Page 112 of Conveniently Wed
He nodded, red climbing his cheeks. Without the thick blond beard, she could see how easily his fair skin changed color.
He was even more striking without his beard. A sharp jaw and fine, full lips…even his nose appeared handsomer.
He rubbed a hand across his jaw as if she were making him uncomfortable, and she realized she was staring.
“What’re you doing?” he asked.
She turned, grateful for the excuse to delay, even for a moment. She needed to gather her thoughts. She was going to tell him that she loved him. She just needed to get her courage in line.
“I made Daniel bring us back to where the wagon had been that night,” she admitted. “I was able to salvage some of yourmother’s recipe cards. I’ve been copying the recipes to new ones, so she will still be able to use them.”
Most of the old cards were readable, though mud-spattered and torn from the cattle’s destructive hooves. The new cards were stacked neatly in the center of the table. It was a paltry offering, because Fran knew some of the cards held sentimental value for Edgar’s mother. The project had really been to keep her hands busy while she’d waited for his arrival.
Remembering the mangled, decimated wagon cinched her chest tight. Half of it had been sheered completely away, splintered to dust.
“The men…” She took a breath. She’d cried so many tears in the past few days, purging her fear and desperation. She didn’t want to relapse into a sobbing ball of emotion now. She wanted her husband to see her strong.
She started again. “Underhill’s men had said you’d fallen in the stampede.”
He nodded slowly, idly fingering one of the cards with her handwriting on it. She watched his broad fingers sweep across the tabletop.
Seeing him alive, hale and healthy and vital, clogged her throat with emotion.
He glanced up at her, seemed to see she was struggling. His hand closed over hers, and he squeezed. “I’m all right.”
She fought off the urge to throw her arms around him. She didn’t know where they stood.
“What about you?” he asked, hand still warm around hers. “Your back?”
“Sore,” she admitted. “Probably about the same as yours.”
His jaw tightened—it was so much easier to read his expressions without his face covered in the beard.
“This was awful nice of you.” He motioned to the cards spread across the table.
“It was my fault they were on the wagon,” she reminded him.
She’d meant the words to be somewhat of a jest, but he shook his head. “Underhill coming after you wasn’t your fault. And his boys starting that stampede wasn’t your fault either.”
Now tears truly did mist her eyes. He folded her to his chest as hope rose in her heart.
He held her close for a long moment.
“If that’s true, then Ricky leaving wasn’t your fault,” she whispered.
At her words, he set her slightly back, his face dark and upset.
“Seb told us last night,” she admitted.
His brow creased. “Pa left me in charge. I should’ve done something about it.”
She touched his hand. “You did. Every day, he knew you loved him, knew he could come to you if he chose. But he chose to leave instead.”
He hung his head, eyes squeezing shut.
The fact that he was showing her his emotion, not shutting her out, made her heart soar. Did this mean he wanted to be with her?
“Can we…can we talk?” she asked through a throat tight with hope.
