Lily was contemplating what she would or could tell Roen about her husband when he dropped into the chair on her right and startled her out of her musings.

  “Deep thoughts?” he asked.

  “Mm.”

  “Regrets?”

  “No. I promised myself I wouldn’t have any and I don’t. You?”

  “Not a one.”

  “The sofa?”

  “All right. One.”

  “We could take turns, you know. Daily or weekly. Whatever suits.”

  “Let me spend at least one night on the sofa and I’ll let you know.”

  She nodded. “Clay asked me what he should call you. I distracted him until I could speak to you. We didn’t discuss it.”

  “He asked me the same thing. I told him you and I would talk about it. What did he call his father?”

  “Father.”

  “Not papa? Not pa?”

  “No. He might refer to him as ‘pa,’ but he called him ‘father’ when speaking to his face.”

  “I’d rather the children stopped calling me Mr. Shepard, but Roen is too informal.”

  “And disrespectful,” said Lily. “I won’t abide that.”

  “I don’t like pa. Papa makes feel as old as my father. What about da?”

  “Da?”

  “The Irish use it.”

  “We’re not Irish.”

  Roen affected an accent he’d perfected while working with Irish laborers. “Sure, and I have a proper bit of the blood in me veins from me sainted mother’s side.”

  “Da,” she repeated, trying it out.

  “Short for ‘dada.’ Why use two syllables when one will do?”

  “Of course. I think it’s fine if you like it.”

  “It’s more important that I remember to answer to it, but I like it well enough.” He rose and got out the cups, the saucers, and the ivy-patterned teapot and set them on the table. He waited by the stove for the water to boil. “What is your nightly routine?” he asked.

  “I go to my room soon after the children are abed. Sometimes I fall asleep reading to Lizzie and stumble off to my room later. Not often, but now and again, I sit in the front room and do mending and hemming until I nod off and prick myself with a needle. What about you?”

  “I am usually up quite late. That schedule suits me.” He glanced up at the ceiling. “I don’t hear anything moving up there.”

  “I’m not surprised. They were exhausted from excitement and Ben’s extensive repertoire of magic tricks. Hannah and Lily are each sleeping with a slice of cake and their bouquets under their pillows.” Unexpectedly, tears welled in her eyes. Lily bent her head quickly and dashed them away. She didn’t know Roen had seen them until a crisp white handkerchief appeared in her line of vision. She murmured a thank-you and took it. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what—”

  Roen curled his fingers around her delicate wrist and drew Lily to her feet. It would have been difficult and uncomfortable for both of them if she had resisted. She didn’t. She came out of her chair and stepped into the circle of his arms as if she belonged there, as if it were where she wanted to be. At that moment it was.

  “Shh,” he said. His chin moved back and forth across the crown of her head. “You’re exhausted, too.”

  She was, but it didn’t account for her tears. She had started to tell him that she didn’t know why she was crying, but his gesture of comfort had interrupted her lie. She did know, and she believed now that he deserved to know the same.

  “It’s your kindness that moved me,” she said against his shoulder. The fabric of his jacket muffled her words, but they were intelligible. She knew that because his hands tightened at the small of her back, and for a moment his chin only rested against her hair.

  “You deserve kindness, Lily,” he whispered.

  He said this with such quiet conviction that she almost believed it was true. She raised her head and put some space between them. He let her go. Just like that, he let her go. While she was marveling that he understood what she wanted, he turned back to the stove to get the kettle. They both returned to their chairs after he poured and the tea steeped.

  “It won’t be long before Miss Headley will be here,” Lily said, tucking his damp handkerchief under her sleeve.

  “If she wasn’t lying. If she hasn’t changed her mind. If her train wasn’t delayed. If she didn’t miss a connection.”

  “I suppose we’ll know one way or another within a week.”

  He shrugged. “I suppose.”

  Lily studied his face. His perfectly symmetrical features were set without expression. “Are you worried? I can’t tell.”

