was so much easier to keep running then to have to stop and face the pain. A woman like Victoria needed so much more than what he could give. She deserved to have a wonderful, open, and happy marriage like his parents.
The truth was, he was married to a woman he couldn’t have. And not just any woman. No, he was married to the most beautiful, most gracious, most forgiving, most fascinating, most passionate, most—
He shook his head to cut off his litany.
Even though he’d pushed her away all week since the stormy encounter in the bedroom, she’d accepted and adjusted to the situation, just as she had to everything else. She’d even apologized for asking him about his past.
His dad had been angrier about how he was treating Victoria than she was. Dad had argued with him, told him to put aside his pride, and make things right with his bride. After the tenth nagging, Tom had been tempted to tell his dad the truth, that Victoria wasn’t his, never had been, and never would be.
Jimmy began the process of unloading several other crates of food and supplies. Tom stuffed the telegrams into his coat pocket and helped Jimmy until the cutter was empty.
“Why don’t you stay for dinner?” Tom suggested as he wiped his sleeve across his damp forehead. Even though the day was hazy and the sun behind the clouds, the humidity made the air sticky and heavy.
“Stay and win her?” Jimmy’s eyes widened, and he glanced again at Victoria, who had bent over to retrieve another sopping wet garment from the basket of laundry. Ruth’s hand-me-down skirt pulled taut against Victoria, revealing a very womanly figure.
Tom quickly averted his gaze but couldn’t stop the slow burn from fanning inside his gut. It was always there, always smoldering even though he’d done all he could that week to douse it. He had the feeling that after Victoria read all of the telegrams, she’d help him snuff it out once and for all.
Jimmy glanced away from Victoria. The confusion in his eyes would have been laughable, if Tom had been in a laughing mood. Which he wasn’t. “Stay. For. Dinner,” he repeated louder.
Jimmy’s grin re-appeared. “Why didn’t you say so? I can do that without worrying you’ll break every bone in my body.”
Tom carried the crates up to the house with Jimmy and then waved the old fisherman inside to visit with his mom. Tom couldn’t put off this encounter with Victoria, one he’d been dreading since sending the telegrams that revealed her location to the world.
As he approached the laundry line, he heard her humming. At the sight of him, she paused in the process of lifting another wet piece of clothing and gave him a warm, welcoming smile. “I hope Jimmy is planning to stay. I have a pot of clam chowder on the stove.”
For a second, he could almost believe she’d been born to this kind of life, that she could live in isolation indefinitely, cooking soup and hanging the laundry to dry, instead of relying upon a host of servants to do it for her. He tried to picture her as she’d been in New York when he’d first met her, in her lacy gowns, big flowery hats, fancy hairstyles, and dainty gloves and parasols. That was her world. And this would never be, no matter how comfortable she might appear at present.
He thrust the telegrams at her, knowing he had to get the inevitable over with. “These are for you.”
With curiosity lighting her eyes, she started to reach for them. But at the sight of the large bold print “Western Union” filling the top half of the envelope and her name scrawled on the bottom, she jerked her hand away. “I don’t want to see them.”
“You can read them privately, or I’ll read them to you aloud.”
She spun back to the rope that served as a laundry line, and she lifted the wet garment she’d been holding and gave a sharp gasp. It was her nightgown. The same one that she’d been wearing when he’d nearly lost control of himself.
She rapidly bunched up the gown and dropped into the basket before stooping and retrieving another item. His shirt. The one that he’d shed that same night. She paused, and he caught a slight tremble in her fingers before she moved to pin the shirt to the line.
He released a slow exhale, trying not to think of her. Of them. Of the fire that