Page 38 of His Perfect Bride
Even so, nothing could come of the connection she and Jackson were forming. “I’m not interested.” She spoke in a hushed tone.
Willow snorted. “Oh yes you are.”
Jackson was still watching her, obviously not caring—as usual—that everyone could see him staring and that they were assuming things.
“Even if I were to find myself interested—which I won’t—I could never have all the qualities that he’d need in a wife. I would never be good enough.”
Willow’s smile faded, and she grew suddenly somber. “That’s not something the Sage I used to know would have said.”
“The Sage you used to know was prideful and thought she was better than everyone else.” Sage sat forward and turned her full attention on Willow, whose heart-shaped face with high cheekbones resembled hers in so many ways that they could have been twins.
Willow didn’t say anything, but a sad shadow fell over her eyes. Even so, she’d never looked more vibrant and whole and healthy than she did sitting in her chair with the sunshine browning even more of her skin, giving her a glow and life that had never been present in Manchester.
“I was filled with pride even with you.” Sage forced herself to say what was long overdue. “I compared myself to you, I believed I had the perfect life.”
“It’s in the past?—”
“No, Willow. I was wrong to compare us. I was wrong to be prideful. I was wrong to make you feel as though you were less than me.” She reached across the short distance between their two chairs and took hold of Willow’s hands. “I’ve learned that I’m far from perfect.”
“Nobody ever said you had to be.”
Sage wasn’t sure why she’d started to feel the pressure toward perfectionism. But it was still there, and she didn’t know if it would ever go away.
“I’ve only just met Jackson,” Willow said, watching Jackson, who had finally pushed away from the railing and was crossing toward them. “But I doubt he’ll want you to be perfect. In fact, I think he finds you pretty appealing just the way you are.”
It didn’t matter what Jackson thought. All that mattered was that Willow understood how sorry she was. “Will you forgive me, Willow?”
“Already done. It’s in the past.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes, I’m just glad you’re here and that we can start again.”
“Me too.”
Jackson was only a few feet away now. The afternoon would soon pass into evening, and no doubt he was ready to return to Victoria.
She gathered the mending in her lap and stood. “Is it time to go?” She wasn’t ready to depart yet, but she’d imposed upon Jackson longer than necessary.
He halted but a step from her. “No.” He reached out a hand as though he might touch her arm, but then he stuffed both hands into his trouser pockets.
“I can’t keep you any longer?—”
“I’m thinking we should stay overnight and leave in the morning.” He spoke as if he’d already made up his mind.
“Stay? Here?” Hope swelled swiftly at the prospect of a little more time with Willow.
“Caleb indicated that his friend Jonas could take us back to Victoria in a steamboat tomorrow morning.”
“Really?” Sage couldn’t hold in a smile for another second.
Jackson took in her smile, and the tightness in his expression softened. “I’ll go tell Tcoosma he can go.” Without waiting for her to say anything more, he strode away on the path that led to the adjacent homestead belonging to Elijah and his wife Frannie and Elijah’s brother Jonas.
Jackson was a striking contrast of opposites. He was the epitome of an English gentleman but as experienced and comfortable in the wilderness as a fur trapper. He was more intelligent than any person she’d ever known but also the most disorganized. He was consumed with his work but was also deeply caring about the people in his life.
“Oh, luv,” Willow said with a soft laugh. “You can protest all you want. But you won’t be able to resist that man for much longer, not when he treats you like you’re the only thing that matters in his life.”
Sage quickly tore her attention from Jackson’s retreating form. He didn’t treat her that way. But even as she tried to deny Willow’s observation, a part of her wished it were true.
