Chapter 12 #3
“Oh, no, please. Don’t go to any trouble.
You just finished cleaning up the kitchen.
” She grinned at the expression on the woman’s face, which was a combination of disappointment and something else she couldn’t put her finger on.
“I will, however, have a piece of bread with butter on it, I think.” Even as she said the words, she glanced at the cake platter in the middle of the table, the frosted dome hiding how much of the cake was left.
“Better yet, I think I’ll have a piece of cake, and a glass of milk, but I can get it.
You don’t have to wait on me.” She stood and walked to the icebox for the milk.
“Wyatt showed me where everything is, but I should practice, if we want Aunt Estelle and Odette to believe that Wyatt and I are married.”
Delilah eyed her as she placed the pitcher of milk on the table, then wandered over to the cabinets. “What are your intentions, young lady?”
“I’m going to have a piece of cake,” she said, but she knew what Delilah was really asking.
The woman said nothing. She simply smiled, but her stare was intense. Sheridan could feel Delilah’s eyes watching her as she pulled a plate and glass from the cabinet, then a fork and knife from the drawer.
“Wyatt and I…he’s helping me.” She put everything on the table then lifted the dome of the cake platter and cut a slice of the delicious cake. “There are no intentions aside from convincing my aunt and my grandmother that he and I are married and that I’m happy here.”
“I see.” Delilah’s smile dimmed, just a bit. “And are you happy here?”
“I am.”
“And my son?”
“We’re just friends,” Sheridan insisted, though the dreams she’d had certainly hadn’t fit into the friendship category, nor did the kisses they’d shared.
“But you want it to be more.”
Sheridan looked at the woman, amazed. How had Delilah known?
“Just don’t break his heart like Katie did and continues to do every time she comes back to town. Building his hopes up only to break his heart all over again. All I’m asking is that you don’t do the same to him. As his mother—as a person—I don’t think I could bear it.”
She’d heard of Katie and what she’d done, leaving Wyatt at the altar to run off with another man.
She’d never met the woman and had no desire to.
She didn’t have any desire to break Wyatt’s heart, either, but she didn’t think there was a risk of that happening, because although her feelings for him were growing, she didn’t think he felt the same. “I won’t. I promise.”
Delilah let out a sigh, seeming to accept her statement for the truth. “Good.” She folded the dish towel in half and laid it gently on the counter, then left the kitchen.
Sheridan sat at the table, but her gaze kept going back to the door Delilah passed through, wondering if she would come back.
She had a feeling there was more Wyatt’s mother wanted to say, wanted to demand of her.
She’d like to reassure her that she had no intention of hurting anyone, least of all, Wyatt.
She took a bite of cake, but it had lost its flavor. Still, she finished the piece she’d cut for herself. She finished the milk, too.
Delilah returned to the kitchen, clad in a fashionable town dress.
“I’m heading into town.” She pulled on her gloves, then adjusted the fancy hat on her head, slipping the vibrant peacock feather between her fingers so it would curl just so.
“I’ve run out of flour, if you can believe it. Would you like to come with me?”
“No, but thank you for asking. I should continue to get to know the house. You don’t know how perceptive my grandmother can be.”
“Suit yourself. Do you need anything while I’m there?”
She shook her head.
Delilah left the house. After a few moments, Sheridan heard the rumble of the buggy leave the drive and then silence.
As she’d said to Wyatt, it was quiet here.
A very different kind of quiet. Missing was the sound of laughter from the girls at Josie’s, the low, heated rumble of male voices, the squeaking of the bed springs.
No, here was the sound of the chickens in their pen, the faint nicker of horses in the paddock, the squeals of the pigs and bird song.
She washed the dishes she had used, then wandered through the parlor. There was a bookshelf filled with books against one of the walls, but she wasn’t in the mood to read. No, there was something more important she had to do. Something nice for Wyatt, considering how he was helping her.
She headed straight to his office and opened the door.
He was correct. It was a mess, and it simply offended her sense of order.
She’d clean it up for him, put everything away, and surprise him.
She stepped into the room, noticing how her feet sank into the thick carpet on the floor, the pictures on the wall, not of cows or horses like in his bedroom, but rather sketches of houses, all shapes and sizes, framed in dark wood.
These must be the drawings Mrs. Contreras had done throughout her life, proof of the dreams she’d had that hadn’t come to fruition.
Sheridan stepped closer to one of the sketches and smiled. It was this house, the one she stood in right now. And it was lovely, the details precise, the lines clean.
She sat at the desk, the leather chair creaking as she did so, and looked at all the papers scattered on the surface, old receipts, some going back more than three years, not one but two ledgers, letters from acquaintances, and partial lists of items he needed to purchase.
There were also several magazines and one gold charm in the shape of a heart, the kind that could be added to a bracelet or a necklace.
Slowly, methodically, she gathered all the receipts, glancing at the dates to put them in order.
There were a lot of them. Buchanan’s Lumber.
Weisfel’s Hardware. Peterman’s Gentleman’s Tailor.
She didn’t intentionally read what was on the receipts aside from the date until one caught her eye.
Then another. Then another. Clothing from Miss Leslie.
A heart pendant, perhaps the one she’d just seen, and several other pieces of jewelry from Sullivan’s Emporium as well as a diamond ring.
Flowers from Goldwater’s with a note to deliver them to Katie Brooks over on Center Street every Friday.
Mixed among the receipts, two tickets to San Francisco.
She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth.
Obviously, these purchases had been for Katie, and by the looks of it, he’d enjoyed showering gifts on her. He had loved her.
She drew in her breath and let it out slowly, feeling the pain he must have felt when Katie betrayed him.
Did he love her still, despite what she’d done? Delilah said she broke his heart every time she came back to town. Perhaps, he did.
Purposefully, she stopped looking at the receipts, except for the dates and clipped them together in individual piles according to vendor, then opened the top drawer of the desk.
A photograph of a woman caught her eye. She posed beneath a tree, a parasol over her head, protecting her from the beams of sunlight filtering through the leaves.
Dressed in white in the latest fashion, the mutton-leg sleeves of her gown properly puffed, the high collar emphasizing her long, slim throat and her dark hair piled in ringlets upon her head.
She was beautiful. There was no denying it.
Sheridan turned the photograph over in her hand.
Sometimes, people wrote a name and a date on the back, but there was none.
She turned it over again and studied the woman in the photograph.
Recognition dawned slowly. The woman in the photograph was the same woman she’d met at Sweet Something’s when she’d first come to town.
She hadn’t changed at all between when this photograph was taken and now.
She was still beautiful, perhaps even more so, but there was something else.
Even though she smiled in the photograph, she didn’t seem happy.
“Sherry!”
She jumped at the sound of Wyatt’s voice and quickly shoved the photograph back where she’d found it then took a moment to compose herself before she answered. “I’m in here.”
“Where?”
“Your office.”
She heard his footsteps cross the floor and panic suddenly set in. Would he be angry she cleaned his desk? Would he think she was snooping through his private, personal belongings?
He stopped in the doorway, his gaze going from her to the clean desktop and then he smiled as he leaned against the doorframe. “You’ve been busy.”
“I wanted to do something nice for you.”
“And you have.” He laughed softly as he entered the room and smoothed his finger across the now cleared surface of the desk.
“I haven’t seen the top of that desk in years.
It just seemed easier to drop whatever I had on top instead of putting it away.
Thank you. Now it’s time for me to do something nice for you.
” His smile widened. “Get dressed and come out with me.”
“Out where?”
“I want to show you something.”
Curious, she rose from her seat, the leather chair creaking. Anticipation bubbled in her veins. “Show me what?”