’ll take me forever to learn these.”
“No, it won’t,” he said. “I picked up quite a few yesterday when I thumbed through it.” He held up a hand, his middle two fingers turned into his palm, the other three up.
“What does—” Her question was cut off when he turned his head to the door.
“Someone is knocking,” he told her as he stood.
She realized when he went to the door that she wasn’t dressed for company. She was in nothing but Liam’s too-big shirt and socks, her hair still down.
The sheriff walking into the house made all her worries about clothing disappear. Why was he here?
He and Clay spoke, but she could only make out a few words the way they were turned. She couldn’t see either of their faces well, but when the sheriff handed a piece of paper to Clay, he looked at it for a long moment before turning to look at her.
“It’s a telegram,” he said. “From home.”
Clay read the telegram twice. It was short and to the point.
Seeing Marshall Lincoln's name on it, asking about him, made something in his chest go tight.
Clay had never come home after seeing Daisy to the train, and Josiah was inquiring to see if anyone knew his whereabouts.
Were they worried about him? Daisy stood from her chair, the legs sliding across the floor as she did.
The sheriff nodded his head at her before turning his attention back to him. “You might want to send one home and let them know you’re both all right.”
“That was the plan. I just haven’t had the money to do it yet.” He glanced up at the man. “It’s taken everything I’ve earned just to feed us. Living here at Liam’s has made it easier, but I still don’t have enough yet.”
The Marshall glanced toward Liam’s bedroom door. “I heard Liam had broken his leg. Is he doing okay?”
“Yes, he’s healing, but he’ll be down for a few more weeks.”
“Well, I’ll send a message back to Marshal Lincoln for you if you’d like, and let him know you both are fine. Anything in particular I should tell him?”
“Yes, tell him bandits attacked the stagecoach. Daisy was unhurt, but she missed the train.”
“Will do.”
The sheriff tipped his hat to Daisy before leaving.
Clay looked at the telegram again before carrying it to the table.
Daisy read it twice before sitting down.
He was still trying to process the fact they were looking for him and had sounded worried he’d never come back to Silver Falls.
And they didn't know Daisy wasn’t in Boston.
They hadn’t mentioned her in the telegram, so they probably assumed she was already there.
Clay tapped her hand to get her attention.
“The sheriff is going to send a telegram back to Marshal Lincoln.” He spoke slowly enough that she could understand him and pointed at the telegram she still held.
“That one came from Elkin. Someone will have to take it to Silver Falls once the telegraph office in Elkin receives it.”
He glanced at his watch. He needed to get to the livery stable. “As much as I’d like to stay here with you all day, I need to go to work. Maybe I can cut out early.”
The smile she gave him said she’d enjoy that. The way she licked her lips told him she was thinking of the night before. He was, too. He hadn’t stopped thinking about it since he had woken up.
The desire to lean down and kiss her was strong, but he knew he’d never leave the house if he did. He turned and grabbed his boots, slipping them on before helping her clear away their breakfast.
She followed him to the door. Once his coat was on, he set his hat on his head, and she was looking at him with a look in her eyes that made his whole body tense up.
She wanted him as much as he wanted her, and despite the delay he knew it would cause, he grabbed her and kissed her breathless. The horses could wait.