Yet what else could he do? How likely was it that he’d be able to walk back and forth between the forge and the anvil on crutches while handling metal hot enough to be malleable?
He shook his head. He’d have to take it one day at a time. Perhaps he’d recover more quickly if he was diligent in following the doctor’s orders and implementing whatever natural remedies Mrs. Williams offered. A few minutes later, he patiently listened to Helen’s admonishments to do exactly that. Quinn said his farewells and ushered his wife out of the room after urging Rhett not to worry. Mrs. Bradley bustled in to ask if he needed anything. She left a bell for him to ring if he changed his mind. Mr. Bradley gave him an old set of crutches he’d found in the attic and directions to the water closet should a trip be necessary. Finally, everyone went to bed and he was left alone with his thoughts.
They should have centered on the fire, his living situation, replacing his belongings, figuring out his work predicament or any number of things. Instead, his mind was filled with thoughts of one person—Isabelle. He punched his pillow and shifted around in a vain attempt to get comfortable. Why did he always do this to himself? Why did he always get his hopes up when he knew it never worked out? He’d truly thought this time was different. Not solely because he wasn’t nervous around her, but because she was something special.
Why hadn’t he realized that before? Perhaps he hadn’t been looking. He’d focused his attention on her sister because it had been easier to engage her interest—at least from afar. Isabelle was more of a challenge to get to know simply because she wasn’t quite as bold around men as her sister had been.
However, his relationship with Quinn and Helen had allowed him to spend more time with Isabelle. He’d found himself enjoying that time more and more.
She was interesting and witty. She didn’t mind his teasing and could give back exactly as much as he gave out. Yet, she seemed to have a sensible head on her shoulders—sensible enough to want to avoid a relationship with him. That was what she was doing, wasn’t it?
He assumed so. Although, he technically hadn’t asked to court her. She also hadn’t actually refused him. She could have easily made it clear that she would never have any feelings for him beyond friendship despite the kiss they’d shared. Instead, she’d simply changed the subject to finding him a different sweetheart—while holding his hand.
The more he thought about their conversation, the less sense it made. The more he thought about her, the less he wanted to give up on the idea of seeing where a romance with her could lead. Of course, he would never ignore the fact that she hadn’t agreed to a courtship. However, courting wasn’t the only way to get to know someone. They were living in the same house now. Surely, that would give them a chance to get to know each other better. Perhaps, after a while, she might be more open to the possibility of a courtship with him.
It seemed unlikely at this point. However, he’d do all he could to make it as difficult as possible for her to try to hand him off to someone else—even if that meant only being her friend for a while. He could be content with that. He could only hope he was right about actually having a chance with Isabelle one day.
If not, he was setting himself up for disappointment like never before.
* * *
Rhett had been right. Isabelle had no idea how to help him overcome his fear of women. She’d never call his problem that to his face. Essentially, that was what it was, though. She wished she’d been able to think of something other than courtship lessons to distract him from his interest in her. Taking responsibility for the success or failure of someone else’s love life was a lot to handle when she’d never even had one of her own.
“Is something bothering you, sweetheart?” Concern and amusement filled the Virginia drawl her mother hadn’t been able to shake after twenty-five years of living in Texas. “You’re awfully quiet this morning. Besides, if you rub that dish any harder, you’ll make a hole right through it.”
“Oh.” She glanced down at the serving plate she was drying off, then poured the scrambled eggs onto it. “It will just be extra shiny this morning, I suppose.”
Her mother’s searching blue eyes met hers. “You can talk to me about anything. You know that, don’t you?”
She knew her parents wanted her to feel that she’d be able to talk to them about anything. However, she couldn’t help feeling as though confiding in them would be dangerous. For instance, did they really want to know that she’d kissed a man on a rooftop last night? The same man, by the way, who was now occupying her father’s study? Absolutely, they would want to know that. What would it get them once they knew? A bunch of worry and anger, that was all. Rhett would end up on the street. Isabelle would end up in Virginia.
“Isabelle?”
Her gaze refocused on Beatrice’s. Thankfully, her father provided a timely distraction by entering the kitchen without his spectacles and with his vest unbuttoned. “I was getting dressed when I thought I heard Violet crying in her room. I asked her what was wrong through the door. She said something about her hair looking horrid and her dress being dumb. All I know is she’s going to be late for her book-club party, and I’m going to be late for my meeting at the hotel if she doesn’t come out of her room soon.”
Isabelle frowned then glanced at her mother. “Ma, you know I’m no good with hair. Amy always did mine for special occasions. Violet’s been so excited about wearing it up for the first time. I’d hate to bungle it.”
“Oh, dear.” Beatrice wiped her hands on her apron then removed it entirely and placed it on the hook beside the door. “I’d better go see what I can do. Thomas, you need to finish getting dressed so you’ll be ready to go when she is. Isabelle...”
Isabelle followed her mother’s gaze toward the breakfast they’d prepared. “I can handle this.”
Her mother gave her a grateful smile on the way out the door. Already buttoning his vest, her father followed Beatrice out. Isabelle was left to pull in a deep breath and figure out what was left to be done to get breakfast on the buffet for the boarders who should be wandering downstairs within the next few minutes. She’d just placed the last biscuit in a serving bowl when a knock sounded on the kitchen door that led to the dining room. She turned in time to see two of the boarders enter. “What are y’all doing in here?”
Hank Abernathy, a clerk at the hotel, grinned unashamedly. “We saw Mrs. Bradley go into the family wing of the house and thought you might need help carrying food into the dining room.”
“I’m surprised at you boys.” She crossed her arms and lifted a brow. “Y’all know the rules. Absolutely no boarders allowed in my ma’s kitchen.”
Peter Engel, who worked in the telegraph office, blushed bright red. He lowered his gaze to the floor as though wishing it would swallow him whole. Unable to let him suffer for long, Isabelle allowed a smile to warm her voice. “Now, take this food and get out.”
Peter’s head shot up. Hank chuckled as he stepped forward to take the serving plate filled with eggs and bacon along with a bowl of fruit. She gave Peter the pancakes and biscuits before following behind the men with the steaming carafe of coffee. Wesley Brice entered the room from the hallway as they placed the food on the large oak sideboard buffet. “What’s all this?”
She gave him a cheery smile but the Texas and Pacific Railway worker was too busy frowning at the other boarders to notice. “It’s breakfast.”
“I meant the rule breaking.”
Hank