  “More concerned that she won’t show. I don’t want the threat of her suspended over my head like John Henry’s hammer. I want her here and I want her gone. If she insists on remaining, it will be to cause trouble. In that case, I’ll return to that plot of land where I was shot and wait until someone tries it again.”

  “Wouldn’t it be easier to invite Miss Headley to shoot you?”

  Roen’s jerky laugh shook the teapot as he was pouring. Hot tea splashed the table and would have caught the back of Lily’s hand if she hadn’t quickly withdrawn it. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. It was my fault. I caught you unawares.” She got up to get a cloth to wipe the table and also pick up the sugar bowl. “Did you love her?” she asked when she sat down. “You never said.”

  “Didn’t I? I wish I could tell you that I did love her and that I felt betrayed by her affair, but that wasn’t the case. She’s a beautiful woman, but perhaps you surmised that.”

  “I did.”

  “I was flattered by her attention in the beginning, and there was a curious sort of excitement having the daughter of my employer on my arm. Victor never voiced objections, but I also have no idea how much he knew about our relationship. I don’t know, for instance, whether he realized Victorine and I were intimates.”

  “Oh.”

  “Am I speaking too plainly? You understood she and I were lovers, didn’t you?”

  “I, um, yes. I think I understood that.” Had she? It was truer that she hadn’t wanted to think about it.

  “I believe I have poked at your gentle sensibilities.”

  “I am not naïve, Mr. Shep—” She caught herself. “Roen.”

  A faint smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “I never thought that.”

  “You did . . . you do. I’m well aware that you are outside my experience. You’ve seen things, done things, that I only know from books. My world is small compared to yours, but it doesn’t mean I don’t know what goes on in that wider world. I have progressive opinions that might surprise you.”

  Roen arched an eyebrow as he picked up his teacup. “Tell me one.”

  “Women’s suffrage. I’m in favor of it.”

  “Don’t you already have the right to vote here?”

  “Yes, but not nationally. I’m in favor of that.”

  “That was too easy. Tell me another.”

  Lily shook her head. “No, you asked for one and I gave it to you.” She pressed the back of her hand to her mouth to stifle a yawn. Her eyes were apologetic as she pushed her cup away. “I need to retire before my head hits the table. It came over me all at once.”

  Roen nodded. “Give me a few minutes to get my nightshirt, robe, and slippers. I can wash here at the sink and you can have your bedroom to yourself.”

  “All right. I may as well go up with you. You’ll need a towel and washcloth. Did you bring toiletries? I saw you with a small case earlier.”

  “I have what I need.”

  Lily stood. Roen didn’t. She saw him tilt back his head and look at her from under dark lashes set at half-mast. Looking at her, she realized, not in a studying sort of way, just looking at her as though it pleased him to do it. She stayed where she was, not sure what she should do. Turning her back and leaving seemed somehow cowardly, though she wasn’t sure why. Standing her ground made her feel as if she were challenging him, but she knew nothing else in her posture bore that out. She didn’t know what to do with her hands so they remained at her sides, neither curling into fists nor twisting in the fabric of her skirt. She kept her chin down and her eyes on his face. She didn’t blink.

  Was this what he’d meant then when he had likened her to a poor creature in the wild and himself to a feral predator? She waited him out, uncertain if he meant to speak or pounce. It seemed that the wait lasted the near side of forever, but it couldn’t have been more than seconds.

  Roen said, “Have I told you how lovely you look? I don’t think I did.”

  Lily’s entire body twitched.

  Seeing her reaction, one corner of Roen’s mouth lifted. “It’s difficult for you to accept a compliment.”

  “It’s difficult to accept a lie.”

  His half smile vanished. “Don’t do that. You do look lovely, and I don’t care for your accusation that I’m lying.” Suspecting that an apology was in the offing, Roen spoke before she could. “Did you fashion and make what you’re wearing for yourself?”

