Chapter 14
The next morning, Sheridan knew she’d made a mistake—a big one—but living in Wyatt’s house with him, pretending to be married, sleeping beside him wasn’t it.
That part, she enjoyed. Much too much. Delilah and Royce treated her like she really was a member of the family.
And Wyatt? Sometimes she had trouble remembering that this idyllic moment would end when her folks left, as they had agreed.
Inviting her grandmother and aunt to stay with them. That was the mistake. What had she been thinking? She should have known better. She did know better. After all, she’d been raised by Odette and Estelle for the first six years of her life, before they shipped her off to school.
She knew how they were when she was younger, but they had changed since she had left New Orleans.
And not for the better. They were meaner now, if that was possible.
More rigid. Intolerant. Cruel. They disapproved of everything.
Neither one was able to smile or even be pleasant, despite the effort everyone was making. And it was an effort.
Aunt Estelle was the worst. Her stinging barbs were razor sharp, like she practiced each and every day, and she aimed to draw blood.
She constantly found reason to criticize the ranch and how hard Wyatt worked, telling him on more than one occasion that he was just a lowly, lazy cowboy without good prospects for the future.
Asking her, more than once, why she’d married him.
And asking him the same question, as if neither one of them deserved to be happy.
Despite it all, Wyatt remained pleasant, coddling her aunt and her grandmother, and she loved him for it, though she could see the toll it was taking on him.
She saw his smile disappear, the muscle in his jaw tic as his teeth clenched together.
She imagined he was biting his tongue, just as she was, and yet, he still poured on the charm, seeming to ignore each and every one of Estelle’s criticisms and taunts.
And he didn’t stop there. The more they disparaged her, the kinder and more solicitous Wyatt became—taking her hand, kissing her, holding her close whenever the opportunity presented itself, showing her aunt and her grandmother just how in love he was with her.
She constantly had to remind herself that this was for show, that he was only pretending, but was he really?
His actions seemed so honest and truthful, she was beginning to believe it was real.
Sheridan dried the last of the breakfast dishes and opened one of the cabinets.
It was the wrong one. She glanced at the table where her grandmother and aunt sat, sipping their tea, eating Delilah’s Madeleines, though neither one seemed to appreciate the effort Delilah had shown in making them.
They apparently hadn’t noticed her mistake, and she breathed a sigh of relief.
The last thing she needed or wanted right now was for them to say something, as she had already heard the relentless litany of things that weren’t up to their standards.
From the moment they arrived, they’d insulted or picked apart everything.
Their bedrooms were too cold, too bare, the mattresses too lumpy or too hard or too soft.
There seemed to be no satisfying either one of them.
Neither one of them noticed how their words hurt Wyatt’s mother and, by extension, Wyatt, and herself.
Even Royce, as sweet and gentle as he was, seemed to be having a tough time with their attitudes, especially when Odette and Estelle made snide comments about the dinner Delilah had prepared last night.
Truthfully, Sheridan hadn’t expected anything else from her grandmother and Estelle, but she thought, surely, they would be polite.
Or, at the very least, civil. She was at her wits’ end with the both of them, tired of biting her tongue, sick of swallowing their demeaning comments, yet believing what they said to her just the same.
She wasn’t good enough. Had never been good enough.
She folded the dish towel and started to leave the room, but the imperious voice of Aunt Estelle stopped her in her tracks. “Where are you going?”
“I thought I’d make the beds.”
“Don’t you have a maid? Or someone who comes in a couple times a week to clean for you? Is Wyatt so cheap, or so poor, he can’t provide that for you?”
Sheridan straightened her shoulders and bit her tongue—again—and this time, she tasted blood.
“No, we don’t have help, Aunt Estelle, and it has nothing to do with money or the lack thereof.
Wyatt was raised to do for himself, as his mother taught him.
” She struggled to keep her temper, which she hadn’t known she had until now, under control.
She could have thrown it in their faces that they had disinherited her when she left New Orleans, Estelle’s words ringing in her ears that she would never get another cent from them, though in truth, she hadn’t needed it.
