Roen had overheard the nurses giggling and whispering behind his bed screen. They seemed to be disappointed that his injury didn’t arise from artistic temperament. Even in this, he was the black sheep.
Sometime during his musings, Fedora Chen had reappeared with his beer. He’d hardly noticed. Hitch was gone now but the couple had been joined by their daughter and her fiancé. They were talking excitedly about the upcomingwedding, Roen supposed. He picked up his beer and took a long pull. At the back of his mind, a thought niggled. He tried to hold on to it but it proved elusive. He finished his beer and ordered another. Alcohol had a way of loosening provocative thoughts, especially ones that weren’t his own. It was someone else’s idea first; he was sure of it. Ben’s? Clay’s? Something Mrs. Springer had said?
Fedora brought his second beer. He drank slowly, trying to remember where he’d been when he heard the idea. The hotel? The drugstore? The sheriff’s office?
He set his mug down with a satisfying thump. It was the sheriff’s office, and it was the sheriff’s wife who had definite ideas of her own. “Lily’s company is a safeguard, isn’t it?” she had said. “You chose her quite deliberately because you learned very quickly that she’s a widow with four children who has even less interest in romantic entanglements than you. I don’t think it matters to you how Lily’s companionship is perceived by others as long as it keeps the keenly interested at bay and allows you to go about your work.”
Victorine Headley certainly qualified as the keenly interested. And she would never allow him to go about his work.
Roen pushed back his chair, stood, and said good day to Mrs. Springer when he passed her in the foyer on his way out. He considered telling her where he was going and why just to see the shock on her face, but he kept his destination and his purpose a secret.
That was only fair to Lily Salt. In spite of what Ridley Madison thought, it did matter to him how her companionship was perceived by others. It mattered a great deal.
Chapter Twelve
Lily was comfortably ensconced in her rocker when someone knocked at the front door. There was a pile of mending on one side and fabric for a new gown on the other. The navy blue skirt in her lap required hemming, but she hadn’t begun so she set it aside, intending to go to the door herself. Clay was already on his feet and hurrying to the door when she was only halfway out of the rocker. Shaking her head, she resumed her position.
“Is he expecting Frankie Fuller?” she asked Hannah.
Hannah was curled on the sofa and didn’t look up from the book she was reading. “Don’t know, Ma.”
“The way he raced to the door, I thought...” She shrugged, bent her head to the task of searching for the right color thread for the hem, and didn’t look up as she calmly admonished Ham to stop teasing Lizzie.
“But you didn’t even see me,” he protested.
“I don’t need to see you. You’re making your sister squeal and that’s enough for me. And, Lizzie, don’t you stick your tongue out at him.” She smiled to herself as her youngest children fell silent. Her pleasure did not last long. The quiet allowed her to hear Clay and their visitor at the door.
“It’s Mr. Shepard,” said Hannah, closing her book around her finger as she looked toward the doorway.
“Yes. I’m aware now.” Lily threaded a needle and then called to her son. “Let him in, Clay. It’s too cold out to keep someone standing on the doorstep.” When there was no movement at the door, she looked to Hannah, who was craning her neck for a better view.
“Clay slipped outside. I don’t think he heard you.”
Lily sighed. “They are both going to get frostbite.” By Lily’s count, it was a full minute before the door opened again. She heard more than one pair of boots stomping at the threshold to shake off clumps of snow. Clay had his arms folded across his chest and his hands under his armpits for warmth when he came to the parlor entrance. A shiver rippled through him followed by chattering teeth. “Don’t just stand there, Clay. Go to the stove and warm yourself.”
“It’s Mr. Shepard,” he said. The announcement was unnecessary as it happened because Roen was already behind him.
“You, too, Mr. Shepard,” said Lily, nodding toward the stove. “Hannah will take your outerwear as soon as you’re warm.”
Roen removed his gloves and unwound his gray woolen scarf and gave them to Hannah as he passed her on the way to the stove. He opened his coat to let the warmth seep in and then extended his arms so that his hands hovered inches above the top of the stove. In a few minutes he was sufficiently warm to shrug out of his coat and remove his hat. He passed both to Hannah.
“May I?” he asked, pointing to the overstuffed armchair.
“Of course.” Lily glanced at Clay, who was still at the stove and did not appear to have any intention of moving without direction to do so. “Clay, go to the kitchen and put on the kettle. Make a pot of tea, please, and bring the service in here. Take Ham with you. You can play a game of cards with him while you’re waiting for the water to boil.”
Lily thought Clay might protest, but he surprised her by taking Ham by the hand and leading him off. Hannah reentered the parlor just then, having dealt with Mr. Shepard’s garments. Lily directed her to take her book, her sister, and her sister’s doll upstairs. Hannah did as she was told but in a dramatic fashion, dragging her feet and sighing with much feeling.
Lily watched them go, her amusement in check, and then set her blue-green gaze on Roen Shepard. Her raised eyebrows served as a question. She waited for an explanation.
“Am I so obvious, then?” Roen asked.
“If you only wanted to speak to Clay, you’d have alreadydone it and you would be on your way. Instead, you’re still here, and I take that to mean you want to speak to me. Alone is better, I think. A precaution, really. I can’t predict what you’re going to say.”
“Then Iamobvious.”
“But not predictable.”
“A fine distinction, but I appreciate it.”
