She blinked. “Oh, my.”

  “Indeed,” he said. His mouth twisted wryly. “It seemed the right thing to say when it was only in my head. Now I’m not so sure. How did it sound?”

  “Perfect.”

  Roen chuckled and sat up. “And now for the prosaic, I need to wash.” He lifted the covers, got out of bed, and padded to the basin on the other side. He raised his nightshirt and started to wash. When he glanced toward the bed, he saw Lily was watching him with interest. She didn’t look away even when he kicked up a questioning eyebrow.

  “Something you would like to ask?” Roen dropped his shirt and laid the washcloth over the lip of the basin. “Would you like me to wash you?”

  “Um, no.” Suddenly shy with thoughts better kept to herself, Lily looked elsewhere, getting out of bed as he climbed back in. She picked up a cloth and dampened it before stealing a glance at Roen. He was watching her, and she turned her back on him. “I should have put out the lamp,” she said, more to herself than to him, but a moment later he further endeared himself to her by extinguishing the light. She cleaned herself and then returned to bed. “Thank you for that,” she whispered. “For the lamp, I mean. I’m not so comfortable yet.”

  “May I point out that you seemed comfortable watching me?”

  “It’s different when the shoe is on the other foot. And besides, you didn’t mind or you would have turned around.”

  “You have me there.”

  “For now,” she said, and left it at that.

  Roen waited for her to say more, and when she didn’t, he reached for her and hauled her in. Her low laughter stirred him to action. She fought off his tickling fingers, surrendered to his kisses, and finally between breaths, she said the words he wanted to hear. “For later,” she whispered. “For always.”

  “Huh,” he said, letting her go. “It does sound perfect.”

  “Well, the next time I’m only going to say uncle.”

  Laughter rumbled in his chest. “That will sound perfect, too.” He waited for her to settle. When she backed up against him, he made a cradle for her bottom with his thighs and slid an arm around her waist. “Good night, Lily.”

  She laid an arm over his, murmured something that might have been good night, and then fell deeply asleep.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Martin Cabot had the information that his employer wanted less than twenty-four hours after she’d demanded it. He waited three days to tell her. It was a petty triumph but hardly unethical, and he was the only one aware of it anyway. He bought a newspaper at the drugstore and carried it to the hotel to read while he ate his breakfast. His landlady voiced no objections when he announced he would be taking all of his meals at the Butterworth. And why should she? It was one less at her table. He was also paying—or rather Victorine was—more than double for his room so Mrs. Brady did not foist another itinerant salesman on him. Martin was very much enjoying the peace and privacy his contract with Victorine afforded him.

  Martin waited at the entrance to the dining room for Mrs. Butterworth to show him to his table. He’d learned quickly that she liked to do that, considered it important to the hospitality of the hotel. She greeted him warmly when she came upon him and apologized that the table he preferred was already occupied.

  “That’s Judge Miner. He’s waiting for my son. Criminal business, I expect.”

  “Of course,” Martin said graciously. “You could not very well ask him to find another seat.” He looked around the dining room. It was crowded this morning. He recalled there had been a train arrival late in the day, so that explained so many unfamiliar faces. He would have to join a table that was already populated. It was not his preference. “May I wait in the lobby for a table to become available?”

  “Certainly, if you wish it.”

  “I do.” He indicated the paper under his arm. “I can read while I wait.” Ellie took his coat and hat and showed him to the padded bench below the staircase. Martin thanked her and sat, opening his paper immediately to avoid conversation with her husband at the desk. He glanced up when the front door opened. He recognized Sheriff Madison. The lawman did not look in his direction, which Martin accepted as a good sign. It meant he had not attracted unwelcome attention.

  The next time he looked above the broadsheet was because he heard Victorine. She’d been silent coming down the stairs but was now making her presence felt complaining to Mrs. Butterworth. Martin hid his satisfaction behind the paper. It seemed there were still no empty tables in the dining room.

  Ellie invited her to sit at a table with an empty chair but otherwise occupied or return to her room and be notified when a table became available. Victorine clenched her jaw and chose the latter simply by walking away.

  Martin lowered the paper. He knew the moment she spied him because she stopped so suddenly that she practically vibrated. Her skirt fluttered before it settled in place. There could be no meaningful conversation while Abe Butterworth stood behind the desk fiddling with the room keys and pretending to be oblivious. The man was aware that Victorine was at least an acquaintance because of their previous meeting in the lobby, but Butterworth couldn’t begin to know the facts of their association. He wanted to keep it that way.

  “Are you waiting for a table?” asked Victorine.

  “I am, but you are welcome to take mine when it becomes available. I don’t mind waiting.”

  “Perhaps we could share. Would that be acceptable to you?”

  “It would.” He watched Victorine look over her shoulder at Ellie Butterworth, who was also pretending not to observe their exchange.

  “I will share a table with this man,” she said. “You’ll let me know.” With that, she turned toward the stairs and began the climb.

  Martin judged that Victorine could have only reached her room when Ellie sent one of her girls to announce that a table was ready. He wondered if the sheriff’s mother had done it on purpose, but if she had, she did not give herself away, even when her husband regarded her with a raised eyebrow.

