“I was asking if you thought it could be repaired. Will I have to choose a different room to turn into a nursery?”
If he could keep her smiling, he’d erect an entirely new roof if necessary. “I’ll make it tight as a drum for your spud.”
Two days later, crawling along the apex of the roof, one rope around his waist and the other around a questionably stable chimney, Luke wondered if he wasn’t going to have to do exactly that. He’d lingered here for two weeks and his primary reason for remaining was nearly concluded. A rational man would be in a hurry to tie things up and make his departure and yet he had no desire whatsoever to do so.
Apparently, he couldn’t lay claim to rationality.
His nightmares had subsided, and yet a new disturbance disrupted his sleep.
The never-ending guilt over losing men under his watch was now compounded by guilt over lusting after his recently deceased friend’s wife. In his dreams, he’d done far more than lust after her. He’d given himself legitimate reasons for significant remorse.
Thinking to squash his inappropriate designs, he had since spent most of his time at Milton Cottage on the roof. It was easier when he didn’t run into her at every turn. Because when he worked in close proximity to her, he found himself leaning in to inhale her fragrance hoping some of her hair would brush his face, far too often. And when he wasn’t doing that, he was placing his hand on the small of her back or brushing his arm casually along hers. On one occasion, after explaining a particularly complicated fix to shore up her crumbling house, he’d nearly dropped his hands onto her shoulders to loosen the muscles that had visibly tightened before he’d caught himself.
Whenever she was seated, he caught himself watching carefully for when she wanted to rise and then he’d rush over and assist her.
But he’d kept himself more distant from her ever since the morning she’d fled from the nursery.
Even if she hadn’t been one of his oldest friend’s widow, he’d resist the attraction developing between them. A woman was expected to mourn her husband for at least a year. It wasn’t written rule, and it mattered even less in the country, but it was the decent thing to do.
Luke didn’t imagine the ideas he’d been getting were what Gil had had in mind when he’d extracted his promise to look after her.
He was safe from all of that on the roof. He was safe from her.
And she was safe from him.
Bam!
He pounded the hammer into the nail with one final blow. Instead of sinking deeper into the wood, however, the metal bent, ruining the third one in a row. Luke exhaled loudly and drew his arm across his brow to wipe away the sweat.
Settling back on his haunches, he patted the envelope he’d tucked into his pocket that morning. The letter that had arrived from the War Office wasn’t exactly good.
Gil, the blighter who’d cashed in his chips sooner than he should have, had failed to first turn in the paperwork informing the proper office that he’d married. Luke wanted to believe it had been an oversight, but Gil’s wages for September and October had, in fact, been collected. By Captain Arthur Gilbert himself.
Damnit, Gil!
He needed to speak with Naomi before returning to the inn tonight. He should have sought her out earlier, when he’d heard her chatting in the kitchen with Ester.
Balancing carefully, he lowered himself off the edge and climbed down the ladder. He’d worked on the house for nearly a fortnight now. Although his muscles had initially protested, the battles in his mind weren’t quite as obnoxious. This kind of labor didn’t cause his soul to decay the way deployments did.
Yet another conversation he would like to delay indefinitely if possible. That with his commanding officers, and then there would be the even less-anticipated one with his brother.
With his feet now on solid ground, he sighed and scrubbed a hand down his face.
“Did you find more trouble up there?”
Luke hadn’t realized Naomi had been standing in the shade of the eaves, leaning against the side of the house. Even wearing a floppy garden hat, her cheeks flushed and dirt on her hands, she affected him.
There was nothing he could do to cool the warmth that surged through him at the sight of her.
“Nothing new,” he reassured her.
She tilted her head. “I wondered if you would…” She winced. “Grant me a favor? In addition to everything else you have done.”
“All you need do is ask.” His voice emerged huskier than usual as he locked his eyes with hers. Her lips parted and her cheeks flushed. Was she thinking the same thing he was?
She dropped her gaze to her belly and raised a hand to circle it. When she lifted her chin again, she averted her gaze to the stable.
“I wondered if you’d be willing to drive me into Hull Crossings? I would drive myself, but I’m not very capable and Ester’s been called away. Her niece has injured her ankle and, what with seven children to care for, is going to require Ester’s help for a few days.”
