Chapter Twelve
SOPHIA WAS QUIET DURINGthe walk back to the boarding house. After filling up far too much of the conversation himself, Matthew finally asked if something was on her mind.
She worried her lip as he steered her across the road from the saloon. There were far too many men gathered out front at this hour, and the last thing he felt like doing was trying to escort a lady through that crowd.
“I fear I did something to upset your mother,” she finally said when they reached the sidewalk on the opposite side of the road. She stopped and glanced down at her shoes. Thankfully, the street was dry enough that not much had stuck to them.
Her actions gave Matthew time to think. She was right in noticing that something felt strained. And he knew exactly why. “You didn’t. It was . . .” He trailed off, trying to figure out the best way to relay his mother’s concerns. “She worried about the time we spent alone together.”
Sophia looked up from her shoes and blinked at him. The darkness hid any hint of red that might have come to her cheeks.
“I told her there was nothing to be concerned about. Our minds were entirely on water and getting to Pueblo.”
She nodded. “And my deception,” she added softly, and Matthew chuckled.
“Yes, that too.” He waited for her to take his arm before they continued. “I thought I’d alleviated her concerns, but perhaps she needs more time.”
“I did like them both very much,” Sophia said as she stepped around a stack of empty crates that had been left in front of a shop. “Your mother is very kind, and your father made me laugh.”
Matthew smiled. “His sense of humor is well known throughout town. Sometimes I think half the congregation comes for his jokes rather than his preaching—but don’t tell him that.”
“I promise to keep it to myself.” Sophia said, amusement in her voice as they crossed the less worn road—and the railroad tracks in the middle of it—at the end of town to reach the boarding house.
“Would you like me to show you around town tomorrow? Perhaps I can get a carriage and we can drive down to the creek and out into the valley.” He bit off the end of the words abruptly, realizing his offer sounded more like something one might do for a lady he wanted to court rather than . . . What would he call Sophia? A friend? That didn’t feel right, after all they’d survived. And yet the thought of anyone else coming to take her for a similar drive made his blood run hot.
“Only if you promise to bring plenty of water,” she said, the corner of her mouth curved up into a teasing grin.
Matthew laughed. “I promise.” He didn’t mention that he’d have to pay the livery for the horses he’d lost first. He ought to be concerned about losing the money he was so carefully saving to build on the land he’d purchased, but it was hard to worry about such things when Sophia looked at him with a joyful expectancy in her eyes.
“I’ll come after I finish at my office tomorrow,” he said.
She nodded as she pressed the door open. “Perhaps we’ll discover a place where I might ask for work.”
She didn’t seem too concerned about running low on the money she had. Matthew wasn’t certain how much there was, but if it was plentiful, he couldn’t help but admire her desire to spend as little of it as possible. “I can ask around, if you’d like.”
The smile she gave him then almost had him offering his own job to her. “That would be very kind. Thank you, Matthew.”
She disappeared inside, and he stood there a moment like a man lost, the sound of her voice around his name replaying in his head. He wondered if anyone had ever told her how melodic her voice was. He’d never heard his own name spoken with such care.
He stepped away from the boarding house and the absurdity of his own thoughts seemed to hit him in his face. He was supposed to be wary of her, this woman who’d pretended to be his fiancée.
And yet he wasn’t. She’d proven over and again that she was more than the deception . . . and perhaps it was time he accepted her for everything she’d shown him she was since then.
As soon as that thought crossed his mind, Matthew’s soul felt ten times lighter. Yes, he was still hurt that Miss Timperman hadn’t come, but even that seemed as if it might have been for the best now. The night around him felt less dark, and the shouts coming from the saloon sounded joyful rather than threatening.
The world itself felt so much more promising—until he stepped through the door of his parents’ home.
Both Mama and Father sat in the parlor, which wasn’t unusual for this hour. But it was the fact that Mama held neither sewing nor a book, and Father sat perfectly straight in his chair rather than in his normal relaxed posture, that indicated something was wrong.
Matthew paused just inside the door, not entirely certain he wanted to sit down amid the tension in the air. He mentally ran through anything that could have caused a disruption in his parents’ usual evening routine. Someone was sick—no, Father would be at their home, comforting them. Death—no, again, Father would be with the family and Mama would be cooking up a storm in the kitchen as if food somehow eased grief. Bad news from family back in Illinois—that was a possibility.
“Please sit, son,” Father said, and in that moment Matthew knew this was about him.
He perched on the edge of the settee across from them. How many times had guests sat here, enjoying Mama’s stories and Father’s jokes, or seeking counsel late into the night from Father. Now he was the one sitting here, and he was sure it wasn’t jokes or stories he’d be getting. “Is this about Miss Zane?” It was best to just get it out there rather than waiting for the inevitable.
