the bench beside it, the staircase that climbed to the second floor. On either side were doorways and open arches, and Sarah yearned to explore the rooms beyond her vision.
“You have a housekeeper?” she asked, noting the clean floors, the gleaming wood of the banister and the lack of dust in the corners.
“Someone comes in once a week. Looks like she was here yesterday, doesn’t it?”
Sarah turned to face him. “Just how often do you come home?”
He fidgeted a bit, she thought, and then his smile appeared, curving one side of his mouth as if he were unused to such a display of good humor. “Couple of times a week, I suppose,” he answered. “There’s not much here to keep me comin’ back, Miss Murphy. It’s got furniture, but without folks living in it, a house feels pretty empty, don’t you think?”
She nodded toward the nearest archway. “May I explore?” she asked, unwilling to step beyond good manners, though her instincts were crying out to look into the room that beckoned her. Something about this house, this man, drew her. He’d offered a haven for Stephen and herself, and though she’d accepted tentatively, the first glimpse of his home had decided her.
I’ve come home. The thought was almost frightening, and she trembled as he nodded his permission. At her side, Stephen clung to her hand, and together they crossed the threshold into the parlor. It was well furnished, warm and welcoming, unlike many formal rooms. A fireplace stood against the outside wall, apparently unused for some time, its hearth swept clean of ashes. Light curtains allowed the sunlight to cascade across the carpet, where the colors glowed in a rich display.
“It’s lovely,” she whispered, turning in a slow circle, Stephen clutching her fingers and following her lead.
“Come see the library,” Brace said, issuing the invitation in a measured tone. Instinctively she recognized that the room he was about to show her was important to him, and she followed his lead across the foyer to a matching room on the opposite side of the house.
Two walls were lined with bookshelves, and the third boasted a bay window with a wide, cushioned seat that begged a reader to curl there with her favorite book. A desk stood against the fourth wall, and furnishings that promised comfort were grouped before a fireplace.
“What do you think?” he asked again, watching her closely, as if her opinion was of great importance to him.
“It’s wonderful,” she said. She lifted one hand to include the shelves of books. “Have you read all of them?”
She thought his eyes darkened as he shook his head abruptly. “No. I don’t seem to find the time,” he answered. Yet a look of intense longing made her wonder that he didn’t spend his evenings here, that he didn’t utilize this room that was of such obvious importance to him.
He led the way back to the hallway and then toward the kitchen. “The dining room is next,” he said, pointing at another wide archway, beyond which sat a gleaming table, surrounded by eight chairs. A glass-fronted buffet against the outside wall caught her eye, and she noted the gleam of china and silver behind the upper doors.
“Do you use it?” she asked, and was not surprised at his abrupt movement of denial.
“No. I don’t entertain.”
“What a waste,” she told him, unaware of the yearning quality that imbued her words. They walked on, and she could barely resist a final look at the gleaming perfection of the room. Then she found her pleasure in its beauty almost eclipsed by the warmth of the kitchen into which he led her.
Windows hung with checked curtains and possessing wide sills caught her eye, and she murmured beneath her breath at the sight of pots of flowers in dire need of watering. That’s a man for you, she thought. With a sigh she stepped before the sink and pumped water into a handy pitcher. From there she headed toward the abused plants, pouring refreshment into the dry dirt they inhabited.
“I’m not real good at that sort of thing,” he said, humor lacing the words. “I think sometimes I should just give up on having anything that needs care. The woman who lived here was real big on flowers and such things, and I promised her I’d take care of them.”
Sarah shot an amused look in his direction. “She’d have done better to take them with her.”
“Couldn’t,” Brace said bluntly. “She got on a train and headed east to be with her children. Wasn’t any way she could haul along half the garden with her.”
Sarah looked around the sunny room, finding small touches that appealed to her feminine side, such as it was. She’d long since given up the idea that she’d ever be the sort of woman to wear silk finery. But that didn’t stop her from admiring the suggestions of a woman’s hand in putting together this house.
“Can you cook?” Brace asked, and she laughed.
“I’ve been told I’m pretty good at it. I’d say I can find my way around a kitchen about as well as you’d expect.”
“To tell the truth, Miss Murphy, I have no idea what to expect from you. You haven’t come anywhere near my first impression, that’s for sure.”
She turned to him. “And what was that?”
He looked down at Stephen, and his smile was tender, she thought. “I didn’t take you for a woman who’d be so besotted by my house,” he said. “I had a notion you were trying not to be any more girlish than you could help.” He slid a hand into his pocket and leaned against the doorjamb. “In fact, I was pretty certain you were—” He grinned suddenly, halting as if he hesitated to speak his mind. “Well, now. Let’s just say I was wrong about a couple of things. And probably right about a couple of others.”
“Oh?” A glance down at Stephen, who was following the conversation with interest, silenced her then. He had enough upset in his young life. He didn’t need to hear a lawman dissecting her character this morning.
“To get back to the question, ma’am,” he said politely. “Can you cook? Or maybe I need to ask instead, are you willing to put together a meal?”
She looked around the room. “Out of what?”
“The pantry has a good assortment of food. Nothing fresh, but maybe you could turn out some jars or cans, enough for you and the boy to get along with for the rest of the day.”
“What about you?” she asked. “Or don’t you plan on staying long?”
“I’m going to leave for a while, but I’ll be back. I think some fresh milk and a loaf of bread might be a good idea. If I’d been thinking, I’d have stopped at the general store.”
“I think you were in a hurry,” she told him, recalling their rushed exit from the hotel, the buggy he’d hired at the livery stable and his casual yet thorough search of their surroundings as they’d made their way here to his home. His horse had been tied to the rear of the vehicle, and she hadn’t questioned his motives.
“I’d rather not have been followed,” he admitted. “You’re just half a mile from town here, but there’s a lot of trees and some pretty heavy brush along the road.”
“We’re not starving,” she said, recalling the food Stephen had put away in the hotel restaurant. “I think we
