Sarah My Beloved (Little Hickman Creek Series #2) (26 page)

"Sarah?" he whispered into the closed door after giving it
a light knock. When she didn't answer, he turned the knob and
pushed open the door. "You all right in here?"

Still nothing. At first, he decided his imagination had
played a trick on him, for she lay still under a mound of blankets, the moon's silvery glow reflecting off her thick mass of
hair lying loose across her pillow. One bare, slender leg had
found its way outside of the blanket, and for a moment he just
stood there in the open doorway, frozen, feeling like a kid
who'd caught a glimpse of something quite forbidden.

And still she didn't move.

Then it came again-that tiny mewling sound. It became
clear to Rocky that she was dreaming. Perchance he even played some part in it, he mused-the ogre, no doubt. Frowning, he
determined to let her work through the dream on her own, so
he prepared to turn and leave, but then her cries increased to
the point of quiet sobs.

In two oversized steps, he was crouching at her bedside.
"Sarah," he whispered. "Wake up." Gently, he jostled her
shoulder. It was then he glimpsed the tears, gleaming like diamonds on her alabaster cheeks. Without forethought, he wiped
them with the underside of his thumb, reveling in the feel of
her cheek, so soft against his callous-ridden hand.

Her head shifted on the pillow, and one moist eyelid lifted
slowly, followed by the other. Registering her gaze, it took but
scant seconds for her to sit bolt upright, tugging her blankets
with her. "What-?" Eyeballs popping, she clutched the comforter tight to her chin and jerked her smooth, bare leg back
where it belonged.

"Relax."

"What are you doing?" she shrieked.

"You were dreaming." He swiped at another loose tear.
"Must have been a bad one."

Her mouth dropped, and eyes once filled with alarm now
cast him a faraway look. "Yes, I-my mother and I were talking and walking-down at the harbor. We used to stroll past
the docks and watch the ships come and go. She was telling me
she had to go away and I was-begging her to stay." She drew
up her knees and hugged them to her chest, pointing her head
downward as if embarrassed. "It was silly." Misty eyes sought
his. "I'm sorry I woke you."

"Never mind that," he ordered, flicking his wrist, furious with himself for never having inquired until now as to her personal loss. Selfish clod that he was, he'd forgotten about
his own wife's burden of grief. What kind of monster was he?
In one fluid motion, he rose from his haunches, grabbed a
straight-back chair from a dark corner of the room and, placing it next to her, plunked his body into it. She watched him
with something like fascination.

"You miss her?" he asked.

"What? Yes, of course. But, well, as you know, life goes on."

"I don't go on with life as well as you do," he confessed.

That little tidbit produced a smile on her part, but she
didn't respond.

"Did she suffer long-your mother?"

Her ginger curls glistened where they fell, and he wanted
nothing more than to clutch a mass of them in his fist and test
their softness.

Again, she nodded. "Yes, but her suffering drew her to
the heavenly Father. God's timing was perfect for everyone
concerned."

Another time he would have shunned this sort of discussion, but not tonight. "How do you mean?"

Using her drawn knees as a place to rest her chin, she
thought about her answer. "Her suffering gave her time
to reflect upon her life, find her way back to God." She
breathed a deep sigh before continuing. "My mother and I
didn't always have the perfect relationship. Because she was
so involved with her charity groups, garden lunches, library
club, and museum projects, the housekeeper saw more of
me than my own mother did. In a sense she raised me." She
gave a lighthearted chuckle. "But that was okay. I loved Mrs.
Winters, and she was really the one who told me about Jesus. My parents attended church, but more from a sense of duty,
I think, than from devotion."

The round neckline of her cotton sleeping gown fell off a
creamy white shoulder, making his fingers itch to put it in its
proper place.

"In the latter years, Mother and I established a closer
friendship." At that, a certain brightness came into her moist
eyes. "She was a very generous person, my mother, always lavishing gifts of money and goodwill on one worthy cause or
another. The problem was she often neglected the people closest to her. I used to resent her for that, but as I grew older, I
realized a bitter heart gained me little peace."

Rocky absorbed her words. She was right about the bitter
heart. He hadn't truly known peace since before Hester's passing, and he supposed his cold heart was mostly responsible.

A bright winter moon cast its glow across the bedcovers,
and Rocky watched the shadows dance about on the colorful
print quilt as Sarah dropped her knees, flipped onto her side,
and rested her head on her propped elbow to gaze up at him.
Entranced, he sat forward, clasped his hands, and dangled
them loosely between his spread knees. Mere inches made up
the gap between their faces, and the notion that it wouldn't take
much to lean down and plant a kiss on her full lips intrigued
him plenty.

He gave himself a mental tongue-lashing. 7 'his is a marriage in name only.

"It must have been hard for you, Sarah, moving away from
everything familiar." It seemed important to keep her talking,
for the more she talked the longer he could stay and feast his
eyes on her.

A tight little frown found its way to her face. "It was, but
I have no regrets about coming here, if that's what you're getting at. I've told you before, Rocky, I enjoy living here. Little
Hickman is a quaint place, and I'm getting used to the people
and their way of life. Yes, it's far different from my life in Winchester, but I'm finding it quite rewarding." She scrunched up
her nose at him, and he had the strongest urge to kiss its tip.
"I don't even mind all the housework."

