Her gaze flickered to the attic entrance in the ceiling. A blanket would be cozier than the curtains. Were the rumors true? Were there things up there from Roan’s grandparents?
And more importantly, was there a blanket?
She reached for the ladder, which still leaned against the wall. She hadn’t put it back in the storage room, not wanting to walk over the sleeping men again.
It was eerie walking amongst the men she knew from their loudest, most vivacious moments, now lying on the floor in a space of stillness.
She leaned the ladder against the wall beneath the opening to the attic. Gathering her skirts in one hand so she wouldn’t trip on them, she began to climb up.
There would be no falling this time.
When she reached the top, she eased the panel up and over the lip and poked her head through the hole, glancing around.
The rumors had been correct. She grinned as she looked around—there was a spinning wheel in the far corner, and a few wooden crates were scattered around on the heavy beams that supported the ceiling.
What was in them, though?
Abigail climbed through the hole in the ceiling and stood halfway. It wasn’t tall enough for her to stand fully, but fortunately she could walk without being entirely bent over. She stepped carefully, making sure to stay on the beams so she didn’t fall through to the floor below.
No more falling.
“Now where did you go?” she heard Roan exclaiming from beneath her, and then the sound of him climbing the ladder. Beastie whined from the floor.
“What are you doing in the attic?” he asked. But this time, the words weren’t harsh.
“I’m hoping there will be an extra blanket, so I don’t have to try to force you to take yours back,” she said pointedly. His face colored lightly, which was interesting. She hadn’t thought that pointing out the way he had given her the blanket would embarrass him.
“I didn’t need it,” he said quickly.
“But I’m sure you wouldn’t complain if we were to find another one up here,” Abigail added with a teasing smile.
“I wouldn’t,” he admitted. “And I’m sorry.”
Abigail smiled at him, and the air around them felt warmer. This was a start. “I forgive you,” she said quietly.
“I’m still not paying you while the tavern’s not open, though.” There was a different tone to his words, and she decided to ignore it for now. She could try to parse it out later.
“I know,” Abigail said, smiling sweetly at him. “I’m helping anyway. We’re stuck here, so I might as well.”
She set her lantern down, but he picked it up and handed it back to her, taking over the task of lifting the lid off the crate.
“It’s clothing,” she said, frowning at the dress sitting on top. That was unexpected.
“These were my grandmother’s things,” he said. “When my grandmother passed away, my father didn’t want to get rid of them, and my mother didn’t want them, so he put them up here.”
“He decided to put them in an attic instead of sharing them with someone who might be able to use them?” Abigail asked. The more stories she heard about Roan’s father, the less inclined she was to think much of the man.
“When you put it that way,” Roan said, “it does sound rather odd.”
“Can’t imagine putting such things where they can’t serve any purpose,” Abigail said as she fingered the rich fabric of the dress lying on top. It was a beautiful pink, probably very expensive. “I would have died of happiness to have a dress like this when I was younger.”
“Well, you can have it now,” Roan said, glancing around the attic. “It’s not doing any good up here. Let’s bring it down.”
Abigail could hardly find words to speak. “You’re sure?” she asked.
“I’m sure,” he said, glancing up and down her frame critically. “You’ll have to take it in. My grandmother was a hardy woman.”
“As opposed to my frail frame?” Abigail teased. She was not a heavyset woman, though she was no waif. Not anymore, at least.
