She’d been alone in this house for too long. Even before Major Cockfield’s arrival, she’d been missing having her husband in her bed. Ester swore up and down that a lady was most plagued with irregular urges while expecting. Wanting a man’s attention was natural.
Naomi had wondered what her mother would have to say about that.
Luke hopped out of the pit he’d created and strode along the dirt path to the drive. Without asking, he set himself to assisting the men unloading the long pieces of wood.
Naomi hated the voice in her head that reminded her how many times she’d begged Arthur to repair that floorboard.
“I’m going to fall through to the ground one day, Arthur Gilcrest. Then you’ll be sorry.” She’d joked with him.
“Just step around it.” He’d sent her a cocky grin, his cinnamon eyes shining with mischief and then chased after her, patting her on the bum. “I’ve never known a woman better at worrying than you are, Naomi. It’ll still be there tomorrow.”
And then he’d lifted her into his arms and carried her to their bed. How could she complain when his highest priority had been loving her?
He’d been rather good at that.
A shiver ran through her when she realized she was still holding the tray of sandwiches while staring at Major Cockfield again.
“You’ve more than earned a break, Major,” she hollered across to him as he piled the last board on top of a neat stack. Glancing over his shoulder, he met her gaze, and then… He winked. She could almost believe she’d imagined his audacity when he again exchanged a few words with the older of the two gentlemen and then shook each of their hands. As they drove off the property, he turned to jog back across to the house.
“Might as well eat in the kitchen. Go around back and I’ll meet you there.” Naomi didn’t expect him to climb through the nonexistent floor to enter the parlor.
It was darker in the kitchen, and she might be a little less distracted there. She also had chores she could tend to. And Ester would be underfoot. Naomi could hardly sit and take lemonade with him alone.
She was a married woman.
And then she felt like something struck her.
Because she wasn’t.
She was a widow.
She lowered the tray onto the table and herself onto a chair because she felt like her knees were going to give out on her.
She’d just barely begun to think of herself as a wife. She and Arthur had joked with one another, calling each other ‘husband’ and ‘wife.’
All too soon, she was Mrs. Gilcrest but without a mister.
“Mrs. Gilcrest?” The words spoken aloud echoed the name in her mind. She shook her head.
Major Cockfield stood just inside the door, sun streaming in behind him.
This man had returned so very alive. It wasn’t fair.
“Come in,” she managed. “Sit down.”
Inside now, she noticed droplets of water on his face and in his hair. He must have stopped at the well to clean up before joining her.
Without asking permission, he poured lemonade into one of the glasses and lifted one of the sandwiches to his mouth but then stopped. “Aren’t you eating?”
Had she eaten? For the life of her, she couldn’t remember. If she wasn’t careful, she was going to fall apart completely. But she deserved to fall about, didn’t she? When her husband had gotten himself killed?
But there was not only herself to consider. She couldn’t afford to fall apart.
“You need to eat.” He narrowed his eyes.
Ester chose that moment to step out of the pantry and set a plate in front of her. “I’ve been telling the missus that for two days now.”
Naomi hadn’t really eaten anything since she’d taken breakfast with the major yesterday morning. Had that been yesterday? Time was losing all meaning.
