“Please sit down so we can explain.” Wyatt gestured to the sofa in front of the fireplace.
Delilah and Royce did as they were asked, though Sheridan could tell they were confused.
“My grandmother and Aunt Estelle are coming to Serenity,” she blurted out once they were seated.
“That’s wonderful,” Royce exclaimed, his face wreathed in smiles. He patted Delilah’s hand, offering comfort because the news wasn’t what either of them had thought.
Sheridan shook her head. “No, it’s not. They’re coming here to take me home.” She took a seat across from them as Wyatt moved to stand behind her chair.
“They wouldn’t, would they? Force you to leave Serenity?” True concern shone from Delilah’s eyes and repeated itself in the expression on her face.
“Yes, they would, but I don’t want to go. I’m building a life here,” she paused and turned to look at Wyatt. “And friendships. I didn’t have that before, and I like it. It’s become important to me. I’ve been shown nothing but kindness since I arrived, despite who and what my mother was.” She continued, explaining what her life had been like before she came here, thelies that Odette and Aunt Estelle had told her about Josie, and the plan that Wyatt had come up with to keep her here.
“So, are we all in agreement?” Wyatt asked when she finished. “Mama, Royce, do you think you can help us pull off this charade?”
“Yes, of course.” Delilah reached over and clasped her hand. “Whatever you need us to do, dear.”
“Thank you. I appreciate your help.”
“We should put your things away.” Wyatt held out his hand. She grasped it like a life-line, hoping their ruse would succeed.
A few minutes later, he opened the door to his room at the top of the stairs. “This is it. My room. Excuse me, our room.”
Sheridan glanced at the big, four-poster bed in the middle of the room. It was masculine, like him. Cream-colored wallpaper flecked with tiny blue and gold fleur-de-lis covered the walls. A patchwork quilt that reminded her of the one on her own bed was folded neatly at the foot. There were a few pictures on the wall, mostly of—believe it or not—cows with a few horses thrown in.
The entire room even smelled like him, a combination of soap and cloves.
She glanced at him, suddenly apprehensive and unsure. “Will you be staying in here with me?”
“Actually, I’ll sleep in the room next door until your grandmother and aunt arrive and then…uh…” He pointed to the divan under the window. “I’ll sleep there.”
“I would hate for you to give up your bed for me. I’ll sleep on the divan.”
He laughed. “Are we having our first fight as a married couple?”
The comment made her laugh even while blood rushed to her face. “Yes, I believe we are, but I’ll still sleep on the divan.”
“As you wish.” Humor sparkled in his eyes. “I’ll leave you alone to put your things away. And I’ll let you know when dinner is ready.”
“Thank you, Wyatt. For everything. I just hope this will work.”
“It will. You’ll see. Trust me.”
And that was the thing. She did trust him. All those years she’d been told she couldn’t trust a man—any man—and here she was, willing to put her faith in him. It was shocking, but at the same time, it felt right.
She watched him close the door, then turned and faced the big bed. Heat rose to her face as her gaze swept over the patchwork quilt and the heavy, intricately carved posts.
What would it be like to really be married to him? To sleep in that bed beside him each night, his arms around her? To make love with him?
Her face warmed even more. She could feel the heat rising up from her chest and that quivering that tickled her belly made itself known.
“Oh, stop it, Sheridan. Just because he kissed you doesn’t mean he wants marriage. You should know that. You own a brothel!”
She shook her head and started unpacking, but stopped in the middle of removing a sheer nightgown from the portmanteau. The silky material sliding through her fingers as she remembered his kiss, the feelings the touch of his mouth had elicited within her, and that tickle in her belly grew out of proportion.
Maybe he was.
And maybe, just maybe, she was, too.
