She turned in his arms. “You can’t promise that.”
Matthew thought for a moment. “No, I can’t. But I can promise you that it is very unlikely, and in the very unlikely chance it does happen, I’ll be here to keep you safe.”
The sweet smile she gave him was everything. It lit up his soul, and he thought he’d do and say anything to see it again and again.
“I believe you,” she said.
And this time he didn’t resist. He lifted his free hand and traced the line of her jaw with his thumb. She drew in a breath, and for a second, he thought she’d ask him to stop. But she didn’t. Instead, she leaned her head against his shoulder.
“Thank you for telling me,” he said, finally drawing his hand away.
“I’m glad I did. It’s nice to not have to keep that to myself any longer. Do you . . . Do you think I should put the rest of the money in the bank? Or should we use it to build the house?”
Matthew closed his eyes at the offer. It was so thoughtful—so unexpected—for her to offer that, especially considering the hastiness of their marriage. But it didn’t feel right for him to accept it.
“I think you should put it into the bank. Keep it safe in case it’s needed someday,” he said.
“All right. I left some of those investments—the ones I couldn’t sell quickly enough. If Mr. Durham hasn’t somehow convinced the companies that those belong to him, there will be more money to come as soon as I write and request the sale. But I’m not sure if that’s a wise decision.”
Matthew thought for a moment. It was a careful balance—if she left them for too long, this Durham had more time to weasel his way into the companies’ good graces. But if she had them sold and the proceeds sent here . . . What was keeping Durham from discovering their location?
“I’m not certain either,” he confessed. “Let’s think about it a little more. Maybe there’s another way.”
“Perhaps the banker, Mr. . . .”
“Gardiner,” he supplied.
“Yes, Mr. Gardiner. Perhaps he might have an idea.”
It was a good suggestion. “Let’s speak with him tomorrow.”
They whiled away the last of the afternoon by the creek. Sophia told him about her parents and home in Kansas City, and it was easy to draw parallels between their families. No wonder she seemed to fit in so perfectly with his own family.
The shadows had begun growing longer when they finally headed back up to the hotel for dinner. Sophia wondered aloud at the options that might be on the night’s menu, and Matthew laughed out loud as her suggestions grew wilder.
“Pickled eggs with chopped herring and lemon-marinated cheese,” she said as they strode down the long hallway that led from the hotel’s back door toward the lobby.
“If that actually appears on the menu, I fully expect you to order it.” He tried to keep a straight face.
She laid a hand over her heart. “I’d do no such—”
“Pardon me, sir.”
Matthew turned to see one of the desk clerks hurrying after him as they approached the door to the dining room.
“This came for you.” The man held out what Matthew recognized as a folded telegram message. “The boy tried to deliver it to your home but was informed you were staying here for the night.”
“Thank you.” Matthew took the telegram, his curiosity piqued. He didn’t often receive telegrams. In fact, he could count on one hand the number of times he’d had one delivered, and that was generally in the event of death or urgent land office matters.
“Who is it from?” Sophia asked as they stepped to the side of the doors to allow other diners to enter.
“I’m not certain.” He unfolded it, his eyes going immediately to the name at the bottom—and his heart dropped.
Miss D. Timperman.