  Lily shook her head. “There wasn’t time. I had a dress picked out, one I wear to church, but Ben showed up with this jacket, skirt, and shirtwaist that Mrs. Fish made for his wife. I don’t think Ridley wore it even once. She wanted me to have it. I had to alter it a bit here and there, but Ben said she wouldn’t mind. I’ll remove the stitching before I return it to her.”

  “What color do you call the skirt and jacket?”

  “Claret. It’s a very rich color. I wouldn’t have chosen it for myself, but it would have been churlish to refuse Ridley’s offer. She meant well.”

  “Maybe she knows something about you that you don’t know yourself. The color suits you. Ah, you’re blushing. That suits you, too.”

  “Must you say everything that comes into your head?”

  “Maybe I should say everything that comes into your head.”

  “Perish the thought.”

  He chuckled. “All right. Upstairs. It’s time to make your escape.” When she blinked, wide-eyed, his grin deepened. “Yes, Lily, I know when you’re looking for a way out.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  The sofa was about as comfortable as Roen thought it would be, which was to say it wouldn’t do at all. He found a book and read in the armchair for over an hour after Lily stopped moving around upstairs. When he nodded off twice, he thought it was safe to try the sofa. He was wrong. He decided he would have to be drugged or dead to find any rest there. After tossing and turning for almost as long as he’d been reading, he stood up and moved the cushions to the floor. He added the one from the armchair to make his new bed the proper length and made it up with the sheets and quilts. Nesting wasn’t hard after that, and when sleep came, it came deeply.

  Lily also slept, but in contrast to Roen’s, her sleep was restless. Her dreams were a series of disjointed images, some from the distant past, others more recent memories. Most troubling was her dead husband’s presence in places he’d never been or couldn’t be. Jeremiah appeared in place of Lizzie at the fountain bar in Mangold’s drugstore while she was sitting with Roen at a table. She saw him sitting outside the sheriff’s office in the chair Ben usually occupied while Ben was sitting in the jail cell most often occupied by her husband. She followed Roen and Clay out to the edge of the Double H, and when shots were fired, it was Jeremiah who was doing the shooting.

  The most vivid image was of Jeremiah standing over her while she lay in bed, helpless in a tangle of blankets as he raised his fist. She promised herself she wouldn’t make a sound because crying out only infuriated him, but as soon as he lowered his fist, she screamed.

  “Ma!” Clay shook her shoulder. “Ma! Wake up!” Ham clung to his side and for once Clay didn’t mind. It was more reassuring than annoying. “You’re dreaming, Ma. Do you hear? Dreaming.”

  Lily shrugged off the hand on her shoulder as she bolted upright. She was breathing hard. Her pounding heart made the sound of thunder in her head. “Clay?”

  “Yeah. It’s me. Ham’s here, too. You want I should light a lamp?”

  “No.” She didn’t want her boys to see her this way, disheveled and distressed. “I’m sorry that I woke you. I’m all right now. Go on back to bed.”

  Neither Clay nor Ham moved. “It was a bad one tonight,” said Clay. “Where’s Mr. Shepard?” It wasn’t so dark in the room that he couldn’t make out that his mother was alone in bed.

  “Downstairs.”

  From the doorway, Roen said, “I’m right here now.” He was carrying a lamp, but he thought he must look like an apparition in his long white nightshirt. Both boys retreated a step but did not leave Lily’s side. He approached the foot of the bed and took it as a good sign that Lily didn’t cower. Clay’s eyes were darting back and forth, watching both of them for reactions.

  “Please, Clay,” said Lily. “It was good of you to come, but you can go to bed now. You, too, Ham.”

  Roen gave Clay full marks for not only listening to his mother but also for not asking the questions that were so clearly on his troubled mind. Roen touched Clay’s shoulder in what he hoped was a reassuring manner as the boy passed him on the way to the door. Clay’s only response was to put his own arm around Ham’s shoulders and lead him off.

