Caroline hadn’t expected an apology the moment she set foot on his land, but she also hadn’t expected such rudeness. It snuffed out the lingering flame of affection and hardened her heart. “I came to mourn my sister and meet her children,” she said flatly, “but if I’m not welcome, Mr. Ames can take me back to town.”
Jackson stood there, mute, which was odd for a man who was rarely left speechless. Perhaps he hadn’t expected such backbone from a woman he’d crushed.
“May I visit Amanda’s grave, at least?”
The stiffness drained from his posture. “Of course. And you’re welcome to stay. Amanda would want you to meet the children. She did want it. From the day they were born.”
His last words came with a wave of regret. Caroline had wanted it, too. If only she hadn’t let anger get in the way.
“Give me a minute, and I’ll take you,” Jackson said. He helped Oliver carry the trunk into the house and walked with him back to the yard.
Oliver climbed back onto the carriage and took a seat. “If you know the date you’ll be returning, Mrs. Bennet, you can tell me now, and I’ll come retrieve you.”
Caroline looked to Jackson at the same time he looked to her.
“We’re not sure yet,” Jackson told Oliver. “We’ll let you know.”
Oliver gave a friendly salute, backed the horse up enough to clear the trough, and drove away.
“Mrs.?” Jackson asked, looking back at her.
“The livery owner assumed, and I didn’t correct him.”
Jackson tilted his head in concession and gestured toward a hill in the distance, indicating she should walk with him.
She started to, until she spotted the freshly turned mound of dirt. She hadn’t lied about her reasons for coming, but she wasn’t ready to fall apart. “I haven’t had a drink of water since Fort Kearny. Is your well nearby?”
A crease played between his brows. “It is, but why not come inside?”
“All right.”
Jackson turned and lifted an escorting elbow, but—whether the gesture had been intentional or borne of habit—Caroline didn’t want it. She crossed the yard to the house and climbed the steps of the porch without his aid.
He paused at the rejection then trailed a beat behind.
Caroline stood to the side of the door and let him open it. She walked inside and blinked, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the dim interior. Save for one window near the stove, it was lit by shuttered sunlight. Dust motes drifted in narrow, slanted beams without dancing.
Jackson crossed the room and lit a lone candle on the dining table, its flicker casting erratic shadows across his features.
He pulled out a chair for her, and she sat, hands folded in her lap, eyes fixed on him, as he poured two cups of water and took the seat opposite her.
Caroline drank until her thirst was quenched. “Where are Noah and Jewel?” she asked as she set the cup back on the table.
“A friend took them for a couple of days, so I could get some work done. They’ll be home in time for supper.” He took a sip of his water then slowly spun his cup on its base with his fingers. His hands were rough and tan, just as she’d imagined.
He lifted his index finger and pointed to her cup. “Want some more?”
“Later, perhaps.”
Caroline wasn’t sure which was worse, the anger or the awkwardness. There wasn’t much she could do about the latter, but she could set aside the former for the nonce and stop distressing a grieving man. “Thank you for allowing me to stay,” she said in a quiet voice she hoped he’d interpret as a truce.
Jackson gave a single nod.
“Your telegram said Amanda fell ill suddenly. What happened?”
His gaze dropped to the worn surface of the table before rising back up to meet hers. “She had a stomachache that went on for several days, but she didn’t tell anyone. It wasn’t until it got bad enough to hinder her movements that I noticed and pressed her to tell me what was wrong.
“She insisted it was a case of dyspepsia and that she just needed to rest, so I gave her a dose of elixir and sent her to bed. The next day, she seemed back to her usual state of health. We both thought whatever had afflicted her had run its course.
