He broke the kiss to look at her and grinned before saying, “Good morning.”
She whispered a breathless “Good morning” back.
He pushed her hair away from her face, his fingers threading through the long strands before falling to encircle her waist. “How do you feel?”
Like she’s been walking on a cloud all morning. “Good.”
“Just good?”
His grin had her ducking her head. She knew what he was referring to. He was asking about last night. What they’d done. What he’d done to her. A shiver ran up her spine just thinking about it, and she wondered how she could ask him to do it again.
Lifting her head, she noticed he was still shirtless. His chest showed proof he worked hard, the muscles there firm. She laid her palms flat against his skin before looking up at him. “I’m not sure there’s a word for how I feel this morning. Last night was—” The embarrassment she should have felt the night before finally appeared. Instead of answering, she lay her cheek against his chest, and his arms tightened around her as he kissed the top of her head.
She could have stayed like that all day had she not smelled her biscuits burning. Her eyes widened, and she jerked away, pushing him back so she could get off the table. Where was the cloth she used to handle the hot pans?Finally seeing it, she hurried and removed the biscuits from the oven. They were darker than she liked, but they weren’t a total loss. She set them on the counter before reaching for plates.
Clay was putting on a shirt when she turned around. Breakfast was ordinary as usual. She fixed Liam a plate and filled two more when Clay took it in to him. They ate, but said little. Too much seemed to linger in the air still for anything more serious than idle chitchat, but he told her the work he’d done for the stagecoach station owner didn’t take as long as they thought it would, which was why he’d come home earlier than she’d expected him to the night before. Not that she was sorry he had. It had been a perfect evening.
He finished eating first and stood to retrieve the book she’d seen him with the night before. It was big and thick with what looked like hundreds of pages. When he presented it to her, and she saw the cover, her heart clenched. “Where did you find this?” she asked, looking up at him.
“The mercantile.”
She flipped through the pages, taking in the illustrations of hands and the symbols they were making with their fingers. It was a language, the one she’d been going to Boston to learn. Sign language is what Violet had told her it was. They were all willing to learn it. Violet said that just because she couldn’t hear didn’t mean she couldn’t communicate with someone from across the room.
The entire alphabet was shown, as well as individual words that, when made together, formed complete sentences. She looked up at Clay and blinked back the wetness in her eyes. Did he know how much this meant to her? That he’d get her something so—personal.
“It’ll take me forever to learn these.”
“No, it won’t,” he said. “I picked up quite a few yesterday when I thumbed through it.” He held up a hand, his middle two fingers turned into his palm, the other three up.
“What does—” Her question was cut off when he turned his head to the door.
“Someone is knocking,” he told her as he stood.
She realized when he went to the door that she wasn’t dressed for company. She was in nothing but Liam’s too-big shirt and socks, her hair still down.
The sheriff walking into the house made all her worries about clothing disappear. Why was he here?
He and Clay spoke, but she could only make out a few words the way they were turned. She couldn’t see either of their faces well, but when the sheriff handed a piece of paper to Clay, he looked at it for a long moment before turning to look at her.
“It’s a telegram,” he said. “From home.”
Clay read the telegram twice. It was short and to the point. Seeing Marshall Lincoln's name on it, asking about him, made something in his chest go tight. Clay had never come home after seeing Daisy to the train, and Josiah was inquiring to see if anyone knew his whereabouts. Were they worried about him? Daisy stood from her chair, the legs sliding across the floor as she did.
The sheriff nodded his head at her before turning his attention back to him. “You might want to send one home and let them know you’re both all right.”
“That was the plan. I just haven’t had the money to do it yet.” He glanced up at the man. “It’s taken everything I’ve earned just to feed us. Living here at Liam’s has made it easier, but I still don’t have enough yet.”
The Marshall glanced toward Liam’s bedroom door. “I heard Liam had broken his leg. Is he doing okay?”
“Yes, he’s healing, but he’ll be down for a few more weeks.”
“Well, I’ll send a message back to Marshal Lincoln for you if you’d like, and let him know you both are fine. Anything in particular I should tell him?”
“Yes, tell him bandits attacked the stagecoach. Daisy was unhurt, but she missed the train.”
“Will do.”
The sheriff tipped his hat to Daisy before leaving. Clay looked at the telegram again before carrying it to the table. Daisy read it twice before sitting down. He was still trying to process the fact they were looking for him and had sounded worried he’d never come back to Silver Falls. And they didn't know Daisy wasn’t in Boston. They hadn’t mentioned her in the telegram, so they probably assumed she was already there.
