Wade placed his hands on his hips to keep from acting involuntarily on his earlier thought about reaching out for her. “What am I supposed to call you, then? Mrs. Pierce?”
Hazel pressed her lips together as if she realized how ludicrous it would be for them to be following such formality.
“You may call me Wade.” He wanted to give her a smile, but he forced his mouth into a line. It was best not to give too much, or else she’d begin expecting something more.
“Wade,” she repeated, and he thought he’d never heard his name spoken with such ice dripping from it. Yet somehow, he wanted to hear her say it again. “If you can spare a moment from your busy days to show me how to milk a cow, feed chickens, and tend the garden, I’d be more than happy to take care of those chores. But only if you remember I’m your wife, not your servant.”
And with that, she turned and disappeared out the door.
Suddenly tired to his bones, he wanted to sit. To parse out the strange feelings that crested and rolled inside, to talk some sense back into himself. But he didn’t dare. Instead he leaned his hands against the desktop again. He’d take a minute to compose himself and then go to ring the dinner bell.
He hadn’t expected her to be so . . . spirited. Of course, he couldn’t have expected much of anything at all considering he’d barely skimmed her letter. He knew she was from the city, yet somehow it hadn’t occurred to him that she wouldn’t know everything he wanted her to know. It seemed foolish now, to have expected such a thing.
He’d teach her how to milk the cows and everything else, he supposed. But the thought of being side by side with her, helping her, that hair that looked like silk catching the light, taking her hand to show her the correct way to hold the garden hoe— Wade let out a nervous breath. It was too much, all of it.
If he took her hand, could he let it go?
He yanked open the drawer and pulled out the photograph of his family again. Pa. Mama. Cole. He ignored the image of his wayward brother and instead rested his eyes on his mother’s face. This life was too much for someone as sweet and generous as she had been. If that fever hadn’t taken her, something else would have.
And it would have left his father just as broken and empty.
Love had brought Wade’s pa nothing but heartache and ruin. Losing Mama had left him a shell of himself. When he died, Wade felt more relief than sadness. At last the man could be in peace.
He turned the image over and placed it back in the drawer. And he repeated the same promise he’d made to himself upon Pa’s death.
He’dneverhollow himself out for love.
Chapter Six
The men filed intothe kitchen respectfully, one after the other after the other. Hazel’s smile tightened as they kept coming. Wade hadn’t told her how many there were, and so she’d simply guessed at how much food was needed. And now she feared she hadn’t made enough.
The men were polite, each murmuring a “How do you do” or “Good evening” to Hazel when Wade introduced her.
They all looked at her expectantly.
Hazel swallowed. It was disconcerting, having all those eyes on her. She tried to imagine that she was speaking only to her family. “I’ve made bean soup. I apologize that there wasn’t enough time for bread, but I hope something sweet will make up for that.” She gestured at the sugared berries, which sat in a nearby bowl.