"The real work starts when planting season comes around."
7 'hat's when you'll be heading back East, Sarah Woodward Callahan.

"Why do I get the distinct feeling you think I can't handle
it?

Now it was his turn to grimace. "Because farming is not
for everyone, Sarah. It's downright hard work from morning
till night. Womenfolk especially find it grueling unless-well,
they're made of tough stuff."

"Like your Hester, you mean," Sarah said, turning down
her lip.

He hadn't expected her to bring up his former wife, but
since she had, he said, "She was born and raised on the farm,
and yes, she was pretty tough. She also knew exactly what to
expect from every passing season."

"Unlike me." Sarah flopped on her back. Yanking the
quilt up under her chin, she stared with narrowed eyes at the
ceiling, avoiding his gaze. "You don't think I can do it because
I'm rich and spoiled."

He couldn't help his sudden peal of laughter. When she
didn't join in, only angled her face at him and deepened her
frown, he laughed the more. "Okay, I'll admit that's part of
. 11
it.

"Well, you best give me a chance, Mr. Callahan. I may not
be your Hester, but neither am I a weakling." This she said
while drawing her arms out from under the covers and folding
them across her chest, as if to emphasize her stubbornness.

His laughter dwindled to a chuckle, then petered out completely. "I wouldn't expect you to be like Hester, Sarah," he
said, wanting to make that clear.

"Well, that's comforting to know, because, you see, after
all the glowing things I've heard about her, I've already determined I could never measure up."

That did it. Without forethought, he cupped her chin in
his hand and moved closer to study her face. So delicately
carved, he thought sculpted cheeks of dusty rose, exotic eyes,
exquisite little nose, and that plump, tempting mouth. It was
enough to drive a man crazy.

No, she was nothing like Hester. And, wonder of wonders,
he liked her that way.

She lay there motionless under his perusal, her expression
denoting some indecipherable emotion.

Shifting on the chair, he positioned himself so that he
could angle his head in her direction and was relieved when
she didn't resist. If anything, she seemed cemented in place,
perhaps too shocked to budge.

He kissed her slowly at first, experimentally, needing time
to explore, to test her willingness. He moved his mouth over
hers, waiting for her retreat. When it didn't come, he continued
the journey, cupping her slender shoulders with both hands
and lifting her closer. To his amazement, she responded, her
own lips moving with his, her arms coming up to encircle his
back.

For the life of him, he couldn't comprehend the feelings
churning up inside him. He certainly hadn't planned to kiss
his wife, hadn't expected this gush of emotion, this swirling,
burning aftermath of passion. It was just a kiss, he told himself. Nothing more. But even as he talked himself into believing the lie, the passion multiplied tenfold.

Lord, help me...

As if waking from a dizzy spell, he quickly drew away, setting himself straight in his chair again. This was supposed
to be a marriage in name only, he chided-no touching, no
emotional ties, certainly no kissing. And now he'd blown their
perfect little plan right out of the water.

What must she think?

Feeling the fool, he managed to mutter, "Sorry about that.
I didn't intend for that to happen. It's just that, well, you looked
so...

Wide-eyed and silent as a church mouse, Sarah seemed
pinned to the mattress, her mouth still red from the force of
his kiss, her arms now resting limply on either side of her. Had
he shocked her with his forwardness?

Grappling for the right words, he said, "What I mean to say
is-I won't let it happen again. It was wrong of-me-to..."

Still no response, just chilly, dead air. She hated him for
breaking their marriage bargain. That had to be it. Why else
would she be giving him that stunned expression?

He dropped his shoulders in defeat. "All right, I'll admit
it; I messed up. That's the plain truth of the matter. You and I
struck a marriage bargain. We agreed there'd be no physical
contact, and I overstepped my bounds. So-I hope you'llaccept my apology."

She dropped her gaze and appeared to be studying her
toes. "No need to apologize," she replied just as simple as you
please. He stared at her. "It was no one's fault."

"No, I take full responsibility," he argued.

"Fine," she replied, setting her jaw in a firm line.

"Fine." ,Just like that, he stood to his feet and started
retreating toward the door. "Fine," he repeated, walking backward, eyes centered on her. Best to leave while he still had his
wits about him, he ruled, especially since the sight of her made
his heart turn over.

She'd be gone come spring anyway. Blast! He'd make it
easy for her and help her pack.

At the door, he paused and asked, "Will you be all right
now?"

"Of course." Her clipped answer made his nerves clatter.

And when she put her face to the wall, he made his exit.

n the day of the hoedown, Sarah rose just before dawn.
Several women planned to arrive by mid-morning to
begin preparations for the event, and Sarah wanted to have
the house ready for her guests.

Benjamin Broughton and several others had posted signs,
and rumor had it that nearly the whole town planned to attend.
Butterflies whirled in Sarah's stomach as she flitted through
the house, mopping floors, scrubbing countertops, and wiping
out the oven, where the smell of freshly baked bread still lingered. She'd been baking for days now, and the pantry shelves
lined with pies, platters of cookies, and various other baked
goods were clear evidence of the fact.

"You're up early." Rocky stood at the closed front door, his
hand still on the knob.

Sarah jolted. "I didn't hear you come in," she said, doing
her best to cover her flustered reaction.