“And I enjoy keeping house for him. It makes me happy.”
“That’s not the way you were raised, Sheridan.” Odette stated, quite emphatically, her gaze roaming over her as if she was no longer recognized. “You were raised to be better.”
How would Odette know how she was raised? Neither she nor Estelle had participated in her upbringing, washing their hands of her as soon as she was enrolled in Bouchard’s, only seeing her when school wasn’t in session or on holidays. They seemed to have preferred it that way and so did she.
“Better than who?”
“Everyone. You were born to privilege, to money, despite your shameless mother. You were educated, taught how to dress and act like a proper young woman, to marry into a good family, one that would overlook the unfortunate circumstances of your birth.” Estelle took a sip of her tea, then dabbed at her mouth with her napkin, but her eyes narrowed, as if she knew exactly what she was saying and how to hurt her.
“You were not raised to marry some lowly cowboy in the middle of nowhere.”
What an odd thing to say. She hadn’t been raised to marry prominently. Not in the least. She’d been taught to distrust men, not seek them for marriage.
Sheridan stared at her aunt for the longest time, completely at odds with the woman sitting before her. “Money doesn’t make one happy.” She almost added ‘look at the both of you.’ “Neither does prestige. Or power. Love makes you happy, Auntie. Doing good for others makes you happy.”
Aunt Estelle studied her, her mouth pursed in disappointment and disapproval. “You’ve changed, Sheridan.”
“Yes, I have.”
Aunt Estelle shook her head, her lips pressed tighter than before, then took a deep breath. “I don’t like it.”
“Neither do I.” Odette added her two cents. Her face, too, showed her displeasure.
Oh, there were so many things she could have said at the moment, but the words were stuck in her throat. Yes, she had changed. She was no longer lonely, no longer afraid of making friends, no longer afraid of not being loved or ending up like her mother.
“It doesn’t matter whether you like it or not. I like who I am. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to make the beds.”
She straightened to her full height, gave them each a slight nod, then left the kitchen as quickly as possible.
Reaching the back staircase, she stopped.
Her heart was pounding too hard. Her palms were damp and her knees felt like butter on a warm day.
Indeed, her entire body was shaking. How dare they?
Couldn’t they see what a good man Wyatt was?
How long did she have to wait before she could ask them to leave? Was today too soon? Tomorrow?
Wyatt blew out the last lamp in the parlor and started to climb the stairs, his mood just as dark as the nighttime sky outside the windows.
After sitting through dinner, then a game of cards with those shrews Sheridan called her family, listening to their snide comments aimed at her, his mother, Royce and even himself, he was ready to strangle both Odette and Estelle.
He didn’t understand how they could be so…
.so….he didn’t even have a word for it, but he’d be damned if he didn’t make it stop.
“Wyatt!” A loud stage whisper stopped him in his tracks, and he backed down the stairs. Turning toward the kitchen, he saw his mother and Royce, both dressed in their nightclothes, standing by the table.
He entered the room, concerned for both of them. “Why are you still up? Are you all right?”
Delilah clutched the collar of her robe tighter to her neck.
“We’re fine. Well, not really fine, but we’re not ill.
” The glow of the lamp on the kitchen table illuminated her expression, which was one of frustration and anger.
His mother didn’t get angry. Not really.
She preferred reasoning and gentleness when stating her point of view, but that tactic seemed to have gone by the wayside.
“How long are they planning on staying?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t ask.”
“Maybe you should.”
“Have they said something to you?”
“You mean aside from criticizing the meals I’ve prepared?
” Delilah waved her hand. “That doesn’t bother me.
I know Estelle can’t cook a lick, so her opinion doesn’t matter.
I don’t care what Odette says about me, either.
” She reached out and grasped his arm. “It’s Sheridan I’m worried about.
She hasn’t been herself since they’ve come. ”
Delilah wasn’t telling him anything he didn’t already know. He’d noticed the change as soon as Estelle and Odette stepped out of the stagecoach. And she’d only grown quieter and sadder, so different than she’d been before. And he didn’t like it, not one bit.
It hurt his heart.