“Hank is fine. Royce, too. No, sir, we got a cow in labor and she’s struggling. Struggling bad.”
Wyatt understood the urgency. He turned toward Sheridan, hating the fact that he had to end their afternoon, but he had a duty to this ranch, the people who worked it, and the animals he raised. “I have to go. Do you know your way back to the house?”
Disappointment shadowed her eyes, mirroring his own, but she understood. “Yes, of course. I’ll be fine. Go help that mama.”
“Yes, ma’am!” He touched the brim of his hat, kneed Brigadier’s sides and rode after Ken, his heart pounding hard, hoping he’d have another living calf and not the alternative.
CHAPTER 13
Sheridan finished putting the dishes away after washing them, proud of herself for remembering which cabinets they belonged in. Dinner had been wonderful, the stew she’d helped Delilah make was delicious, but most of all, her heart was happy that the cow who’d been struggling to give birth finally did. Both mother and calf were fine and Wyatt was over the moon. So was Royce, as he, apparently, had helped with the delivery, a new experience for him.
The only thing that put a damper on her contentment was knowing Odette and Aunt Estelle would arrive tomorrow on the afternoon stagecoach. She was not looking forward to it. Not in the least.
She glanced at Wyatt’s mother, who sat at the kitchen table, pouring through multiple cookbooks. Hopefully, her folks wouldn’t be rude to this kind woman, though she didn’t have much faith.
“Does your grandmother like Coq au Vin? I thought I would serve that for dinner one night while they’re here.”
“I suppose she does.”
“What about your aunt? Does she?” Delilah turned a few pages of her cookbook. “What about Jambalaya? Do they like that? It sounds delicious.”
Sheridan folded the dishtowel and laid it on the counter, her shoulders tight, her stomach twisted with anxiety. She thought about the family dinners she’d been forced to sit through when she was young. The silence during those meals, aside from the constant reminders to sit up straight and keep her elbows off the table, made the delicious food taste like sawdust. Those occasions were so different than the boisterous dinner she’d been invited to with Lucy’s family. Meals with the girls at Josie’s was always a festive affair, too. The talk, though sometimes embarrassing, made everyone giggle. Even the few dinners she’d had with Wyatt, Delilah, and Royce were warm and gentle with people who genuinely loved each other and weren’t afraid to show it.
“Truthfully, I don’t know. It’s been a long time since I had dinner with them, except when it was absolutely necessary and the menu was always the same. Barely seasoned consommé, roasted chicken, mashed potatoes, corn, and dinner rolls. The only thing I remember being delicious was the Madeleines. Grand-mère has a weakness for them.”
She turned around and faced Delilah, noticing the look on the woman’s face. It wasn’t disappointment. It was sadness.
“I’m so sorry, Sheridan.”
Sheridan nodded. “Nothing to be sorry about, Delilah. It’s just the way it was. I’m sure anything you make will be wonderful.”
“I so want to make a good impression on your folks. I’d really like to show them how happy you are here.”
Her throat constricted with the sincerity of Delilah’s words. “Thank you for that. I do appreciate all that you’re doing. And all that you’ve done. You’ve been wonderful.”
Delilah shrugged. “There isn’t much I wouldn’t do for my son, and if helping you is what he wants, who am I to argue?”
It looked like there was more Delilah wanted to say, but Sheridan wasn’t sure she wanted to know what it was. She was too nervous about Odette and Aunt Estelle arriving tomorrow. And there was something else. The kindness she was being shown, so much the opposite of how she’d been raised, was nearly her undoing. Her throat constricted even more and tears stung her eyes. “Good night, Delilah.”
Sheridan made a hasty exit from the kitchen, rushing through the parlor like her feet were on fire and raced up the stairs, barely hearing Royce say goodnight from his chair beside the fire.
She stopped on the landing and took a deep breath, letting the air in her lungs escape through her lips as she’d been taught. Once in control of herself, she opened the door to her room—Wyatt’s room—and stopped short.
“What are you doing?”
Wyatt turned to face her. “I’m moving my things back into my room.”
“But Grand-mère and Aunt Odette won’t be here until tomorrow.”
Wyatt slid his clothes into the bottom drawer of the bureau, closed it, and turned toward her. “And how would it look if I did this while they were here? Don’t you think it would look suspicious to them that I don’t sleep in the same room as my wife?”
Would it? Odette had been married, but Sheridan didn’t know if she and Henri, her husband, shared the same room. She rather had the impression they had not, simply from the few things Odette had said. And Aunt Estelle had never married at all. Would she think it odd?
He approached slowly and she looked up into his eyes. There was a hint of mischief gleaming in his amber gaze before he reached out and gently cupped her cheek. Sheridan felt the warmth of that slight touch all the way to her toes.
“Trust me,” he whispered, as he leaned closer and then his lips were on hers, his mouth moving over hers slowly and with confidence. She felt that to her toes as well and all thoughts of ‘appropriate’ fled. She leaned into him, her arms wrapping around him, deepening the kiss. That tickle in her belly roared to life, no longer just a fluttering, but a full-fledged cauldron of something she didn’t quite understand. As his lips played havoc with her senses, she felt lost yet found, dizzy yet clear-headed.
He broke the kiss and chuckled. “I’ll still sleep on the divan.”
