It was, but Jack wasn’t about to say so and see those pretty lips tremble again. “It can’t be that difficult.” And with that, he led Mrs. Hewlett—a truly odd name for a cow—and her calf forward.
Celia rode beside him on the horse as they entered the property. The place looked far older than he’d expected. The barn sat a moderate distance away from the house, which had a wide porch with two chairs perched at a conversational angle. A few outbuildings dotted the land around the house, none of which Jack could put a name to.
“Did you grow up here?” he asked as they stopped beside the barn door.
“Oh, no,” Celia said. “Faith and I came here from Mississippi. As did our husbands. We arrived here last year, and Ned purchased this property from a man who went back East.” She sat expectantly on the horse, as if she were waiting for something.
Almost a beat too late, Jack realized he’d need to help her down. Fearing the cow and calf might scamper off if he dropped their ropes—he didn’t quite know what these animals were capable of—he held on to them as he reached up and placed a gloved hand on each side of Celia’s waist. Her small hands clasped his shoulders, and he held her tightly, feeling strangely protective of her.
When her feet touched the ground, she withdrew her hands. “Thank you,” she said in that quiet voice. Her cheeks began to go pink again, and he yanked his hands away from her waist.
And at that moment, he understood that he needed to tread lightly with her. She wasn’t one of his investors, used to dealing with a world that was only looking out for its own good. And she certainly wasn’t Miss Rogers, who’d had a string of beaux both before and after Jack had courted her. Celia had been married, but her demeanor indicated she was the sort of girl whose heart would break easily.
“Would you like me to show you the barn?” she asked.
Jack nodded mutely, his mind still spinning with the feel of his hands on her waist and the fear that the wrong words or actions could hurt her beyond mending.
Celia led the animals inside and showed Jack their stalls and various tools and implements he couldn’t identify beyond a shovel and a rake. Beside the barn was a corral, where she explained the animals could graze, and beyond that, a larger pasture.
“We used to have chickens. And another horse, as I mentioned. But the blizzard took them. Thankfully, Ned butchered the hog in August, or we might have been completely without meat for the winter. I’ll need to bring more to Faith the next time we go into town.” Celia stood beside the corral, hands clasped as she took in her property.
Their property.
He owned a farm. The thought made him want to laugh. Who would have ever thought that Jack Wendler, born and raised in New York City, would own a farm?
“I’m glad you’re here.” Celia looked up at him now, those pale green eyes filled with hope. “I fear I couldn’t have kept this place up on my own. I would have had to sell, except there’s no one to sell to. And besides . . .” She trailed off as her gaze roved the flat brown land, the buildings, and the bluffs that rose to the south and southwest. “As much as I regretted the decisions I made in Mississippi, I’ve come to love this land. It’s truly beautiful, don’t you think?”
Jack tried to see the place through her eyes. And truly, it was something to behold. He wasn’t sure that beautiful was the right word for it, but it was . . . imposing. Strong. Vast. And he greatly admired the bluffs. He was certain that if he returned to New York, he’d feel boxed in after existing in so much space and fresh air here. “I can see that,” he said.
He wanted to ask her what she meant by regretting decisions made back home, but before he could, she looked back at him with a bright smile.
“Would you like to eat? I can pull us something together for the noon meal.”
His stomach rumbled in response, and she laughed. He gathered up their bags and followed her into the house. Celia hurried before him and set about pulling back curtains to allow the sunlight to illuminate a simple yet neat parlor.
“I’ve been staying mostly with Faith since the blizzard,” she said as she swept away invisible dust from a little hand-carved table that sat next to a small, worn settee.
“Where should I . . .?” Jack held up their bags.
“Oh, well . . .” Her face went scarlet again, and he knew exactly what she was thinking.
“I can sleep in a spare room,” he said. The last thing he wanted to do was scare her. She trusted him, for some reason, and he knew that wasn’t something to be taken lightly.
“There isn’t one,” she said, her voice barely audible.
He glanced at the settee. It was far too short to be comfortable. He was about to suggest the barn, trying not to imagine how cold that would be come nightfall, when Celia spoke up.
“I have a second set of bedding. I hate to offer you the floor, but—”
“The floor will suffice just fine,” he said quickly, eager to end this conversation as quickly as possible. “I can set up in the parlor later tonight.”
“I have some space in the wardrobe you’re welcome to use for your things.” She led him to the bedroom next to the parlor, and while he unpacked, she disappeared into the kitchen.
When he emerged a few minutes later, it was to the scent of ham frying.
