THE BEST PART OF NATE’Sday came each evening, when he locked the door to the studio, ensured his equipment was safely stored for the night, and returned upstairs—to Ruthann.
Each evening, he paused outside the door at the top of the stairs, fighting the eager way he wished to open it and rush inside.
It isn’t right.
She deserves better.
Whatever you do, don’t promise too much.
The thoughts were logical and he ought to follow those directives. Heknewthat.
And yet, each evening, her sweet smile lit up when she saw him, and every part of the will he’d found outside the door slowly slid away.
Simply put, it was impossible to keep a hard heart when Ruthann was nearby. Particularly when she looked at him as if she held all the esteem in the world for him. It somehow made him believe he could be the man she thought he was.
Over a meal of chicken, potatoes, and greens, he told her of the sweet elderly couple and of the young mother with the newborn baby who had come for photographs that day. And she told him of her mishaps with a cake—which would most certainlynotbe on the table that evening.
After eating, they retired to the parlor where Nate struck up a low blaze, just warm enough to ward off the slight chill that came with nightfall. Ruthann settled in with sewing a set of curtains she hoped to hang over the window in the bedroom, and Nate turned the pages of a book without reading it. It was hard to concentrate with Ruthann sitting nearby. He found himself wanting to hear the sound of her voice instead. And so he thought he’d ask her about something that had been on his mind lately.
“Has Norah been to visit Jeremy?” The thought of his old friend wasting away in the prison just outside of town sat heavy with him. And Stuart hadn’t said much on the subject, changing it to a different topic entirely when Nate had brought it up. Something about it seemed to bother Stuart greatly, and so Nate had chosen not to press him.
“She hasn’t,” Ruthann said, setting her sewing on her lap. “But not by her own choice.”
“Her parents?”
Ruthann nodded. “I believe her when she says Jeremy wasn’t guilty. He’d made some poor decisions, but I never thought him the sort to . . . well.”
Murder. She needn’t say the word aloud for Nate to understand. “It came as a shock to me, to be honest. I take it Stuart hasn’t visited?”
Ruthann raised her eyebrows, as if she was surprised Nate was asking her instead of her brother. “He has not.” She sighed. “He hasn’t spoken of it, but I believe he and Jeremy had a falling out before everything happened. He didn’t much get along with Jeremy’s new friends.”
Nate pressed his lips together. It would make sense, given Stuart’s strong sense of right and wrong. If Jeremy had been treading on the wrong side of the law, Stuart would have considered their friendship over.
“Nate?” Ruthann asked quietly. “Are you wanting to pay a visit to him?”
Nate drew in a breath. Was he? “Yes. But not yet.” It seemed wise to gather more information about the situation before potentially involving himself. “I have enough happening here right now.” He smiled at Ruthann, knowing he’d see one in return.
She didn’t disappoint him, and the sweet grin she gave him warmed the room better than the fire before them ever could have. She was so incredibly beautiful, with glowing skin and that smile that could disarm any man who still had life within him.
As if it had a mind of its own, his hand reached out to take hers. Just like at church and by the river, she accepted the gesture of affection. What that meant, he almost didn’t dare contemplate. And how Stuart might feel about it . . . he certainly didn’t care to entertain that thought right now.
But now the other question that had been gnawing at the edges of his mind since he first found her helping Mr. McGregor get home resurfaced. Emboldened by the way she’d answered his queries about Jeremy and how she allowed him to take her hand, he decided to voice it aloud.
“How is it you never married? Before now, of course.”
She blushed at his question, and Nate tried not to think too much about how that seemed to make her even prettier.
“Well, I suppose there are a few answers to that question,” she said, her eyes on the fire.
“Surely you had suitors?” He couldn’t imagine hernothaving gentlemen interested.
“I did.” She looked at him now, those clear blue eyes full of curiosity.
He wondered at that a moment, until the reason for the way she looked at him walloped him upside the head.
This was the most personal question he’d ever asked her.
Well, perhaps not themostpersonal. He wanted to cringe at some of the things he’d likely said to her when they were younger. But now, as a grown man—and one who’d mostly kept his thoughts to himself since his return—this was certainly the most intrusive sort of question he’d asked.
