“Like around Erik’s age?”
“Yes.” She nodded once. “Or maybe you and Mrs. Lindholm could have a baby.”
If he hadn’t nearly choked on his own tongue, he wouldn’t have believed it was physically possible. Theo coughed a few times before securing his hat once again and rising to his feet. “I think it best we work on you and Erik playing together again before we consider babies.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
“Mommy, I found this in the fireplace.” Erik thrust a sooty little hand out to Belle, who had to set down the bag she’d been filling with Paul’s old clothes to have a look at what he was holding.
“Darling, you shouldn’t touch the fireplace. It’s absolutely filthy,” she admonished as she gingerly took his hand between two fingers to examine what he had without actually having to touch it. At first she thought it was a marble before she recognized it and her heart sank. “Oh, Erik.”
“It’s an eye from Edward Bear.”
“Yes, I believe you’re right.” She plucked the little glass eye from his palm and took up a rag to polish it. Most of what she had left behind in the house that belonged to her or Erik had simply been missing when they returned. As much as it had pained her, she hadn’t been able to take everything of sentimental value, not when survival was just as much of an issue. Edward Bear had been a casualty left behind. Most everything of theirs being gone from the house had been a relief, as Erik was little enough that he’d already forgotten almost everything about the place, but she had imagined that things were given or thrown away.
Burned was somehow so much worse. She shook her head, clucking her tongue in disapproval. Once she had the glass eye cleaned, she took her rag to Erik’s face and hands, despite his protests and flailing. “Did you see anything else in the fire?”
“No, Mommy. Just ashes.”
“Good.” She could remember well enough what Edward Bear had looked like. She could sew up a replacement with this eye and put a jaunty eyepatch on the other side. Perhaps there could be a fun story about Edward fighting pirates and coming home with battle scars. Erik didn’t need to know what a terrible man his father had been. “Don’t go digging in any more ashes.”
Clearing out everything she could in the house as quickly as possible had been her goal when she first came back, but then the news of her secret life as a writer had gotten out, along with her role in catching her husband’s killer, and with that had come offers from other publishers. She hadn’t managed to finish a new book yet, but she had taken on a little work as an editor with one house and it had kept her busy when she wasn’t running herself ragged with everything else. Though the house was where Erik had been born, she had no desire to keep it. Emptying it and selling it was her first goal. They could get someplace smaller, more suited for their tiny family. She still hadn’t been able to make up her mind about the brewery, though. She had no desire to own a brewery and yet she recognized it was Erik’s birthright.
A knock echoed through the now mostly empty downstairs, bringing Belle out of her reverie. She wiped her own hands off the best she could before setting the rag aside and went to answer the door. “I mean it, Erik! Don’t touch the fireplace,” she called over her shoulder.
The courier at the door was not from the company she or her publisher normally used, which puzzled her, but he thrust a wrapped manuscript into her hands, so he had to have been sent by them. All of the silk settees and chairs, the ostentatiously huge, carved wooden pieces of furniture that had crowded the house before were gone now, easily enough sold off the day after she’d arrived back in Chicago. She had kept a desk in the library, though, and that was where she brought her latest package. After cutting through the twine around it, she pulled back the wrapping, revealing the cover page. The Secret in the Post by Theodore Tulloch.
A hand flew up to cover her mouth. tears coming to her eyes. He’d finally finished his book and he’d sent it to her of all people. This called for a properly reverent reading, she decided, and settled into her chair to turn to the first page.
The story concerned a widow named Elisabeth Swanson - though everyone called her Betsy - who worked with an editor to find her husband’s killer. It couldn’t have been more nakedly transparent if he’d included a little drawing of Belle tucked between the pages. She bit her lip to try to stifle a laugh, doing her best to focus on the story. And he did spin a good yarn, she decided, though he was a bit too fond of commas and adverbs. The introduction of the character Mrs. Swanson went on for a full page, just describing every aspect of what she looked like in exhaustive, breathless detail, down to a small freckle just to the left of her nose. Belle touched her cheek, where she knew the little flaw well.
She picked up a sheet of paper to begin writing a letter in return to him.
Dear Mr. Tulloch,
This is a very inventive tale you have constructed here and one wonders where you might have ever come up with the idea. However, your distressingly informal writing style does distract me. Is it really appropriate for the narrative to refer to Mrs. Swanson as having an “adorable appearance”? One would expect a man of your experience could come up with something a bit more descriptive without drowning in minor details. I did quite like the bit where the editor Mr. Lynch enjoys verbal sparring with her, as a man appreciating a woman’s strengths outside of domestic concerns is novel in literature. Sadly, it is often the case in life as well.
Another knock at the door interrupted her writing. She set her pen down and stood, then smoothed a hand over her hair to ensure it was all still properly pinned in place. In the entryway, she could see the silhouette of a man through the frosted glass of the front door. Even with nothing more than an outline of him, her heart skipped a beat in recognition.
CHAPTER THIRTY
As soon as the door swung open, Belle saw Theo’s eyes light up. He pulled his hat from his head and held it to his chest respectfully. He looked as charming as ever, if a bit more tanned by the sun than the last time she’d seen him. There was a stiffness to him as well, a suggestion of nervousness. She pulled the door open a bit wider to him and stepped back.
“Mr. Tulloch,” she greeted him. “I’m afraid my house isn’t currently fit for company, but you’re welcome to come in if you’d like.”
He exhaled in a soft puff, shoulders sagging as some of that tension left him. “I’d like that very much,” he said, then added with a twinkle in his eye, “madam.”
