“Oh, of course not.” Deirdre waved a hand. “That poor baby would freeze to death if he—or she!—had to wear anything I created. But I can help you choose fabrics. And . . . well, I’ve gotten awfully good plucking out seams if you mess up.”
Clara laughed. Deirdre spent most of her time at their ladies’ sewing circle pulling out mistakes. It didn’t matter if it was sewing, knitting, or that one terrible time she thought she’d embroider a napkin. Deirdre didn’t hold a talent for any of it.
“Now tell me this other news of yours,” she said. “Liam will be home for supper, and I need to look as if I haven’t been bathing in straw and dirt.” Her older brother had worked hard to ingratiate himself with some of the leading men in town, and she never knew who might arrive for dinner. He was determined to prove himself as a businessman instead of a laborer, and Deirdre was proud of the success he’d had so far in town.
Clara’s lips pinched at Deirdre’s request. She glanced over Deirdre’s shoulder again, and, apparently satisfied they were alone, she gave her friend a sympathetic smile.
Deirdre’s skin prickled. She had a feeling she wasn’t going to like what Clara had to say next.
“I overheard something I probably shouldn’t have, but I’m glad I did,” Clara finally said. “Apparently, Jeremiah has placed an advertisement with Mrs. Gilbert’s mail-order bride newspaper.”
Deirdre blinked at Clara, as if by the simple act of closing and opening her eyes, she could make her friend’s words disappear.
“I know it’s a shock.” Clara grabbed Deirdre’s hand, heedless of how dirty it was. “I heard him speaking of it to Roman, and I thought . . . Since you . . . Well . . .” She trailed off, but Deirdre knew what she meant to say.
Clara and Abigail were the only ones who knew of Deirdre’s secret longing for Jeremiah. Clara had been certain it was going somewhere, especially at the beginning, given how much attention Jeremiah paid to Deirdre. And she’d been certain he flirted with her at times. But months passed. He still paid her attention, but never as anything more than what he’d called her today. A friend.
Deirdre lifted her chin, willing herself not to let the emotion building inside show on the outside. “It’s all right. If he were interested, he would have shown it by now.”
“That’s just it,” Clara said. “Heisinterested. He talks to no other woman as frequently as he does to you. Except me, of course, but that’s simply because I’m here and I’m Roman’s wife.”
Deirdre gave her friend the ghost of a smile. “I’m his friend, and I suppose that’s all I’ll ever be to him.”
Clara shook her head. “No. Iknowit’s more than that. Would you like me to speak with him?”
“Oh, no!” Horror shot through Deirdre at the very thought. If Clara did that and Jeremiah told her outright that he had no interest in Deirdre as a potential wife, she would never live down the shame. No, it was best to simply assume. At least she’d still have her pride intact.
“All right,” Clara said doubtfully. “But I still think there is a way around this. You think about it, and I will too. We have time. He shouldn’t begin to receive letters for a while yet.”
Deirdre nodded, but hopelessness built in her chest. She handed Clara her key. “I ought to head straight home. Liam shouldn’t be there yet.”
Clara took the key. “If you’re certain.” She paused, as if she expected Deirdre to fall into tears at any moment. “Would you like me to come with you?”
“I’ll be fine. I promise. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Deirdre forced herself to smile so her friend wouldn’t worry.
Outside, she forgot all about her appearance. If people stared at her, Deirdre didn’t notice. All she could do was run through every interaction she’d ever had with Jeremiah. She’d indicated her interest on more than one occasion. Afraid she was being too subtle, she’d even tried flirting with him the way she had with boys back in New York, before her parents passed away and she and Liam had left for Colorado.
And more than once, she was certain Jeremiah enjoyed it—and that he’d even flirted back. But then nothing else had happened.
They’d simply remained friends.
She darted around a knot of men outside the sheriff’s office, her mind elsewhere. Soon Jeremiah would begin to receive letters from women back East. Women desperate for a husband, women who wanted to begin a new life somewhere else. Women who didn’t know him at all.
They wouldn’t know how much he adored horses, how he loved a good joke, and how he enjoyed listening to and reading the serials printed in the newspaper. They wouldn’t know how terrible of a cook he was and how he’d relished the biscuits she’d brought him yesterday, or the slice of cake she’d brought a few days before that. It had been his favorite—a sponge cake with fresh strawberries. He loved the barn cats and harbored a fear of snakes. He had a tiny dimple on his cheek that only showed when he laughed heartily. He had parents and two younger sisters in Denver. He disliked one sister’s beau, and was good friends with the other’s husband. And while he missed them all, he also feared he would never live up to his father’s example.
They wouldn’t know anything about him save for what he’d put in his advertisement. But she did.
Deirdre stopped in the middle of the board sidewalk, her eyes widening.
“Pardon me, miss,” a man said as he skirted around her. But she barely heard him.
Because she had an idea.
An idea that justmightwork.
