Chapter Eight
NIGHT AFTER NIGHT,Jeremiah tortured himself with books and newspapers.
The tales he read used to be his favorite, a great way to relax at the end of a long day. Except now as he read, sitting stiffly in the dying lamplight every night as Deirdre slept in their small room, all he could think about was how he’d enjoyed sharing these stories with Deirdre. And how now, she laid there, night after night, in that frilly pink gown he never could have imagined her wearing.
He could tell when she finally slept. Her breathing drew even, and she lay still with her hair spread across the pillowcase. And every night, he found his attention wandering from the story he was reading to thoughts of running his hands through that hair and what she might do if he sank beside her and pressed his lips against the pale skin that curved gracefully from her cheek to her collarbone.
He’d been reading the same story for two weeks straight.
Most nights he fell asleep in the chair. Sometimes he stretched out on the floor. But he didn’t dare approach the bed. Occasionally he caught Deirdre looking at him longingly in the mornings, and he wondered if she wished he would take the other side of the bed. But he didn’t trust himself to do that. Being that close to her would be too much to bear—especially since their union would be coming to an end soon.
Liam hadn’t yet arrived back in town, but Jeremiah’s parents were due in that very day on the train from Cañon City. He planned to meet them at the depot, help them settle in at the Crest Stone Hotel, and then return to the hotel with Deirdre for dinner.
He’d even purchased a new suit for the occasion. When he’d questioned the expense, Deirdre had urged him to spend the money. “A businessman must look the part,” she’d said.
And now that he had it on, he thought she was right.
“Here, let me,” Deirdre said as he tried to do up the tie for the second time.
His nerves had gotten the better of him. Jeremiah turned and she stepped forward. Her fingers worked deftly at his neck, her knuckles brushing his skin now and then. An ache deeper than anything he’d ever felt rushed through him each time she made contact.
“Are you all right? Did I hurt you?” she asked when he sucked in a breath.
Her very presence in this room every night, so close and yet so far away, hurt him in a way he’d never known existed. But that wasn’t fair to her, and so he shook his head. “I’m fine,” he said, his voice only a little strangled.
She finished and smiled up at him as she brushed her hands along his jacket. “You look very handsome. You’ll make quite the impression.”
Her compliment sent his heart soaring, but he didn’t dare show it. Instead, he turned around and examined himself in the glass. Deirdre had knotted the tie with precision. “How did you learn to do that?”
Her reflection in the glass shrugged. “My mother taught me, and I practiced on my father and Liam. You ought to have seen some of the bedraggled looking ties my poor brother wound up wearing to church services.”
Jeremiah laughed, trying to picture Liam Hannan looking anything but utterly confident in perfectly tailored suits. “Well, thank you for your handiwork. I’d best be off.” He grabbed his hat and stepped toward the door, but Deirdre’s hand curled around his wrist.
“Wait,” she said.
He turned toward her to find her eyes searching his face. For half a moment, he thought she would rise up on her toes and plant a kiss on his cheek. His face went warm at the thought. But instead, she let go of his wrist and plucked something from his hair.
“There,” she said, casting away the offending piece of lint. “Now you’re ready.”
“Thank you,” he said again, not certain he deserved the careful ministrations she was giving him.