  Martin stood when Victorine joined him at the table and politely held out a chair for her. She was slightly out of breath but he refrained from commenting. He sat opposite her with the paper opened beside him. He was wearing his spectacles now so he could read the broadsheet and not simply make a pretense of it.

  “You are an awful man,” she said. “I would not suffer you if there were a choice.”

  He looked at her over the top of his spectacles. “Oh?”

  “I sent that boy around on two separate occasions because I wanted to know what you learned. You’ve given me nothing. Not so much as the satisfaction of a reply.”

  “The boy’s name is Frankie.”

  She ignored that as of no account. “Where have you been? I thought you were going to take your meals here. I’ve never seen you once.”

  “Then it’s because we simply take our meals at different hours.”

  “No, it’s not. I’ve come down at different times and waited for you. I know you must be watching me.”

  “Must I?”

  “You’re purposely avoiding me.”

  “How do you explain that I’m here with you now?”

  “You’ve learned something. Tell me.”

  “In time. Food first.” Martin watched Fedora as she listened to Victorine. She kept more than a respectful distance from their table. He thought she was becoming accustomed to him, so perhaps it was Victorine who made her wary. It showed good sense on her part, and he liked her all the more for it. He gave her his order, and when she was gone, he shook his head at his breakfast companion. “I don’t think she’s an admirer.”

  “If that’s true, it’s mutual. I’ve asked Mrs. Butterworth several times to send someone else to my table, but she is either deaf to my concerns or finds it ridiculously satisfying to frustrate me.”

  “Either is possible, I suppose.”

  Victorine’s pale blue eyes narrowed. “Stop delaying. Tell me what you know about Roen.”

  Martin tapped the newspaper. “It’s in here. They were married Friday two weeks past. Too late for it to be announced in the previous edition.” His eyes swiveled to the table near the front window. “Do you see that man there? The one with the heavy mustache and talking to the sheriff?”

  Victorine turned her head slightly. “That man with him is the sheriff? I didn’t know. So who is he?”

  “Judge Miner. He performed the civil ceremony for Mr. Shepard and his bride.”

  “Not a church wedding?”

  “You can read it for yourself.” He pushed the paper toward her.

  She pushed it back. “So he wasn’t lying as you suspected. He’s truly married.”

  “Yes, I was wrong, but if you will note the date, you will understand the wedding occurred shortly after your telegram arrived. It may be of small comfort to you, but even if our train hadn’t been delayed by that snowstorm, you would not have arrived in time to stop it. The ceremony would seem to have been hastily arranged.”

  “What are you implying? That he hurried the wedding in anticipation of my arrival?”

  Martin held up his hands with the thought of warding her off in the event she pounced. She was already leaning in.

  “That’s your not-so-subtle way of reminding me you tried to stop me from sending that telegram. I didn’t appreciate it then, and I don’t appreciate what you’re saying now. You will kindly keep your suppositions to yourself.”

  “As you wish.” Martin lowered his hands, unfolded his napkin, and spread it across his lap. He cast his eyes toward the paper and began to read. “Lower your voice,” he said without lifting his head. “It’s pitched in a way that will attract attention.”

  Straightening, Victorine laughed lightly as if he had said something witty. “What is the rest?” she asked after taking a few moments to calm down. “Who did he marry?”

  “Lily Salt.”

  “That’s it? That’s all you know?”

  “That’s all the paper announces.” It was true. He didn’t tell her that he knew a great deal more, owing to his conversation with Amanda Springer in the butcher shop and Frankie Fuller on one of his errands to the boardinghouse. He liked the irony of Victorine sending Frankie with messages for him when she could have learned almost everything from the boy if she had considered him the least consequential.

  “I could have read that for myself.”

  “But you didn’t. You haven’t.”

  “Didn’t you talk to anyone?”

  “I will. You’ll know everything I know tomorrow. Shall we say two o’clock? I’ve observed you take a walk around that time.”

  Victorine frowned but nodded. Their food arrived, and they ate without another word passing between them.

  * * *

  • • •

  Roen was up before Lily and cracking eggs into the skillet when she came upon him. He held out one arm and pulled her to his side. He bussed her on the cheek while expertly opening an egg with his free hand and stacking the shell with the others. He would have liked to kiss her long and hard and deep but was aware of four pairs of eyes at the table watching him closely. Roen knew better than to think they were interested in him kissing their mother. They’d grown accustomed to it over these last few days. It did not arouse comment; although sometimes he caught them exchanging knowing looks.

  No, they had no curiosity about the kissing. They were hungry. Ham had already announced it twice and patted his growling stomach as evidence. They cared very much that he didn’t burn the eggs or the toast or the bacon. He released Lily and put her in charge of turning the bacon.

  “You’re wearing your outside-the-town clothes, Da,” Clay said. “I reckon that means you’ll be riding out today. I didn’t get your horses. I didn’t know you were going anywhere.”

  “I only decided last night after you’d gone to bed. It’s all right. I can manage it this once. You can take them back when I return.” He slipped a turner under one of the frying eggs to make sure it was hardening on the bottom. “You recall that problem I was helping you with last night?”

