His eyes caught her gaze, and she couldn’t look away. They were a soft brown in the lamplight, kind, compassionate, and loving. Everything she’d ever wanted.
Celia took a deep breath. “It’s silly, but ever since the blizzard, I dislike being alone. I don’t even know what I’m afraid of, but it’s like you said before. Every fear I’ve ever had multiplies in the dark. I stayed only a few nights here afterward and didn’t sleep a wink. It’s half the reason I stayed with Faith.”
He nodded as if he understood.
“But it makes no sense,” she went on. “I’m not alone now.”
“Would it . . .” Jack wrapped his other hand, holding hers in the warmth between them. He cleared his throat, and his eyes flicked away before returning to rest on hers, almost as if he were fighting nerves. “Would it help if I slept in your room? On the floor, of course,” he added quickly.
Celia couldn’t look at him. If she did, she’d never live down the embarrassment she felt. “Yes,” she said softly, “But I can’t ask that of you.”
“Why not? And besides, you didn’t ask. I offered.”
She swallowed, somehow feeling as if she hadn’t had water in days. “Thank you. I . . . I think it might help.”
“Then it’s settled.” He stood. “I’ll move my things after I check on the animals.”
Celia watched him disappear through the back door, remaining in her seat. She’d been so focused on the all-consuming fears that came at night with no one nearby.
She hadn’t given one thought to how she could possibly fall asleep with Jack so close.
Chapter Thirteen
Celia’s soft breathing was torture each night. Jack tossed off the blankets and rose. It had to be nearing dawn, and as she had been each night since he’d moved his sleeping quarters to her room last week, his new wife was still asleep.
Too bad he’d barely slept at all.
He grabbed a clean shirt and slipped through the door into the freezing kitchen. He threw it on, the scent of chilly sunshine and Celia fresh in the cotton. She’d washed it a few days ago. No one had washed his clothing since his own mother had done so. Celia had offered to give him her deceased husband’s clothing, but Jack couldn’t shake the strange feeling of wearing a dead man’s clothes. So instead, they’d brought it into town last Sunday and after services, had given it to some of the nearly grown boys who had lost parents in the blizzard.
Jack hadn’t attended church regularly since he was a boy. He’d thought he hadn’t missed it, and yet, even with the long-winded and pessimistic Pastor Collins leading the congregation in Last Chance, Jack found an old comfort in the hymns and Bible verses. The extra trip into town on Sunday also afforded him an opportunity to get to know more of the townsfolk. This past Sunday, he’d explored the mercantile, talked again with McFarland, and assisted a flustered woman with carrying some purchases while she chased after four rambunctious children before returning to Celia to visit with Mrs. Thornton. She’d only insulted him twice, and he’d begun to believe he might be growing on her.
Outside, the freezing air made the well water feel almost warm when he splashed it on his face. While Celia slept, he went to the barn to check on the livestock. The new mare seemed to be settling in, and he believed both she and George had actually accepted him as a friend. The calf was growing well, and as Jack watched her nudge her mother this morning, he wondered if there might be money to be made there. How, he didn’t know, but he’d have to think on it.
He went about the morning chores as if he’d been tending to animals and collecting firewood his entire life instead of only a few weeks. The weather had definitely turned colder, but Jack hardly noticed it. Instead, thoughts of Celia seemed to pervade his every waking moment. The distraction had only grown stronger the more they’d gotten to know each other. He found himself wondering about the most bizarre things, such as whether she took after her mother or father, or whether she preferred pie or cake. He almost overfilled the horses’ water trough as he thought about whether she might enjoy a game of cards or a good book, and then—of course—imagined the curls about her face as she flushed in the lamplight while laying down a winning card.
He laughed to himself as he stepped outside with the water bucket. Three weeks ago, he couldn’t even imagine himself a married man, and now here he was, dreaming up new ways to make his wife laugh or smile at him.
“Good morning, Jack,” she said in her sweet voice as he entered the kitchen. She was sliding hotcakes from the pan to a plate. “You came back at just the right time.” She furrowed her brow. “Why do you have the water bucket?”
Jack glanced down at his hand, not even realizing he’d carried the thing all the way from the barn. “I was distracted, I suppose.” He needed to tame his thoughts, else he find himself falling down the well while dreaming of Celia’s eyes.
He set the bucket down by the door and shed his coat. The fire he’d built up in the cookstove earlier had warmed the room to a comfortable temperature.
“Let’s do something fun today,” he said as he sat down. It was an impulsive thought, but it reflected his mood.
Celia placed a plate of buttered hotcakes in front of him. Jack’s mouth began to water as he lifted his fork.
“What do you mean?” she asked, sitting down herself.
Jack lifted his fork to his mouth
