Page 39 of The Formation of Us

“Thank you,” he said, accepting the cup.

She moved to the door. “I’ll come back in fifteen minutes.”

“Do you have to go?” He held the cup near his dripping chin. “If you can spare the time, I’d appreciate the company.”

Her answer was to sit on the table and fold her hands in her lap.

“Thank you,” he said. He sipped the hot tea, then rested the cup on the edge of the tub. “I’m glad you could see me tonight. I’m taking Covey to Mayville tomorrow, and won’t be back for a week.”

“I’ve not heard of Mayville, but it must be far from here if you’ll be away so long.”

“Just under twenty-five miles. I have a meeting there, and I make several stops along the way to check in with my undersheriff and our deputies.”

“I thought Sam Wade was your deputy.”

“He’s my only paid deputy. My other deputies are men who volunteer to act in a legal capacity for their towns. They handle small issues but wire when they need me. Otherwise, I visit them every couple of months.”

“Sounds like you spend a lot of time out of town.”

“Not really” He filled his mouth with tea and studied her as he swallowed. “Did it bother you that your husband spent so much time away?”

“No.” Her lashes twitched, but amazingly she didn’t hide her eyes. “I stayed with my mother and my aunts.”

“Where was your father?”

“I don’t know.” She looked down and fiddled with the linens beside her. “Mama said he ran off after I was born, and only came back long enough to sire Adam. After that, he disappeared and broke my mother’s heart.”

“Is this one of those stories like your aunts invent?” he asked, feeling as skeptical of this story as he’d been of Dahlia’s outlandish tale.

“Adam and I share the same father, although we’ve never met the man. I suspect he’s in prison, but my mother never talked about him. That’s the truth.”

He finished his tea, and set the cup on the stand. “What was your mother like?”

She sighed and shifted her gaze to the stone wall behind his head. “In a word, she was sad. My aunts could make her laugh, but her eyes were always filled with heartache. The only time she seemed at peace was when she tended her roses. She loved them and planted them all around our house. You could smell roses in the air all summer.” Her gaze dropped to his. “In the winter, she wore rose perfume and planted rosebush clippings in our greenhouse.”

“Was Rose a name she gave herself?” he asked, wanting to know more about the woman.

“Her name was Celia Rose, and she was as beautiful as the roses she grew.”

“I wish she were still here for you,” he said quietly, knowing Faith’s pain would ebb but never leave completely.

She acknowledged his comment with a small nod, but the sadness in her face made him want to hold her against his chest and comfort her. Not that he’d be able to restrict himself to that noble impulse for more than a minute, but he’d try.

“I lost my father thirteen years ago to a disease that sucked the life out of him.” Duke could usually talk about his father, but not about his death, which was why it surprised him that he was confessing to Faith. “When I was a boy, my dad was strong and had a laugh that filled the house. By the time I turned seventeen, he couldn’t even feed himself. He died before I turned eighteen.”

“I’m so sorry,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “How awful for you and your family”

They fell silent, and he searched her eyes for whatever she was hiding from him. Maybe it was only heartache.

“It’s growing late.” She stood and shook open a large towel. “We should treat your shoulder now.”

Did she know it was too painful for him to converse during his treatment? Is that why she was standing beside the tub with a towel in her arms? He wanted to linger in the bath and talk to her, but her drawn face and dark eyes suggested she needed sleep.

He stood and took the towel she handed to him, but purposely caught her hands in the folds of soft cotton. Standing in the tub made him several inches taller than her. “Why don’t we skip my treatment tonight? I’ll leave so you can enjoy the bath before going to bed.”

She gazed up at him, her eyes startled and uncertain. “You need your treatment.”

“I’ll stretch when I get home,” he argued.