Wild Texas Rose by Jodi Thomas Page A

to time to retrieve desks and chairs and whatever else she needed. He’d even had Henry take her a key to the old bakery door just in case she ever needed to pick up something when he wasn’t around. As if that would ever happen; he was always at the store.
    As far as he knew she’d only been over to the storage space a few times with a couple of the older boys to help carry desks. He’d checked and she’d always made sure to lock the door before leaving.
    He turned the sign and pulled down the shade on the door. She would be eating supper at the boardinghouse about now. He had no idea which room was hers and saw no way to find out, but he liked to think that she could see his lights above the store from her window.
    When he moved through the empty store, he was glad she’d gone home before the rain had turned to ice. In her way, she worked as hard as he did, and he admired that about her. If he were honest, he admired everything about her and he hated the way he’d been hard and cold to her. The one lady who mattered to him and he hadn’t treated her like a lady. Maybe she’d come back that second time thinking that he’d be kind.
    He turned off all the lights except the one over his desk and almost stumbled as he noticed the dim glow from the study lamp just behind the store’s wall of shelves. His first thought was that he’d left it on, but he never left it on by accident.
    He slowly moved into the storeroom and opened his study door. The possibility that she might be there frightened him almost as much as the fear that she might not.
    Sara Norman stood still and silent as if waiting for a train. Her long cape, a hunter’s green, covered her completely. She’d lit the lamp but not the stove. The room was more in shadow than light, making it seem even colder.
    With no greeting, he moved to the stove and lit the fire inside. He thought of telling her he’d kept everything ready, but he wasn’t sure he wanted her to know how dearly he’d hoped that she would come again.
    When he faced her, she’d lowered her head so that most of her face was hidden by her hood. The rain glittering off her shoulders told him she’d just arrived. She must have gone home, maybe eaten dinner, then slipped back into the night and walked the shadowed walkways to him.
    Moving around his study chair, he gripped the leather arm for support. When she didn’t look up, he lowered her hood, hungry for the sight of her.
    Her hair hung long and rich over her shoulders as she looked down at her hands. She was a woman fully grown, but her shyness made her seem younger. Moving his hand over her dark hair in a slight caress, he waited for her to look up.
    She’d come back to him. The joy of it made his heart pound so loudly he was surprised she couldn’t hear it.
    When she didn’t look up, he knew what he had to do. He had to tell her he was sorry. He had to be kind, when all he’d ever considered himself was simply fair and honest. “I’m sorry,” he whispered as he lowered his hand to his side. “You’re a lady. I shouldn’t have . . . We shouldn’t have . . .”
    Raising her gaze, she stared at him, her eyes wide with surprise.
    He fought to find more words about how he felt while she studied him as if looking for something that was no longer there.
    “I shouldn’t have . . .” he began again. The way he’d touched her had been far too bold.
    One tear bubbled and moved slowly down her cheek. She began to shake her head and back away. When her hip bumped the washstand, she looked at the door behind him as if waiting for a chance to run.
    He saw all he needed to see. His words made her frown. They were turning her away. An apology hadn’t been what she’d wanted.
    She pulled her hood up as she tried to inch around him without touching him, as if she’d returned and found nothing of interest.
    With a sudden stab to his heart, Abe knew he hadn’t given her what she’d come to him for. He’d thought of a hundred