Page 51 of To Love a Beast

"Sorry." Everett winced with her. "After the sheriff arrives, we'll get you home and dab some of Mrs. Potter's salve on this. She's got a cure for just about everything in that cupboard of hers. I don't think this is deep enough to need stitches, but I'll bring in the doctor to confirm."

Her fingers pressed against his forearm. "Everett?"

He glanced down at her hand then up to her eyes. Eyes shimmering with tears. Tears he suspected had little to do with her injury.

His heart pounded painfully in his chest. "Yes?"

"I want to go home. I need to see my papa."

Something cracked inside him.

"I can take the last few books with me . . . finish them at the bindery . . . I'll bring them back, I promise, and you won't need to pay anything until the job is complete. I just . . . I need some time . . . I—"

"Shh." He covered her hand with his. "Of course you can go home. I'll make all the arrangements. Don't give it another thought."

She leaned her head forward, and he raised up on his knees to cradle her face against his chest, careful not to touch beneath her chin.

Moisture filled his own eyes as he held her to him. His beautiful Callista. The woman who had brought him back to life. She loved him. She'd said the words. He could still hear the echo of her vow in his mind, the sweet sincerity of it ringing pure and true. Yet at this moment, she craved the nurturing love of another. He wanted her to turn to him. Heaven knew that if Everett loved her any more, his heart would split apart at the seams. Nevertheless, love meant doing what was best for another, not seeking one's own happiness. So as much as he wanted to hold her tight, he knew he needed to let her go. He just prayed it wouldn't be forever.

Chapter 23

Denton, Texas

Three weeks later

"Callie, I'm ready for the text block. Callie?"

Callista jerked her gaze from the small window in the bindery workroom and twisted toward her father. "Sorry, Papa. What did you say?"

He nodded at the collected pages she held in her hand, the signatures and endpapers she'd finished sewing together not ten minutes before.

"The text block? I'm ready to wed it to the cover."

Wed. The word hit her with an unexpected jolt, causing her heart to throb as images of Everett rose in her mind. Memories flooded her senses. The feel of his arms about her as they danced in the parlor. His deep, mesmerizing voice reading to her as she worked. The way his beautiful blue gaze would light at the sight of her. His gentle care of her after that horrible day at the hunting cottage. The heartbreaking moment when they'd said goodbye.

She could still feel the press of his lips on her forehead and hear his whispered words of love at the coaching inn. She'd been too numb from the shock of inadvertently causing a man's death to appreciate the gesture as much as he deserved, but those words had been stamped onto her soul like a book title on leather, changing her identity from Callista Rosenfeld, book binder and daughter of Mordecai, to Callista Rosenfeld, the woman Everett Griffin loved.

Yet his love had not echoed in words alone but in his actions as well. He'd bought all the seats on the stagecoach so that she could enjoy a private ride to the Millsap train station with only Mrs. Potter and Mr. Timens as companions. The pair had accompanied her on the train as well, riding all the way home to Denton at her side. Mrs. Potter had wrapped her in a maternal cocoon, ensuring she had everything she needed—food, comfort, the blessed distraction of conversation. Mr. Timens had taken care of all her equipment-laden trunks with typical Timens efficiency. Never once had she worried about transporting the heavy items from place to place. Timens had strong men with luggage carts waiting for them at each travel juncture. For the first time in years, she allowed someone else to carry the load of bindery responsibility while she tended to herself. Time to heal, Mrs. Potter claimed.

She didn't feel healed, however. The numbness had eventually worn off, and Papa's unconditional love and acceptance had surrounded her while she'd worked through the grief, guilt, and anger wrought by Ambrose Batton's demise. Yet a hole remained in her heart, one that could only be filled by Everett. The man she loved but could never have. Not at the expense of her papa and his family.

Everett had whispered other words in her ear at the coaching inn that day. He'd told her not to ship his finished books to him. He'd pick them up in person. A pledge she'd clung to for three long weeks. A pledge yet to be fulfilled, despite the fact that Papa had received the full payment for Everett's library commission. Maybe Everett had decided seeing her again would be too awkward. Maybe his feelings had faded. Maybe he'd realized that being together truly was impossible and decided to let her keep the books as a remembrance of their time together. A sweet parting gift to commemorate a love that could never be.

Papa's touch startled her out of her melancholy musings as he gently took the text block from her hands.

"Sorry, Papa. I'm not much help today, am I?" At this rate, the paste he'd applied to the board would dry before he had a chance to affix the pages to the cover.

He peered at her over his round spectacles, love and understanding radiating from his gaze. "You're helpful to me every day, Callie. Even when your mind is elsewhere." He winked at her. "But I think today you might prove more helpful manning the front desk." Waving the hand that had been recently freed from its plaster bandage and declared fit for resuming work, he shooed her toward the door that led to the front of the shop.

Callista hesitated, her failure to be a worthy assistant prodding her to make amends. "We get so few customers this late in the day, Papa. Surely, I'd be more useful back here. I can just listen for the bell."

He raised a brow at her. "But will you hear it? Seems to me your hearing's not as keen today as usual."

Well, she couldn't argue with that now, could she?

He chuckled indulgently as he nudged her from the workroom. "If no one comes in, you can enjoy some quiet reading time. Something lighthearted, though, hmm? Perhaps Three Men in a Boat by Jerome K. Jerome. I read it while convalescing and found it quite delightful. There's even a dog. Montgomery, I believe. His antics are sure to put a smile on your face."

She'd prefer a dog named Spartacus, but her papa was right. Enough with the doldrums. Moping helped no one, including herself. The Lord had provided sunshine, books, and a loving family. Reasons to rejoice abounded.