  “Should I close the door?” Roen asked.

  “Please.”

  He did, but when he turned around and saw Lily staring at him strangely, he realized she expected him to be on the other side of the door. “I’m not leaving yet, but I promise I will leave.” He moved to the bed and set the lamp on the nightstand closest to her, then pulled up a straight-backed chair and sat. “That’s quite a scream you have, Lily. I was lighting the lamp so I could find my way when I heard the boys running down the hall. I overheard Clay say it was a bad one tonight. From that I can infer it wasn’t your first and probably not your second. How often do you have nightmares?”

  Lily pushed herself back against the iron rail bedhead and wrestled with the blankets to untangle them.

  “Lily?”

  She slapped the mattress with the palm of her hand. “I need a moment. Can’t you see that I need a moment? Move the chair back. You’re too close.”

  Roen didn’t so much as raise an eyebrow. He pushed his chair back far enough to stretch his legs toward the bed, crossed them at the ankles, and then folded his arms comfortably across his chest. He could wait out all the moments she needed.

  Lily yanked at the quilt that had her legs in a vise and felt as if she’d won an important battle when she finally freed herself. Once she’d unwound all the blankets, she spread them out and smoothed them over her lap and legs. She nodded, satisfied with the arrangement, and took in her first easy breath. It was only after she’d released it that she addressed Roen’s question.

  “It’s been months since I had a dream that woke one of my children.”

  “A dream? That’s what you call it?”

  “A bad dream.”

  Roen saw no benefit to debating semantics. “So you don’t always wake up screaming.”

  “I don’t always wake up in the moment, but in the morning there are often vague recollections that remind me that I dreamed.”

  “Will you tell me what you dreamed tonight?” She didn’t answer immediately, and Roen was hopeful for as long as she was silent, but in the end she said no. He followed that question with another. “Will you ever tell me?”

  “I don’t know.” Then, “I don’t know if I can allow myself to be that vulnerable.”

  It seemed to Roen that her whispered words were not meant for his ears, but he heard them and wondered what meaning he could attach to them. He was mindful that she’d felt vulnerable when he closed the door and remained in the room and felt a deeper vulnerability when he sat at her bedside. But was she so unaware of the defenses she’d erected that she believed she couldn’t protect herself? He was still struck by the passion she unleashed when she slapped the mattress and told him to move his chair away. He’d never considered arguing.

  “For another time, then,” he said with all the casualness he could muster. “Will you be able to sleep now?”

  “Yes.”

  “I can stay until you fall asleep if you’re afraid.”

  “I’m not afraid.”

  He uncrossed his ankles and drew back his legs, but he didn’t rise.

  Lily said, “Is that chair really more comfortable than the sofa? Is that why you’re reluctant to leave?”

  A chuckle rumbled at the back of his throat. “Not quite, although I did put the cushions on the floor and made my bed there. I’m still here because I’m trying to decide if I can take you at your word.”

  “Do you often wonder that?”

  “No. Not at all.”

  Lily pointed to the door. “Go.”

  He went, taking the lamp and closing the door quietly behind him, and because it seemed like something he should do, he checked on Clay and Ham. Ham was curled on his side, every breath a soft snuffle, but Clay was lying on his back staring at the ceiling. He didn’t even pretend to be asleep.

  “Clay? Are you all right?”

  “Yeah. Fine.”

  “Uh-huh. Are you worried about your mother?”

  Clay lifted himself up on his elbows. “I’m worried about you.”

  “Me?”

  “When I heard her screaming, I thought you hurt her, but then I got there and you weren’t nowhere to be found. I reckon one is worse than the other, but I can’t figure which one it is. I’m thinking you being Ma’s husband isn’t the good thing I hoped it would be.”

  “I happen to think you’re wrong, and we’ll leave it there. Tell me why you thought that I might have hurt your mother.”