  “I sure do. Did you show it to Ma like I told you?”

  “I did, and you were right. She figured it out. She’s going to explain it to you later because she’ll make a better job of it than I did.”

  “Aw, you’re not so bad.”

  “Thank you for that,” Roen said dryly.

  Lily continued to turn the bacon while she looked over her shoulder at Clay. “It comes so easily to him that it’s hard for him to imagine it’s challenging for the rest of us.”

  “Yeah,” said Clay. “But he’s real patient. That’s different than Pa was.”

  Lily stole a glance at Roen, but he was plating eggs and at least acting as if he hadn’t heard. “Yes,” she said. “He’s different that way.” She poked him gently in the side with her elbow and pointed to the plate. He handed it over, and she added the bacon to it. “I love that you’re different that way,” she whispered.

  This time when he kissed her, it was on the mouth, and it lingered just a little.

  “Eggs, Ma!” Ham shouted from the table. “You’re going to lose our eggs!”

  The plate was indeed tipped sideways. Lily stepped back and righted it so nothing was lost. She pushed it at Roen and told him to take it to the ravenous horde. “I’ll get the toast,” she said.

  Once the children were off to school and Lizzie was playing in the parlor, Roen asked Lily if she’d done anything about looking for a housekeeper. He was fairly certain the answer was no, but he thought he should give her the benefit of the doubt.

  “Nothing except think about it,” she told him, dropping dishes and utensils into a tub of soapy water. “I don’t have a candidate in mind, and if I do this, I’d like it to be someone I know.”

  “If?” he asked. “There’s still a question in your mind? I thought this was settled.”

  “It’s extravagant, Roen.”

  “There will be two incomes,” he said. “Yours and mine, and if Clay wants to add a little something, there will be three.”

  She smirked. “Sometimes your calculations are suspect. No matter how many times you slice it, the pie is still yours.”

  “Then allow me to do as I wish with it. I’ll speak to Ellie. She’ll be able to recommend someone. That’s how Ridley found Mrs. Rushton.”

  Lily recognized she was on the losing end of the argument. “Oh, very well. Ask Ellie when you pick up your pack.”

  He sidled up to her at the sink. “You know, I’d rather get rid of the outside-the-town clothes and take you back to bed.”

  She flushed and flicked water at him. It should have sizzled when it touched him. His dark eyes were that hot. “Last night was quite enough,” she said before the heat overtook her.

  Roen moved behind her and nuzzled her neck. “You don’t mean that.”

  She didn’t. “Well, you shouldn’t make me say what I don’t mean.” She felt his laughter bubble against her skin. He’d marked her in almost the same spot last night. A love bite, he called it, and she thought it was a proper name for what he’d done because it had been deliciously erotic. When she saw it this morning in the mirror, she called it what it was: a bruise. She batted him away. “No more of your branding,” she said, tapping the side of her neck.

  He squinted at where she was pointing. “That? That’s nothing.”

  “Nothing you have to cover up. Go on. Get out of here.”

  Roen reluctantly stepped away. “Think about what I’m going to do to you tonight,” he said, and then he was heading down the hallway.

  “You can’t leave like that,” she called after him. “Roen!” But he didn’t turn and he didn’t come back. She heard him talking to Lizzie and then saw him collect his things at the front door and walk out. She was wet by then, and damn him, he knew she would be.

  * * *

  • • •

  Hannah and Clay were squabbling in the kitchen when Roen got back. He scraped snow off his boots and beat his hat against his thigh before he walked in. Icy clumps clung to the lamb’s wool collar of his coat. The children stopped to look him over.

  “Escaped an avalanche, Da?” asked Clay. “You’re a sight.”

  “Mm.” He was wet and tired and took no pains to hide it. “Forget about taking the horses to the livery,” he told Clay. “It’s done.”

  Clay nodded. He looked past Roen to the window. Snow was coming down sideways. “I reckon the storm’s just getting started here.”

  “Well, it started a lot earlier in the higher elevations.”

  Hannah had a stack of dinner plates in her hands. “Did you ask Mr. Wayne about the weather before you left?”

  “No, I didn’t, but I most assuredly will seek him out the next time I go out Thunder Point way.” He plucked his damp collar away from his neck. Melting snow trickled down his spine. “What’s for dinner?”

  “It’s bean soup,” said Hannah. “Ma started it and I’m keeping watch. Clay’s in here to annoy me.”

  “That’s more or less Ham’s job. Where’s your mother?”

  “In the sewing room.”

  Roen nodded. Hannah had decided that the space formerly known as the workroom was now the sewing room when Lily occupied it and the study when he was in there. “Carry on.” He was opening the door to the sewing room when he heard them return to squabbling.

  Lily looked over when Roen walked in. She was standing at the dress form, pinning a lace collar on the neckline of an ice blue satin bodice. “Why are you smiling?”

  “Hannah and Clay are poking at each other.”

  She sniffed the air. “Is anything burning?”

  “No. At least not yet.”

  Lily stepped away from the dress form and placed her pincushion on the table. There was more scrutiny in the way she looked Roen over this time. “You look awful. You’re wet through and through.”