in. Living with her mother-in-law and a mansion full of bad memories had become too difficult to bear.
She lowered her fork and reached for her water glass. “I’m glad you like it.”
“I helped prepare the dessert, too,” Jane announced proudly.
He wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin. “Dessert?”
“Yes, sir.” Her eyes twinkled, and her fat curls danced along her wide dress collar as she bounced in her seat. “Pound cake with berry preserves. We would’ve made an apple pie but couldn’t find any cinnamon.”
“I hope you don’t mind we used your supplies. I will replace them.”
“That’s not necessary,” he said gruffly. “I should’ve stuck around this morning and showed you where I keep the foodstuffs.”
Grace thanked him for sending Simon out with lunch and lapsed into silence. Not one to sit still, Jane fidgeted and hummed as she ate. The behavior had irritated Ambrose’s mother, Helen. Many times after a tortuous family meal, Helen had taken Grace aside to admonish her for allowing it. No amount of scolding or instruction had been successful, however. From birth, Jane had been the more energetic of her girls.
Now she watched the sheriff from beneath lowered lids to gauge his reaction. He didn’t appear to notice or care. His eyes on his meal, he seemed preoccupied with whatever was going on inside his head. She glanced at the tintype resting on the mantel. Curiosity welled up inside her, taking her by surprise. What terrible experiences had he endured that had so altered him from that young man in the photo?
In Chicago’s elite circles, she’d been shielded from much of the war’s gruesome reality. It was only through her church’s charitable work that she’d gotten any significant information. The tales she’d heard had shocked her. Reports of inadequate supplies and disease. Debilitating injuries. Soldiers committing horrific acts against innocents. Noah had lived the war day in and day out.
“That carved plantation house on the mantel. Is that a replica of your childhood home?”
His brow knitted. Not looking at the object in question, he nodded but didn’t speak.
“Where is that exactly?”
His chest heaved with a sigh. “Virginia.”
“You were a Union soldier though, right? I saw your uniform in the photo. How—”
“I don’t like to discuss my family or the war.” His features were shuttered in warning.
More questions arose in Grace’s mind. Noah Burgess was a mystery, one that wouldn’t be easy to solve. Not that he was about to give her a chance.
“Well, it’s a beautiful piece. The craftsman is extremely talented.”
“Thank you.”
She stared at his bent head and then at his large, capable hands, unable to reconcile the intricacy and beauty of the house, the creativity and artistry required to produce it, with the tough, aloof man before her.
“You made it?”
His light blue eyes were guarded. “I like to create things in my free time. It’s a skill I learned as an adolescent.”
“I’d love to see your other pieces, if you have any.”
His shrug was noncommittal.
Stunned by how badly she wanted to learn more about her host, she dropped the subject. When they’d finished dessert and Grace told Jane to assist her in cleaning up, he held up a hand. “I’ll take care of it. But first, I’d like a word.”
His expression warned she wasn’t going to like what he had to say.
Leaving Jane to play with her miniature tea set and dolls, Grace accompanied him to the stream, where he showed her to a bench carved out of a massive tree trunk.
“Did you make this, too?”
He buried his hands in his pockets. “I come down here sometimes to read or think, and I needed a place to sit.”
It was a nice shady spot with a view of the green fields stretching to the distant horizon. “You like to read?”
“That surprises you.”
“Yes,” she admitted.
“Because I’m a soldier or because I’m a Southerner?”
Grace shrugged, ashamed she’d judged him again. “You simply didn’t strike me as the bookworm type.”
He scowled. “It’s a good thing we’re not getting hitched. We have a bad habit of judging each other as lacking in one way or another.”
Unable to sit still beneath his enigmatic gaze, Grace stood and crossed to his spot near the water’s edge. Her plan was on the verge of collapsing.
“That’s because this is an unusual situation. Given time, we’ll learn each other’s personalities.”
He grasped her hand and lifted it for his inspection. “You’re not wearing your rings.”
“Th-they would’ve gotten in the way.”
Noah examined her reddened palm, his hold surprisingly gentle. She was almost sorry when he released her.
“You shouldn’t have overexerted yourself. While I appreciate the meal and the effort you put into cleaning my cabin, it doesn’t change a thing. You’re not staying.”
Desperation shivered through her. “I thought you were an honorable man. Mr. Canfield clearly exaggerated your finer qualities.”
A tiny vein at his temple throbbed. “My honor isn’t in question here, Mrs. Miller. I never promised to marry you.”
His body shifted into a warrior’s stance and the anger practically spiraled off him. Okay, so questioning a former soldier’s honor was a dumb thing to do.
Skewering her with a look, he demanded with narrowed eyes, “Why are you so determined to stay where you’re not wanted?”
That hurt. More than it should. Grace didn’t know him, and yet, he was another in a long line that didn’t want her around.
Holding her deception close to her heart, she seized on the most obvious answer. “I came here in search of a better life for my girls.”
“Cowboy Creek is short on women and long on marriage-minded men. If you’re determined to stay, you’ll have your pick of candidates. It’s not personal. Before the war, I might’ve made a good husband and father, but I’ve changed.” He touched the raised pink flesh on his jaw. “This isn’t the worst of it. It’s what you can’t see that’s truly horrific.”
Grace thought he meant the physical scars beneath his shirt.
“I don’t care about your scars.” Normally, she wouldn’t reveal private details of her life, but despair trumped pride. “I