Looking around the sparsely furnished sitting room, she suddenly wished she hadn’t been so hasty in ridding herself of virtually all the furniture. Yet what else could she have done? Very little of it had been pieces she’d had any say in. Paul had kept an iron grip on the pocket book and certainly saw no benefit in allowing his mere wife to decorate their home. The few things she had picked out during their time together had been gone when she returned. She wondered if they had been burned along with Erik’s toy bear.
But Theo showed no sign of being put off by the lack of furniture. He walked over to the stairs and set himself down upon the steps, drawing one leg up to rest the arm on it that held his hat. She really should have known better, she mused. He’d looked quite comfortable sitting on the floor of a jail cell as well.
“I’d thought you were going to stay in Sweet Town,” she said.
“I thought about it,” he admitted. “I was sorely tempted, but there was one thing missing that would have made it home.” He paused, considering, then shook his head. “No, two things.”
Her palms felt damp and she resisted the uncouth urge to wipe them off on her skirt. Instead, she loosely clasped them behind her back and did her best to ignore them. “And what are they?”
“You and Erik. I’m not sure anywhere could be home without the two of you.”
“Theo,” she breathed softly. “We spent, what? Four days together? Paul courted me for weeks and that still wasn’t enough for me to truly know him. Our marriage was a misery. What can you know of me in four days?”
“But it wasn’t just four days, was it?” Theo countered, coming to his feet again. He hooked his hat on the banister post and reached out for her hands. She hesitated before unclasping them so she could accept the offer. “I’ve known you for three years, Belle. I know you prefer tea with cream and sugar instead of coffee. You like toast with marmalade most mornings, but when you have pancakes you drench them in butter. I know one of the most sublime memories of your youth was finding a big patch of the thickest, greenest clover in your parents’ garden and laying in it to watch the clouds roll by. I know you used to think anyone who liked flowers had to be a good person and I know you learned that was wrong in the harshest way possible. Belle, I know you as thoroughly as I’ve ever known someone in my life and I love every last bit of you.”
Her throat tightened so with emotion she truly couldn’t have said a word, even if she’d had any to say. Belle pressed her lips together as she lost her battle against tears, shaking her head. He squeezed her hands in his and came closer, ducking down to look her in the eyes, though her vision was blurred. “True, I didn’t know you were a woman for most of that, which makes falling in love with your words mighty awkward.” He grinned, flashing his dimples. “But I’d like to think that just makes it purer in a way. You’re a beautiful woman and I’m sure that’s what Paul saw when he pursued you. I appreciate your beauty, too, but I knew your heart before your face.”
“Theo,” she finally managed to get out. “I love you, too, but even if I left him long ago I’ve just been widowed. It’s scandalous.”
“Then I’ll wait six months before marrying you, or a year if you really insist on it. What’s a little more time when I want to spend the rest of my life with you?” He raised her hands to his lips and kissed her left knuckles, then her right.
“I suppose that’s true,” she said weakly.
“Though I should warn you, Maeve is very eager for a baby sibling.”
She jerked her hands back from his hold with a shocked gasp as he laughed. Once she’d gotten over her surprise, she found herself laughing as well, then melting into his embrace when his arm slipped around her waist to hold her to his chest.
“Marry me, Belle,” he urged.
“Yes.” Her eyes fluttered shut and she rose up on her tiptoes to meet him in a kiss. If she’d had her pen, she could have gone on for ages, waxing poetic about the sun-warmed silk of his lips and the way they moved against hers. She could have written sonnets on the rough scrape of his stubble, the spicy musk that was a combination of his cologne and his own clean, masculine scent. Perhaps she could have even written a whole novel about her love, as he had done.
“Please tell me you’re not mentally trying to outwrite me,” he murmured into the kiss.
She sighed blissfully and drew him closer. “Outwrite is not a word.”
THE END
About the Author
Dear Reader,
First of all, thank you for reading this book. I've enjoyed inviting you into Sweet Town and I hope you love the folks there as much as I do. Writing can be a lonely endeavor, and it always gives me inspiration and hope to hear from you. Please visit my Facebook page, or connect with me on my author page on Amazon.
Thanks again,
Sarah
About Sarah Christian
Born and raised in a small town in Minnesota, Sarah loved the sense of community and extended family she grew up with. After going to college in the Twin Cities, Sarah decided she couldn't live without the warmth of a small town again. She returned home where she married her childhood sweetheart and is now raising two daughters. In the Sweet Town series, Sarah hopes to share a bit of the happiness, community, and country quirkiness from her own life.
Other books by Sarah Christian:
Sweet Town Series
A Bride's Price (1)
What Child Is This (2)
Calling His Bluff (3)
Not Always Nice (4)
Preacher's Wife (5)
Doctor's Midwife (6)
Carpenter's Rose (7)
Silver Bells (8)
Blacksmith's Christmas Bride (9)
Teacher's Pet (10)
Rancher's Woman (11)
Author's Muse (12)
Nature's Autumn Decorations: And How To Use Them (Ladies of Sweet Town Gazette Book 1)
Nut Gathering Party (Ladies of Sweet Town Gazette Book 2)
All Hallow Eve (Ladies of Sweet Town Gazette Book 3)
With C.M. Stone
Hope for Nolan O'Donoghue (1)
Temperance for Doran O'Donoghue (2)
Verity for Brendan McGall (3)
Patience for Tomás Little Coyote (4)
Follow Sarah Christian:
Web Page: http://saltpress.com/sarah_christian/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/SarahChristianSweetAuthor/
Newsletter
Author page on Amazon.
Copyright Notice
Author's Muse
A Sweet Town Romance
by Sarah Christian
Published by Salt of the Earth Press
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Copyright © 2017 by Sarah Christian
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual organizations or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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Table of Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
Author's Muse (Sweet Town Clean Historical Western Romance Book 12) Page 10