A moment later Thomas stood and lifted the bucket, his bare feet padding down the stairs to the door that led outside.
She rolled onto her other side. If she lay here long enough, maybe her stomach would settle.
Thomas’s bare feet reappeared by her side far too quickly. “A bath, Jess, you still need a bath, and then a bed.”
She pressed her eyes shut again. “I don’t want a bath. I want my shop back.”
“I understand.” His words were soft against the stillness of the apartment, soft and sincere and entirely too compassionate coming from a man who’d once gambled away their savings and kept it secret from her.
“Don’t tell me you understand. You’re not the one who’s lost everything.” Her words came out on a sob, but she shoved the tears away. Crying wouldn’t do any good, especially not in front of Thomas.
She expected him to get mad and huff away. After all, that’s what she was trying to do, wasn’t it? If she was mean enough, he’d leave her alone.
But why did she want to send him away? He may have made a mistake with their money five years ago, but there’d been no question about his loyalty to her and the girls tonight. He’d saved them, plain and simple. And somehow, despite all the hurt and misdeeds that lay between them, she’d hadn’t once doubted Thomas would come to their rescue when the flames had been consuming her building.
Instead of stomping into the kitchen like he probably should, Thomas crouched beside her and ran a hand down her filthy hair. “No, Jess, I understand exactly how you feel. Because I lost the most important thing I’ve ever had, and I’m still trying to get her back.”
The breath whooshed from her lungs. He couldn’t be talking about her. He simply couldn’t. If he’d wanted to get her back, then why hadn’t he left Deadwood to find them sooner?
Because of Henry. My family ruined things, not his family or anything he did.Which was probably why she’d turned to him for help during the fire.
“Let’s start with first things first.” He picked her up in his arms, never mind that her filthy nightdress soiled his clean clothes or that the stench of smoke clinging to her smothered the fresh scent of soap on his neck. And just like when he’d saved her from tromping barefoot through the snow earlier that night, she couldn’t quite tell him to put her down. In fact, a part of her might not complain if he never set her down.
But he set her down anyway, beside a large wooden tub filled with water.
“Lindy lent you a nightgown and dress.” He nodded toward one of the chairs where he’d draped a white nightdress similar to her own before the fire. “You can put it on when you’re finished.”
His big hands dropped to the collar of her nightgown, and he fumbled with the dainty buttons.
She stilled, the air around her growing as heavy as the smoke during the fire. His thick fingers worked just beneath her chin, finally undoing the first button and then moving on to the second. How many did he plan to undo? Should she pull away, tell him she was perfectly capable of getting into the bath herself?
He unfastened the second button, then stepped back and set his hands on his hips, his eyes running quickly down her. “Do you need help with, ah… the rest?”
“I can manage.”
He opened his mouth as though about to say more, then shut it and gave a quick nod. “Right then. I’ll make that tea.”
“I told you I don’t want?—”
“Tea. I know. Or a bath. Or anything besides your building back.” He headed toward the stove and kettle, his gait calm and unassuming, even if the tone told her he was done with herexcuses. “But you still need tea and a bath, even if you don’t want them.”
She sighed. She was being petty. If the girls had fought her about taking a bath after the fire, she’d have told them they were being ridiculous and dumped them into the tub, fully clothed if need be.
She undid another button on her nightdress. “Are you going to… that is, can I have some… privacy?”
“You need tea, but I won’t turn around, if that’s what you’re asking.”
She stood there for another moment, staring at her husband’s broad, muscular back while he filled the kettle with water and set it to boil. Dare she get in the bath while he was in the room? What if he turned and looked? Unless he planned to stand there the entire time she was in the bath, he’d have to turn around when he left the kitchen.
And how ridiculous was she being? He’d made three children with her, had lived as her husband for five years before he’d headed west. He already knew every part of her.
But what if he turned and looked, and looking made him want…
More?
More than she wanted to give.
More than she had to give.
