Chapter 3 #4
He knew what it was like to be so ill at ease.
He’d been there, facing his companions and his family, standing in the church after Katie hadn’t shown for their wedding.
Seeing the compassion and questions on their faces had truthfully made him want to run and hide, but it was the silence that bothered him most, like it did now.
He studied her, hoping to come up with something, an opening gambit, that would help her relax a little.
“I really enjoyed listening to you play the piano. You play beautifully. Do you practice very much?”
“Every day, if I can.” Her answer was short, as if making ordinary conversation was difficult for her. Or maybe she just didn’t want to talk to him.
Despite that, he tried again. “Sheridan is an unusual name.”
She kept looking straight ahead. “I was named after my great grandmother,” she said, then lapsed into silence once more.
“You’re obviously not from around here.”
She lifted her chin but continued to stare into the distance. “What makes you say that?”
Oh, she was prickly, that was for certain.
Or maybe it was something else that made her voice tight and her body rigid.
Maybe it was him and the way they’d met.
He’d already apologized for that, but he’d keep doing it until she truly forgave him.
“Your dress. Your manners. Your accent.” He laughed.
“I’ve lived here all my life except for a few years in the Army, and I know just about everyone, with a few exceptions. Where are you from?”
“New Orleans.”
He let out a soft whistle. “I spent some time there when I was in the military. It’s a beautiful place.” He continued to look at her. She really was beautiful, in a haughty, intriguing kind of way. “You’re a long way from home. What brought you to our little town?”
She pulled in her breath—he could see her chest move. A frosty cloud formed when she exhaled. “If you must know, Mr. MacLean, I came here to claim my inheritance.”
And then it hit him with all the subtlety of a shovel to the back of his head. “You’re Josie’s daughter.”
Again, that indrawn breath, but instead of looking at him or continuing to stare at the road in front of her, she turned away.
After a moment, she said, “I am.” But it felt like the words were dragged from her throat, like she didn’t want to admit she was the previous madam’s daughter. And maybe she didn’t.
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
“That’s all right, Mr. MacLean—”
“It’s Wyatt, please.”
She gave a regal nod but continued as if he hadn’t interrupted her. “You don’t need to apologize. Up until a few weeks ago, I wasn’t aware that my mother was alive. I’d been told she died giving birth to me.”
“I am sorry. About that and about the other night. I’m usually not such an a—” he’d been about to say ‘ass’ but didn’t want to curse in front of her. “—idiot.”
“I understand.” She turned sad eyes toward him, but in their depths, he saw something else.
“I probably would have assumed the same thing. I never expected to find myself inheriting a brothel.” She looked away again, staring once more at the road ahead of them, her hands still clutching the tin in her lap, though much tighter now.
“I won’t be keeping the business.” There was determination in her soft, cultured voice.
“What would you do then?”
“Go back to New Orleans. Continue teaching piano and voice at Bouchard’s School for Girls. Live my life.”
“Is there someone special waiting for you?”
“No, Mr. MacLean, there isn’t.” The sigh that followed her statement made him wonder if she was lonely, too, and whether she longed for the same things he did, the things he didn’t know he wanted until he set his eyes upon her.
Or maybe, she just needed a friend, although a friend couldn’t make up for what was missing in one’s life.
They helped, but it wasn’t the same as having someone to love.
He suspected she hadn’t had much of either, based upon how stiff she was.
He tugged on the reins, bringing the horses to a stop in front of her home. “We’re here.”
“Would you mind terribly driving around back? It’ll just be easier to carry in the crates.”
“Sure.” He clicked his tongue and drove the team to the back of the house. He’d never been behind the house. Actually, he’d never even visited Josie’s before the other night and what he saw impressed him.
Though it was too cold to enjoy them now, he noticed several chairs and tables surrounding a fountain in the middle of a flagstone patio.
There were some bushes that remained green, and a garden, either vegetable or flower, where some of the plants were still green as well, despite the chill.
Several tall, towering trees, leafless now, would provide shade come spring and summer.
It would be a wonderful place to sit in the evenings once the weather warmed up.
He brought the buckboard to a halt beside the back door, then jumped from his seat. He came around to Sheridan’s side of the wagon with the intention of helping her down, just as he’d helped her climb into the wagon.
She stared at him for a moment, hesitant, like no one had shown her this courtesy before, then extended her hand to grasp his. “Thank you,” she said, a bit formally, her body rigid, like she didn’t want to be touched. Or helped.
Yes, she was prickly. And very proper yet, he still found himself liking her. Maybe it was the challenge she presented. He’d like to see if he could make her bend, just a little. Maybe smile. And laugh. He'd bet his fancy saddle she had a great laugh.
He helped her down, then walked around to the back of the wagon to get the crates.
Behind him, she drew in her breath loudly, almost a gasp but not quite. “It’s a wolf.”
Before he could react, he felt the impact of her body against his back.