Bronx’s strong arm patted her back, hesitated like he might change to a caress. But he stopped. “I would not have imagined. I...thought his heart was yours.”
“Oh, it happens often.” She wiped her eyes and smiled, damp. “A man misses someone back home and falls for me. Even a mama and sister. I’ve been that, too. But...” She had to admit, to guard her own heart. “So many in Leadville carry secrets and are hiding from something. Someone. Their past? Scared of their future? I keep to myself.”
There. No matter his dejected face, the words had to be said. She’d not wanted this morning in his arms to be the last, but it would be all they could share. She and Emmett had carried secrets she could never divulge. “There’s no room for anybody else.”
“Course. Not with Emmett living in your heart.” Bronx’s voice was flat, and she’d miss him when he left.
Curiosity got a hold of her. A man this handsome, this kindly, could not possibly be alone. “Bronx, have you ever...loved someone?”
From the window, the western face of the Sawatches reflected the dawn so sharp, so clear Bronx’s face fuzzed when she looked at him again.
He gazed outside himself. “Yep. But...I had to leave.” His clipped words dropped as hard on the air as they had before.
Of course. Rebekah. Why hadn’t she held her tongue? But his face closed to her then, tight as his eyelids, and she remembered Leadville and its cautious people, hiding at the top of the world so they wouldn’t be found.
A heavy pounding on the door followed by a yell, and she blinked back into the present.
“Haloo? Lila, you in there?”
“Oh, Miss Frieda.” She ran to the door and unlocked it.
Miss Frieda’s sturdy form shoved in, followed by brisk morning. Displeasure got her eyes rolling, and she nodded at the big covered bowl in her arms.
“Rice pudding from last night. I had plenty left since I had two lodgers never show for supper. Although...” She glared briefly at Bronx. “Although somebody did swipe some chicken legs.”
Since the table-door hadn’t yet been set up for the day, Miss Frieda sat the bowl down on a pew, and stared around her.
“Why, what’s all this?” She ran her fingers through Lila’s loose, messy hair, and glared at the tussle of blankets and pillows still strewn across a bench.
“It’s not what you think.” Lila slapped her hand away, but flushed anyway. “Mr. Dykstra needed medical assistance. He asked me to stay. And Mr. Sanderson wouldn’t allow me here alone.”
Her words struck her. Emmett not allowing her to do things had always set her teeth on edge. But from Bronx, his announcement had seemed full of kind concern.
“I told you so in the note I left.” Bronx had joined them, unbeknownst on his silent feet, stood tall, cheeks the color of red wine.
“That chicken scrawl?” Elbows stuck in the air as Miss Frieda rested large hands on ample hips. “I read better in a batch of tea leaves in the bottom of a cup.” Her nose hiked up a notch.
“I assure you, there is no need to chide us or expect...the worst from Mr. Sanderson.” An odd hurt swam through Lila’s veins, damped her spirits of joy and warmth.
“It would have been kinder had you found me to speak in person, Mr. Sanderson. It isn’t every man I invite for tea in my parlor.”
“Nothing happened here but a sick man needing peace and care. Now, if you ladies will excuse me.” Bronx’s smile was stiff and fake, but he was polite enough as he nodded to one after the other. “I do intend to return to my rented room for a wash-up and fresh clothes. It’s my time to find a job.” Then, his handsome face turned to a dreadful scowl. “Oh, Miz Frieda, should I still be welcome in your moral house.”
Miss Frieda had the grace to flush. “Of course. Money’s the same, no matter.”
“Then I’m off to find help for Mr. Dykstra.” Malina’s soft voice followed Bronx out the door. Lila had forgotten the young woman. “He is fast asleep.” Despite her search for absolution, Malina glared at Miss Frieda. “Miz Lila’s comfort has been warm and loving.”
Lila was unsure, alone in a place dedicated to helping those of misfortune, how to construe the landlady she had considered something of a friend. But she had to mind her manners, for Miss Frieda offered support in her own ways. “I’m quite hopeful, Miss Frieda, you’re the kind of charitable woman who puts a good construction on things.”
“Of course I do, my dear. But you must agree. This is a suspicious circumstance.” Miss Frieda picked at the lint on her dark brown gown.