Wade was at a complete loss for words.
“I hope you don’t mind that I took this from your office. I thought I ought to havesomethingin the event that danger found its way inside.” She glanced at the old revolver as if she weren’t entirely certain what it was.
Wade stared at her incredulously. That antique pair of pistols he’d inherited from his father wasn’t good for much at all. They took too long to load and rarely shot straight. He stepped forward and held out a hand to take it.
Hazel moved softly down the stairs and pressed it into his hand with a sigh. “I take it all is well?”
He nodded as he examined the gun. “Only a bobcat.” Hazel’s sharp intake of breath indicated she didn’t feel the relief he did at the presence of a wild animal rather than a band of rustlers. Wade looked up from the pistol, puzzled. “This isn’t loaded.”
Hazel’s cheeks went pink. “I didn’t know. Honestly, I’ve never held one in my life. I was hoping the mere threat of it would be enough.”
Wade looked down at the old Army revolver and then back up at the woman before him. And then he laughed. The image of Hazel, her hair falling in wisps from its long braid, quilt wrapped over her nightgown-clad shoulders, barefoot, and with this gun pointed straight ahead—well, it would have been enough to deter him if he’d been an intruder. She watched him with an embarrassed smile.
“It was smart of you to grab this,” he said, laying it on a small end table near the bottom of the stairs. “But you ought to learn how to shoot.”
“All right,” she said uncertainly. “If you’ll show me.”
He nodded, a silent promise to do so.
Hazel sighed. “I don’t know about you, but I couldn’t possibly go back to sleep just yet. I thought I might make something warm to drink. Perhaps hot milk or tea. Would you care for some?”
Wade paused before nodding. If he attempted to lie in bed, he’d likely stare up at the ceiling for the next few hours. He replaced his father’s pistol in the office and busied himself with arranging some paperwork to take up time before joining her on the front porch, where she’d set two cups of hot tea, each with a generous splash of milk.
Hazel settled into one of the chairs, carefully tucking her quilt around herself. Wade didn’t know if it was because she was cold or because she was embarrassed for him to see her in her nightgown. Against his better judgment he hoped it was the latter.
He promptly picked up his cup of tea and took far too big a sip to banish that thought from his mind. Thankfully, the milk had cooled the tea somewhat, and he didn’t suffer a scalded tongue—although it would have served him right.
He knew better than to think too long on a life that couldn’t happen.
But as he snuck a glance at Hazel, who was looking contentedly out across the yard into the darkness, he grew incurably curious about what made her so cheerful and optimistic. And how someone with such a personality could find herself wanting to travel across the country on a promise of marriage.
“Why did you pay a visit to Mrs. Crenshaw?” he asked before he lost his nerve. He couldn’t imagine that contacting a matrimonial agency was particularly fashionable in Boston.
He’d startled her. Her cup shook just slightly in her hand as she turned toward him. She set it down, careful not to spill more, and wiped one hand across the other. “I was to be alone in the world after my sister married.” She furrowed her brow. “I believe I mentioned it in my letter?”
Wade’s face went warm and he looked away. Why hadn’t he paid more attention to that blasted letter?
He could feel her eyes on him, studying him. And just as he thought she might be reading his mind, she spoke. “Wade, you did read my letter, didn’t you?”
He closed his eyes. Was he that obvious? Well, it was no use pretending now. He turned and looked her in the eye. “I didn’t.”
She blinked at him. Was she angry? Sad? He couldn’t tell.
And then she laughed.
“I don’t understand,” Wade said as her shoulders shook and she covered her mouth. “Why are you laughing?”
She caught her breath and looked at him, shaking her head with a smile. “I should have known. You didn’twriteyour letters either, did you?”
It felt somewhat shameful to admit it, but it was the truth. “I didn’t,” he said again.
Hazel’s eyes traced his face. “It makes perfect sense now. You speak nothing like the author of those letters—when you speak at all—and your personality is hardly the same as the one I imagined it to be when I read them.”
Wade stiffened, his pride wounded despite his best efforts. “Have I disappointed you?”
She didn’t answer right away. But she didn’t have to. How could she not be disappointed? She came here looking for something he couldn’t give.
“I haven’t decided,” she finally said. “You ought to ask me next month.”
