She didn’t look fine. Merrick dropped his hands to his side, uncertain what to do with them. He waited a moment, hoping she might explain. Hoping with everything he had that there was a simple reason she’d yanked herself away from his kiss.
But no explanation came. Eleanor looked at the ground, seemingly fascinated by the snow and bits of brown grass.
Merrick swallowed, the disappointment rising like a storm cloud on the horizon. Had he misunderstood everything?
“We should return home,” he said in a stiff voice, trying hard to cover up the feelings swirling inside. He forced himself to offer her an arm, petrified she’d shy away. Thankfully, she took it, but all the warmth he’d felt earlier as they’d walked to the creek was gone. Eleanor seemed on edge, like the slightest wrong movement might send her scurrying away.
They walked in silence back into town. He needed to get back to work. The forge was where he felt most comfortable. No one expected him to be someone he wasn’t when he was hard atwork, shaping metal. He didn’t need to reach out to anyone, and no one shied away in fear. There, he was simply Merrick Benton, blacksmith.
Eleanor made a sniffing sound as they approached the shop. He glanced at her for the first time since they’d left the creekbank. She turned her head quickly, but not before he caught sight of shining eyes and a blotchy face. She was holding back tears.
His heart contracted. His affection rendered tears. The disappointment hollowed him out. He’d thought Eleanor liked him. She hadn’t been shy or fearful or reticent at all. He’d grown used to those reactions from women—but not from Eleanor.
She was different, and he’d pinned so much hope on that. Hope that she might actually care for him. That they might have a family together. That, eventually, she might grow to love him.
He’d been wrong.
“Eleanor!” Deirdre Wiley’s voice pulled him back from the precipice he was about to fall over the second Eleanor dropped her hand from his arm. She stopped beside them, out of breath and with a bunch of linen draped over one of her arms. “Clara’s baby is coming. I need your help, if you can. The midwife is with another lady and will be here as soon as she can. In the meantime—”
“Of course,” Eleanor said as she quickly rubbed the back of her glove against her eyes. “Should I bring anything?”
“Just yourself,” Deirdre replied. She glanced at Merrick. “Jeremiah has his hands full keeping her husband out of the way. If you have time—”
“I’ll find him,” Merrick said, eager to do anything to get his mind off Eleanor.
“Thank you. They’re in the stable.”
The ladies hurried away, and Merrick walked quickly toward the livery. Jeremiah was at the entry, speaking with a man who looked as if he’d just ridden hundreds of miles in the dust.
“Where is he?” Merrick asked.
“Out back. If he hasn’t snuck away yet.” Jeremiah gave him a grateful look.
Merrick nodded in response and made his way through the stable to where the back door was open to the corral area. He was relieved to find Roman Carlisle tending to one of the horses in the corral.
“I hear you’re about to be a father,” he said by away of announcing himself.
“God willing.” Carlisle dropped the hoof of a dappled gray mare. “She’s been limping now and then. Can’t see anything wrong, though. Care to take a look?”
Merrick was far from an expert in horses, but he slipped through the corral gate and looked all the same. “I don’t see anything. You ought to get Schrader from up at the hotel livery. He knows horses better than he knows himself.”
Carlisle nodded as he glanced toward the house, his mind clearly elsewhere now. “How do you think she’s doing?”
“Just fine,” Merrick said. He slapped Carlisle on the back and hoped he was right. “Why don’t you show me that new gelding you bought? The chestnut?” He’d suggest anything to get Carlisle’s mind off his worry.
“Lawrence?” Carlisle said, his eyes still on the house.
“If that’s what you named him,” Merrick said with a chuckle.
That drew a smile from his friend. “He’s a finicky thing, so I gave him a finicky name. He’s rented out today though. Don’t expect him back till the end of the week.”
Merrick searched for something else to distract Carlisle. “Is that new?” He pointed to a wooden bucket by the livery door.
Carlisle finally tore his gaze from the house. “Are you asking me about a bucket?
Merrick hesitated. “Yes?”
Carlisle pulled off his hat and ran a hand through his hair. “I know what you’re doing, trying to take my mind off Clara. Except it’s not going to work. She’s everything to me. And that baby . . . I know I haven’t met him—or her—yet, but if anything happens to either one of them . . .” He trailed off, anguish creasing lines into his forehead. He tugged his hat back on. “Just wait until it’s your wife. It won’t be long, and then you’ll know.”
