“I’d go back to Cape Girardeau, I suppose. Find a teaching position. I have nieces and nephews.”
“What about...the needy, and the lost? Wouldn’t you rather find a preacher to take over the work you do here? Like Emmett wanted.” Easier somehow to say the name rather than your husband.
She stepped away, and he missed her. “I know. But I need money. I do believe finding a lost child is what Emmett would want. He’d not mind selling Gethsemane to achieve the goal. You see...” She gazed up at his face. His heart tumbled down to his feet. “You see, we were...unable to have our own. Were he here, he and I might have...found out about an abandoned child and taken it in as our own. This would be a final tribute to...my husband.”
Emmett. Husband. Always Emmett. Husband. But Bronx was leaving, anyway. He could do this last thing for her before he went. No matter the danger to Bronx Sanderson.
“All righty, Miz Lila.” He sighed, but hoped she didn’t notice. “I’ll find you a Pinkerton.”
Or, at least, Doc Holliday would. He liked Malina. After Bronx left like a thief in the night.
Because Lila had stolen his heart.
Chapter Twelve
From Dornfeld’s front porch, Lila pretended she and Bronx were a normal couple taking a stroll on an ordinary morning. He lifted his Stetson to greet a passing buggy, and the sun had pierced the clouds to shimmer across his hair, making it seem lighter than ever before.
Her heart tumbled for the hundredth time. Waking up with his head in her lap had been too delightful to cause mortification. How did he feel about it, though? He had secrets.
“You wouldn’t have to go back to...Missouri,” he said, low. The cold morning bronzed his cheekbones, and her breath caught at the sight. She would remember it always. “There’s schoolhouses in Leadville.”
“Let’s get breakfast. You’ll be late to work.” She ignored his statement, but realized the truth in it. Taking her arm back, she gasped a little at how wifely she sounded, but he didn’t seem to notice. No, she did not have to return to Missouri. It was so far away from his search for his brother. But another truth smacked at her like a mosquito. She wasn’t woman enough to make a man a true man.
Whether she was close by or not.
“Asa’s fond of Miz Frieda. And you. He’ll not mind me being a bit late due to breaking my fast.”
He held the door at the boardinghouse. Inside, the dining room was a lively scene of school teachers drinking the last of their coffee before departing for their classrooms. Miss Frieda’s hired girl sent over a smile and set down two more plates.
Bronx pulled out her chair, and Lila’s heart melted. Like the walk from Gethsemane, sitting next to him for breakfast seemed natural. Like it should happen every day. Like waving him off to his job was customary on a Friday.
But nothing could happen between them.
He ate quickly but somehow, with manners, grinned at the bustle of the teachers wiping pretty mouths and nodding good-bye. Then, they were alone.
“So you think you’ll sell and return to the place you were born.” He wiped his mouth, too.
She looked away. “I’m not certain, but Emmett taught forgiveness. Perhaps it’s time to forgive my father. And ask him to forgive me.”
“Forgive you?”
“Yes. For not honoring him like the commandment says to.”
“But you were following your heart.”
“Yes. And look where it brought me.” Leadville, teeming with loss and unhappy memories. “To the top of the world with nothing left.”
“Nothing but your whole life ahead.” He frowned as well as smiled over a piece of bacon.
“You, too, Bronx. With finding your brother.” She had no appetite, facing as she was, only more loss. He was leaving, too. But she chewed slowly on a piece of dry toast, washed it town with a cup of coffee far too hot. For, of course, she was foolish, falling for the first man she’d met when free to do any falling at all. But he was leaving, and she had no reason to stay on in Leadville. Emmett would agree. Selling Gethsemane to help Malina felt so right. Oh, she’d maneuver a last visit to Emmett’s grave at Evergreen Cemetery with an armful of wildflowers and she’d be done.
Perhaps with one last stomp against his headstone.
“Well, I best be changing into my work gear and be off.” Sun from the front window glazed Bronx’s handsome face as he stood and bent low. Oh, was she in line for a good-bye kiss? Her spine skittered with delight and regret both, and her lips parted to taste his warmth. It was too quick, and he stood straight with a polite bow. The lovely moment came to a halt, but his cheeks flushed and his eyelids drifted, slow.
“You must go.” She breathed without a sound. “It’s pushing eight o’clock.”
“Bye, now, Lila.”
She cooled her throat with a cup of tepid water as he hurried up the stairs. How was it only three days since they had met? Had two nights sleeping at his side changed her forever?