His steps were hurried as he headed to the livery stable. He saw Veronica step out of the dress shop and promptly ignored her when she called his name. He grabbed Bran’s reins when he reached him and mounted without acknowledging Veronica as she hurried across the street. Clicking his tongue, he pulled the reins to get Bran to turn and sent him off in a run out of town, churning up dirty snow as he went.
The world was frozen around him, and as he headed home, alone, the bitter chill and his wounded heart left him numb, a feeling he wasn’t sure would ever go away. As long as Daisy was here and he was not, he knew it wouldn’t. He was leaving his heart in Silver Falls, and he didn’t know if he’d ever get it back.
She shouldn’t have watched him ride away. Should have gone back to the kitchen and had breakfast with her family, but her legs were barely holding her up. The stairs had seemed to grow when she climbed them, and the moment she was behind her closed bedroom door, she’d hurried to the window.
She’d seen Veronica run into the street and saw Clay ignore her when she did. That small act gave her some satisfaction, but watching him ride out of town did not. He was racing away as if the devil himself was chasing him, and she knew she was the reason. She’d rejected him, spurned his affection, and if he never forgave her, she wouldn’t blame him. She’d told him she loved him, then let him go as if it didn’t bother her for him to do so.
What sort of person did that? Who told a man who had loved her from the moment he saw her that she returned his feelings and then let him go so easily? Regret made her heart race. She should go after him—but then what? She still didn’t want to leave her family, and he didn’t want to live in a town where he had nothing.
She should be happy he’d finally have a purpose. That he’d found a friend in Liam. A man who was giving him everything he’d wanted, but her own selfishness made her want to drag him back. To hold him here when she knew he didn’t want to be.
She didn’t realize how hard she was crying until Violet and Rose both wrapped their arms around her. Her sisters hugged her to them and petted her hair. She felt rung out, her chest hollow where her heart should have been, and a black sort of despair took hold. The only man to ever look at her as if she were whole and perfect rode out of her life as fast as he’d come into it, and it was all her fault.
Chapter 16
One week turned to two, and by the end of the third, Daisy was so miserable she barely left her bed.
She’d lost count of the days she woke to the scent of burning bacon. Violet was a horrible cook. Always had been. She should have felt bad for neglecting the cooking, but she didn’t. She didn’t care about much of anything now that Clay was gone and not coming back. The joy she used to have in creating delicious meals and baking sweet, savory pies was nonexistent. The pleasure she felt when taking care of her family was no longer there, and she didn’t know if she would ever get it back.
It wasn’t only them. She neglected herself as well and couldn’t even remember the last time she’d properly bathed. Her ratty hair was so dirty and greasy, her scalp itched to the point she was almost convinced she’d caught lice. But it was hard to catch something when you never left the comfort of your own room. She didn’t even open her drapes most days, preferring the darkness. It matched her mood.
In short, she was miserable and didn’t know what to do about it.
Light flooded her room, and she turned her head to see Rose at the door. Her sister’s nose wrinkled as if she smelled something foul before she shook her head and crossed the room, throwing the curtains back before lifting the window. An icy blast of air swirled into the room, bringing falling snow in with it. “Rose!”
Her sister turned, the stern look on her face not seen since before she married Graham Hart. Narrowing her eyes, Rose said, “Get. Out. Of. That. Bed.”
Each word was spoken in what she assumed was a harsh, loud tone. Rose had always been the practical one. The mother she didn’t have after their own died, and her sister was taking charge like she used to.
Movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention, and she turned her head just as Graham walked in, followed by Josiah. They were carrying in the big bathtub. Violet filed in behind them, carrying two buckets of water, Gramps hot on her heels, his arms laden with drying cloths and soaps. The procession left, only to return a few moments later with more water.
When the tub was filled and the door shut behind everyone but Rose, her sister pointed to it. “Get in, or I will throw you in.”
The heartache and depression she’d been trying to overcome had left her numb to the world, and apparently, her family was over it. She wished she were. She’d ruined the most perfect thing she’d ever had and let the man she loved leave without saying a word.
Rose crossed her arms under her breast, one eyebrow raised, until Daisy threw the blankets back and stood. Her limbs ached as she did. She’d not been out of bed for more than to use the chamber pot in the corner for days or to sneak downstairs in the dead of night for something to eat when hunger drove her to it.
Rose never took her eyes off of her as she walked to the tub. Nor when she went to remove her nightdress. When she was submerged in the bath, the hot water loosening her limbs, Rose kneeled at the side of the tub and picked up a pitcher someone had brought up and filled it with water before wetting her hair.
Memories of Clay doing the same thing all those weeks ago brought fresh tears to her eyes, and before she could stop them, they were falling in earnest, great sobs shaking her entire body.
Rose let her cry, wetting and washing her hair twice before grabbing one of the washcloths and bathing her like she was five. When she’d cleaned everything she was willing to wash, she handed her the cloth to let her do the rest.
A clean dress and underthings were laid out across her hope chest when she stood from the bath. The cold air from the open window chilled her to the bone, so she snatched up one of the drying cloths.
Rose was stripping the bed, her sheets and blankets thrown to the floor, and when she gathered them up and started for the door, she turned and said, “Get dressed and come downstairs. Don’t make me come back up here.”
Apparently, she’d wallowed in her own grief long enough.
She closed the window, blocking the frigid air, and peered out at the town. Everyone was going about their day as if everything in the world was perfect. She glanced over at the dress shop. The building was two stories, with the top floor used as a residence. She didn’t know which window was Veronica’s room, but imagined the girl sitting on her bed, planning her wedding to Clay.
Although she dressed as she’d been told to do, she didn’t go downstairs right away. Her body still felt too numb. What little joy in life she used to have was gone now. It was in Butte, Montana, and she’d sent it there herself.
She dried her hair with the drying cloth, then brushed it out before pulling the still-damp strands into a bun at the back of her head. Knowing Rose would come back up and yank her out of the room by one ear made her stand and cross to the door, heading down the back stairs into the kitchen. Violet and Rose were the only ones she found there. A plate of food was on the table. Her sister pointed at it without a word. The message was simple. Eat, and don’t argue about it.
The food tasted like ash in her mouth. Most things did now, but she went through the motions. Biting. Chewing. Swallowing. She ate what she could and sat back when she was finished. Violet and Rose were both talking, their heads turned in such a way she couldn’t make out what they were saying, but she knew it was about her. By the time they looked at her, the dread she lived with most days had intensified.
“You can’t keep behaving like this, Daisy.”
