He put his billfold away and just stood there, his hands now gripping the back of the chair. After a long, tense moment, he said, “You have questions.”
“I do.” She had to broach the subject carefully, but words failed her. In the end, she could think of no other way to phrase her query except a bit bluntly. “Why doesn’t Avery speak very much?”
“You noticed.”
“How could I not?” She poured him a cup of coffee and slid it across the table, a silent invitation. She poured one for herself as well and sat, waiting until he did the same. It took a moment before he complied, the legs of the chair squeaking against the wood floor as he moved it, though it was obvious to her that he didn’t want to.
“She’s a smart child, Marshal. She’s aware of everything that’s going on around her, but she doesn’t chatter on like most almost five-year-olds I know. She’s a little shy, I saw that for myself. I also saw that she responds only when spoken to,usually with a nod or a shake of her head. Sometimes, she’ll actually use her voice and say yes or no, but not much more, and that seems to be very rare.” She took a sip of coffee and waited.
And waited a little more.
He looked at his coffee cup, at the wall, at the tabletop, everywhere except at her. For a long time, she didn’t think he would answer so she tried again. “I don’t mean to pry, Marshal, but if I’m going to be taking care of her, then I think I should know.”
He finally looked at her. Pain flashed in his stormy blue eyes. That pain was repeated in the deep lines around his mouth. “You’re right. You do need to know.” He shook his head as his gaze held hers captive. “She wasn’t always so quiet. At one time, she was a regular little chatterbox. Hannah and I could hardly get her to stop talking.”
“Hannah? Was she your wife?”
He nodded and once again, that pain flashed in his eyes, telling her, without words, that he still mourned her. Perhaps Avery did as well, but being a child, she might not be able to express herself so she lapsed into silence instead. It was a possibility. “Was it the loss of your wife that changed her?”
He stared down at his coffee cup, his body stiff, as if talking about what happened to Hannah hurt him deep in his soul. It probably did. “Yes. And more.”
She waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t. He simply sat, staring at his coffee, his jaw clenched. A muscle spasmed in his cheek and his eyes narrowed. Without knowing the man well at all, she did realize he wasn’t about to say anything more. Perhaps, in time, he would, but for now, she’d have to let it go. When he was ready, if he was ever ready, he might take her into his confidence, but now wasn’t the time. She was here to watch Avery and keep house, nothing more.
“Well then, I should go.” Tresia finished her coffee then rose from her seat and brought the cup to the sink. She rinsed it out then turned to face him. He hadn’t moved, not an inch. He didn’t look at her, either.
Feeling guilty, her entire body flushed, the heat coming from deep inside. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
He finally looked up at her and the pain reflecting in his eyes made every muscle in her body tense even as her heart went out to him. She shouldn’t have asked. She knew the pain of losing someone—the confusion, the unanswered questions, the remorse and yes, sometimes the resentment. From her own experiences, she knew there was no answer to the question of ‘why.’ She also knew that everyone grieved in their own way, in their own time. In many ways, she was still grieving the loss of Brett, though Brett had passed almost three years ago—sometimes the ache was so intense, it hurt so much, she could hardly stand it. Add to that the recent death of her father, and sometimes, the pain brought her to her knees.
“Good night, Marshal.” She left the house, closing the kitchen door softly behind her, determined to bring Avery out of her shell and perhaps, in the process, ease the pain she saw in Marshal Devlin Goodrich’s eyes.
CHAPTER 4
The sound of Avery’s giggles drifted into Devlin’s dreams, making him smile as he awoke. He rolled over in the bed, dragging the light blanket with him. Sunlight warmed his face and he let out a contented sigh.
He opened his eyes slowly, his gaze falling on the lamp on the bedside table. It wasn’t familiar. When did Hannah purchase a new one? He reached out from beneath the blanket to trace the engraving on the bedside table. This was new, too, but he liked it. He rolled onto his back, raising his head a bit from the pillow to look at the headboard of the bed he slept in. Made of wood instead of brass, it wasn’t familiar either.
Had Hannah redecorated while he’d been chasing Big Bill Cassidy all across the New Mexican countryside?
He smiled. Yes, that was something she would do to let him know she was unhappy with him. She didn’t like being left alone when he had to be away performing his marshal duties, although when they first met, she’d been thrilled he was a lawman. That changed over the five years they were married. Redecorating was better than her running to her mother, the esteemed and very demanding Frances Emerson Comstock, every time he had to go away.
He closed his eyes again, listening to the cheerful sound of Avery’s giggles, wishing Hannah would come back to bed?—
The memories came rushing back to him like a tidal wave—the events of the past, reigniting the pain and loss. Hannah. The woman he’d loved with an intensity that sometimes scared him was gone. And so was his son whom she had struggled so hard to bring into the world.
Fear seized him then, making every muscle in his body scream with the need to move. Panicked as well as disoriented, he whipped the light blanket off and scrambled out of bed, his feet hitting the hardwood floor.
Who was Avery laughing with? Had Frances found them? Had she come to take Avery away from him as she’d threatened too many times to count? He tried to calm himself, reasoning that if it was Frances, Avery would not be giggling. Frances would never have allowed that happy sound.
He pulled on his trousers, grabbed a pistol from the nearby gun belt, and rushed downstairs, his heart beating much too fast for so early in the morning.
He skidded to a stop in the kitchen doorway just as reality came back to him. Relief at the scene before him made his knees almost buckle and he moved the gun behind his back, not wishing to frighten anyone like he’d been frightened.
Tresia stood at the counter beside the sink, her backside swaying gently as she beat something in a bowl. Several thick strands of auburn hair escaped from the loose bun at the back of her head to fall about her shoulders.
He glanced to his right where Avery sat at the table, still in her nightgown, the doll Tresia had given her yesterday—the one she had insisted on sleeping with—clutched tightly in her arms. There was a big smile on her face, which grew wider when she turned toward him.
“Hi, Daddy!”
