Chapter Twenty-Two
Caleb returned through the crowd with two cups of cider balanced carefully in his hands, though the warmth that had followed him away from the dancefloor vanished as soon as he saw Amy waiting near the edge of the square.
She stood beneath the shadow of a striped awning with her shoulders held stiffly beneath her green dress, and the happiness that had softened her face only minutes earlier had disappeared.
He slowed before reaching her. The memory of their dance still lived beneath his skin, from the feel of her hand resting in his to the quiet way she had looked at him when she admitted he had made her happy.
Caleb had nearly forgotten all the people watching them when the music faded, when Amy had lifted her face and waited with an openness that stripped away the caution he had carried for years.
He had wanted to kiss her.
The desire had risen so sharply that he’d stepped back before it could take control, frightened less by the kiss than by everything it might reveal.
Amy had already endured his clumsy attempts to repair the harm he’d caused by reading her letter, and taking more from her before he offered the truth she deserved would have been selfish.
He’d believed fetching her a drink would give them both time to breathe.
Instead, Amy looked as though every tenderness between them had been erased while his back was turned.
“The cider may be sweeter than you prefer,” Caleb said as he offered her one of the cups. “The man serving it seemed determined to empty the sugar barrel before sunset.”
Amy accepted the drink without meeting his eyes. “Thank you.”
Her voice remained polite, though the careful distance in it unsettled him more than anger would have. Caleb clenched his cup in his hand while searching her face for any sign that he had misunderstood their moment earlier. “Are you feeling poorly?”
“I’m fine.” She looked past him toward the dancers gathering for another tune, yet her attention didn’t fully settle on them. Her fingers closed around the cup without raising it, and the line of her mouth told him she had no intention of drinking.
Caleb followed her gaze, wondering whether someone had spoken to her while he waited for their drinks.
The festival offered endless opportunities for careless tongue-wagging, particularly when half the town still believed his return had dragged an old disgrace back into their streets.
He had noticed the women whispering near the pie stand and the men who watched Amy beside him with curiosity that quickly turned into judgment.
He had at least hoped nobody would have the cruelty to approach her.
“Amy,” he said, lowering his voice when a family passed them and the music softened. “What happened?”
She finally looked at him, and the hurt in her eyes took him by surprise. “I’d like to leave.”
Caleb glanced toward the square, where Lydia stood near the puppet stage with Maggie pressed against her skirts while Noah watched the painted figures with his full concentration. “The children are still watching the show with Lydia
“She can bring them home later.” Amy’s response came quickly enough to make his unease deepen.
Amy had spent the whole afternoon ensuring the children remained close, checking on Maggie each time she wandered toward another stall and watching Noah whenever the crowd shifted.
Leaving them behind, even with Lydia, meant Amy wanted distance from the festival badly enough to abandon the evening she had just been enjoying.
Caleb set his cup on the edge of the nearby table. “Did anybody say anything to you?” he asked, a bit more urgently.
Amy’s expression closed off further. “I’d like to go home,” she repeated firmly
He could have pressed her, though doing so within sight of everyone would only increase whatever hurt she carried. Amy had already been wounded by his earlier actions, and demanding answers before she was ready to give them would only make matters worse.
“All right,” he agreed softly. “I’ll bring the wagon around.”
Amy gave a small nod, though she didn’t look all that relieved.
Caleb crossed toward the livery, still confused.
The crowd seemed louder now that every burst of laughter grated against the questions gathering inside him.
He remembered the way Amy had leaned into him during the dance, along with the softness in her voice when she said he’d made her happy.
Had he imagined the meaning in her eyes?
Perhaps his retreat had wounded her more than he’d understood.
She might have believed he found the thought of kissing her unpleasant, though nothing could have been further from the truth.
He had stepped back because one taste of her would never satisfy the hunger she had awakened, and he feared what that need might make of him.
Caleb reached the wagon and began checking the harness, needing something for his hands to do while his thoughts continued circling.
Daisy flicked one ear toward him as he adjusted a strap that required no attention, and Russ appeared near his own wagon with the tired patience of a man observing foolish behavior.
“You keep pulling at that buckle and you’ll have to explain to Daisy why she’s walking home without a harness.” Russ glanced across the square toward Amy, and the humor faded from his expression when he saw her standing stiffly beneath the awning. “Something happen?”
“Amy wants to leave.” Caleb loosened the strap he had overtightened and worked it back through the clasp. “She was happy when we danced, then I went for cider and came back to find her looking at me like everything had changed. She won’t tell me why.”
Russ rubbed his jaw as his attention shifted between them. “Might have something to do with you nearly kissing your wife in front of half the town, then walking away from her.”
Caleb’s hand stilled on the buckle, and heat crept up his neck beneath his collar. He looked sharply at Russ. “You were watching?”
“Everyone was watching, though most of us had the manners to pretend otherwise.” Russ’s mouth twitched before his expression sobered. “She didn’t look as though she wanted you to stop.”
“I wasn’t going to assume she wanted anything simply because she married me.” Caleb released the harness and faced him, irritation sharpening his voice. “Things between us have been difficult enough without me taking advantage of a moment she might regret afterward.”
