“And that’s the downstairs. As you know, there are four bedrooms upstairs and another powder room, though that one does not have a folding bathtub.”
“It’s a lovely home, Wyatt.”
“I can’t take credit for it. Mrs. Contreras, the woman I bought Stone Creek from, designed it herself. She said she always wanted to be an architect, but her father had strict ideas about a woman’s place. It just wasn’t done, but she continued to draw and design houses and when she married Mr. Contreras, he built her this house using her design.” He rubbed his thumb against her knuckle as he spoke, loving the way her hand fit so well in his. “When she sold me the ranch and went to live with her daughter, she left a lot of her drawings behind. They were—are—fantastic, everything from small cottages to huge elaborate mansions. I kept some because they were so well done. She was quite talented. Like you with your music.”
“It’s a shame she couldn’t pursue her dreams.”
“It is.” He looked at her then, wanting to know what her dream was, but noticed that she tried to stifle a yawn, and decided to leave the question for another time. “We should go to bed.”
“Yes, we should.”
He laughed, startled, wondering if she realized what she said. Apparently, she did, as her face took on a rosy hue and her mouth opened and closed several times.
She mumbled a soft ‘Good night, Wyatt’ then kissed him on the cheek and fled the parlor, racing up the stairs as quickly and quietly as her legs would carry her, obviously embarrassed. He heard her door close after a moment, laughed ruefully to himself then followed her up the stairs. He stopped at the door to her room and just stood there, listening for any sound, then took himself off to his own lonely bed, wishing, not for the first time, that he could join her in his.
Sheridan awoke to the sound of birdsong and sunlight shining on her face. She untangled herself from the blankets, and slowly rose from the bed, still tired. So tired. She hadn’t slept much at all. She tossed and turned, despite the comfort of the mattress, her sleep interrupted by dreams—inappropriate dreams—of Wyatt and how it felt to be in his arms, which left her wanting, even now, with her eyes wide open. That quivering in her belly had turned to an ache she didn’t quite understand.
She pulled on her robe, tying the sash tightly, then left her room—Wyatt’s room—and wandered downstairs to the kitchen using the back stairs Wyatt had shown her last night. Delilah was putting the breakfast dishes away in the cabinet as she pushed through the door. The rich aroma of coffee wafted in the air. The dog wasn’t on his blankets beside the stove. She assumed he’d gone out with Wyatt to chase cattle. Royce must have gone out, too.
Delilah turned around and smiled as she caught sight of her. “How did you sleep, dear?”
“Good,” she lied as she took a seat at the kitchen table.
“I’m glad to hear it.” Her smile widened. “It seems we had mice in the kitchen last night.”
“Mice?”
“The two-legged kind.” One eyebrow rose, but the smile never left her face. “You and Wyatt come down for a midnight snack?”
Heat infused her face. “I hope you don’t mind. He said it would be all right. And you bake like a dream. I couldn’t resist.”
Delilah didn’t seem upset, not in the least. “He and his brothers did that a lot when they were young. I’d clean up the kitchen before I went to bed, and I’d come down to a sink full of dishes and half of the food gone.” She chuckled. “I didn’t mind. Not really, though I wished they would have left the kitchen as clean as they found it.” She let out a sigh. “It wasn’t easy raising the boys on my own.”
“No, I’m sure it wasn’t. Wyatt told me that his father passed when he was young.”
“He did. Seth was a good man. None of us expected his heart would give out when it did. He was so young—only a year older than Wyatt when he passed.”
“You did an excellent job. With Wyatt, at least. He’s kind and generous and very caring. I haven’t met your other sons, but I’m sure they’re just like him.”
“Thank you. As I said, it wasn’t easy, but the boys and I got through it, and I’m proud of all my sons.” She picked up a dish towel and wiped the already clean counter. “Would you like some coffee? How about breakfast? I could scramble up some eggs and fry some bacon.”
“Oh, no, please. Don’t go to any trouble. You just finished cleaning up the kitchen.” She grinned at the expression on the woman’s face, which was a combination of disappointment and something else she couldn’t put her finger on. “I will, however,have a piece of bread with butter on it, I think.” Even as she said the words, she glanced at the cake platter in the middle of the table, the frosted dome hiding how much of the cake was left. “Better yet, I think I’ll have a piece of cake, and a glass of milk, but I can get it. You don’t have to wait on me.” She stood and walked to the icebox for the milk. “Wyatt showed me where everything is, but I should practice, if we want Aunt Estelle and Odette to believe that Wyatt and I are married.”
Delilah eyed her as she placed the pitcher of milk on the table, then wandered over to the cabinets. “What are your intentions, young lady?”
“I’m going to have a piece of cake,” she said, but she knew what Delilah was really asking.
The woman said nothing. She simply smiled, but her stare was intense. Sheridan could feel Delilah’s eyes watching her as she pulled a plate and glass from the cabinet, then a fork and knife from the drawer.
“Wyatt and I…he’s helping me.” She put everything on the table then lifted the dome of the cake platter and cut a slice of the delicious cake. “There are no intentions aside from convincing my aunt and my grandmother that he and I are married and that I’m happy here.”
“I see.” Delilah’s smile dimmed, just a bit. “And are you happy here?”
“I am.”
“And my son?”
“We’re just friends,” Sheridan insisted, though the dreams she’d had certainly hadn’t fit into the friendship category, nor did the kisses they’d shared.
