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 was married to a handsome man whose inner character rendered him ugly. I care about integrity. Loyalty. A good work ethic. Mr. Canfield wrote a glowing report of your character, Mr. Burgess. I desire that for my daughters.”
“You misunderstand. I didn’t mean what’s under here, although my physical deformity would be difficult for any woman to accept.” He rubbed his flattened palm over his shirt. “I meant what’s in here.” He tapped his heart first, then his temple. “The war changed me in ways I can’t begin to describe. I don’t trust like I used to. I don’t hope. Don’t believe in the basic goodness of human beings. I don’t have the ability to make anyone happy.”
The bleakness in his features robbed her of speech.
“Since your daughter is on the mend, I’ll make the necessary arrangements for you to remove to the hotel tomorrow afternoon.”
He walked away from her again, something he was rather good at.
* * *
For the second day in a row, Noah ate his breakfast at the jail. He wasn’t happy about it, either. The early-dawn ride into town had passed in a blur. One of the Murdoch brothers could’ve swooped in and he wouldn’t have known it until the last second. He’d lost his concentration and focus because of the comely young widow.
Constance Miller. Funny, the name Constance didn’t really suit her.
Adjusting his gun belt, he smashed his Stetson on his head, ordered Wolf to stay put and left the jail.
Sticking around this morning would’ve been the polite thing to do. Constance and her daughters were his guests, unwelcome though they may be, and his ma had instilled good manners in him and his sisters. But he’d found himself growing captivated in the brief moments he’d spent with her. She was a woman of contrasts. Beneath that feminine, fragile exterior lay fire-purified strength and the determination of an approaching storm. What she’d managed to accomplish in one day both stunned and impressed him. Noah would never admit it, but hers was the best fried chicken he’d ever tasted, even better than his ma’s. And that moist, dense cake bursting with flavor... His mouth watered thinking about it. He could get used to coming home to fine meals like that.
But would she ever get used to welcoming a man such as him?
Constance