Russ considered him for a moment, then gave a slow nod. “Fair enough, but there’s a considerable stretch of ground between assuming and running for cider. Next time, you might try asking the woman.”
Caleb looked back toward Amy, unable to argue with that.
The suggestion struck with enough truth to deepen Caleb’s frustration.
He had spent years treating retreat as wisdom whenever emotion threatened his control, and every attempt to protect Amy from his uncertainty only seemed to wound her further.
“She won’t tell me what happened,” Caleb said.
“Give her room until she’s ready.” Russ glanced toward Delilah, who had joined Lydia near the children. “I’ll make sure Lydia brings Noah and Maggie home.”
Caleb nodded his thanks and climbed onto the wagon seat.
Amy approached before he could cross the square to collect her, moving through the crowd with her gaze lowered and her skirts carefully gathered away from the dust. Caleb descended to help her, but she caught the side rail and climbed up without taking his hand.
The refusal left him colder than the evening air.
He rounded the wagon and settled beside her. Amy folded her hands in her lap while keeping her attention on the road ahead, and the distance between them felt wider than it had during their first journey from town.
Caleb guided Daisy away from the square as music followed them through the streets.
Lantern light slipped across Amy’s face whenever they passed beneath another awning, revealing the strain around her eyes before darkness hid it again.
She had removed her gloves, and her fingers worried the edge of one as though the soft satin had offended her.
He waited until the town fell farther behind them to speak. “Would you like the blanket?”
“The air is comfortable.”
Her answer remained courteous, which made the silence that followed harder to bear.
Caleb had learned how to withstand open anger through years of bargaining with difficult ranchers and riding beside men who preferred fists to conversation.
Amy’s quiet hurt offered nothing he could defend against. Instead, every restrained word suggested she no longer trusted him enough to speak plainly.
The wagon rolled onto the open road, where moonlight silvered the grass and the wheels found every rut left by recent rain. Caleb kept one hand firm upon the reins while resisting the urge to ask again.
Russ’s suggestion continued to trouble him, but it didn’t explain the change in Amy completely.
She had still been warm with him when he left for the cider, but by the time he returned, that warmth had vanished.
Caleb’s thoughts returned to the women whispering near the stalls and the familiar judgment he had seen following him through town all afternoon.
Someone could have spoken to her, or she might simply have overheard enough to raise questions he had avoided answering since her arrival.
His grip tightened around the reins. He wanted to ask what she had heard just as badly as he wanted to explain why he had stepped away from her after the dance, but either conversation would lead toward truths he should have given her long before tonight.
With Amy sitting rigidly beside him, barely willing to look his way, interrupting the silence with either confession felt more likely to push her further away.
The remaining journey passed beneath a silence broken only by the noise of the wheels and Daisy’s steady gait.
Caleb watched the ranch emerge from the dark, the house barely visible beyond the cottonwoods.
The familiar buildings usually brought him relief after a day spent under Copper Bend’s watchful eyes, though Amy’s distance made the sight feel unsettled.
He guided the wagon into its usual place near the hitching rail and set the brake before climbing down. When he came around to her side, Amy had already gathered her skirts.
Caleb held out his hand. “The ground is uneven.”
“I can manage.”
She turned sideways and lowered one foot toward the step, ignoring his offer.
Caleb kept his hand raised, ready to catch her if the hem of her dress snagged, but she reached the ground without difficulty.
She headed toward the house before he could say anything else, following the path that led from the hitching rail toward the porch.
“Amy.” She kept moving. Caleb followed several steps behind her, caught between irritation and worry. “Slow down. You can barely see where you’re going.”
“I know where the porch is.” Her pace increased, as if she hoped to place a door between them before he could ask another question.
The moon offered little light beneath the cottonwood trees, and the recent rain had made the path soft and uneven where runoff had cut shallow grooves through the dirt. Amy’s shoe caught along the edge of one, and her body lurched sideways with a sharp cry.
Caleb reached her before she struck the ground. He caught her around the waist, taking her weight as one hand grasped his shoulder. Pain pinched her face. “What happened?” he asked with concern.
“My ankle.” Amy drew a strained breath and tried to shift away from him. “I stepped wrong.”
Caleb kept one arm firm around her while lowering his gaze toward her foot. “Don’t move yet.”
“I can stand.” She tested the ankle before he could stop her, and the instant pallor in her face told him the attempt hurt more than she wanted to admit. Her fingers dug into his coat, though pride made her release him almost immediately after.
Caleb didn’t let her go. “Put your weight on me.”
“I don’t need—”
“You nearly fell.” Caleb looked down at her, torn between respecting her need for space and refusing to watch her injure herself further. Amy’s eyes shone with anger, though pain remained beneath it, and her body continued leaning toward him even while she insisted on standing alone.
“I can walk,” she said, trying once more to pull away. The movement brought another flash of pain across her face, and Caleb’s patience gave way. He bent and swept one arm beneath her knees before lifting her against his chest.
Amy caught his coat with a startled gasp. “Caleb, put me down!”
He only tightened his hold as he carried her toward the house, feeling her stiffen against him.
She ceased her protests, but whatever had changed between the dance floor and the cider barrel was still there, sitting between them with every step he took toward the porch.
By the end of the night, he intended to find out what it was.