he would think of me?”
Carrie’s stomach dropped as one by one the pieces of the puzzle clicked into place. A child abandoned at the Hickory Ridge orphanage. Rosaleen’s constant probing for information about Hickory Ridge and its past. Her coffee-with-cream skin, and those extraordinary green eyes . . . Carrie had seen those eyes before. She shivered.
“I don’t see what I can do that the detectives can’t,” Griff said.
Carrie peeked around the side of the barn. He was standing apart from her now, arms folded across his chest.
Rosaleen took a handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at her nose. “I was hoping for another loan so I can keep looking for them. I’ve spent my last cent on detectives, and I dare not ask Nate for the money.”
“I suppose not.”
“I swore I wouldn’t leave Hickory Ridge until I knew the truth. And—”
“If they haven’t surfaced by now . . .” Griff rubbed his chin. “It’s a big country, Rosaleen. You may have to accept that you won’t ever know what happened. Too much time has passed.”
“So you won’t help me.”
“I’m trying to help you—by encouraging you to let go of this.
Go home. Be a good wife to the bookseller. Perhaps in time—”
Rosaleen whirled around, her bright yellow skirts stirring the dust. “Thanks for nothing, Griff Rutledge.”
She disappeared around the side of the house. Moments later Carrie heard the clop-clop of hooves as Rosaleen drove away.
Carrie stood in the shadows watching Griff split firewood, her mind reeling. A cold kernel of fear formed in her stomach. Could her suspicions possibly be true? Was Rosaleen Sophie Robillard’s mother?
TWENTY-SIX
Mary was sick twice during the afternoon. Carrie was exhausted from cleaning up, helping Mary change her nightdress, and brewing endless cups of slippery elm tea. Joe and Caleb returned from the river covered in mud and smelling like dead fish. Worst of all, at supper, Griff seemed distant and ill at ease.
Carrie watched him from the corner of her eye as she served the boys another helping of fried potatoes. Had she done something to offend him? Or was he troubled by his conversation with Rosaleen? Most certainly he and Rosaleen had once meant something to each other. Did he miss her now? Want her back even though she was wed to Nate? That thought was the most disturbing. Because heaven help her, despite his earlier warnings, she couldn’t stop imagining a future with him.
“More coffee, Mr. Rutledge?”
She pushed back her chair, but Griff got to his feet. “Don’t get up. I can get it.”
Wordlessly he poured himself another cup, refilled hers, and set the pot back on the stove.
“Some pie then.”
“No, thank you.” He leaned against the door frame sipping his coffee, but his expression said that he was a thousand miles away.
“I want some pie,” Joe said. “Me and Caleb are starving.”
Carrie gave them their dessert and sent them outside to do their evening chores. Taking her apron from the peg beside the door, she slipped it on and began scraping their plates. Griff grabbed his own plate off the table and raked the remnants of his dinner into the slop pail.
“Thanks, but you don’t have to do that.”
“Yes, I do.” He set his empty cup on the table. “You made my bed this morning. Folded my lost sock too.”
She glanced at him. “I was out there anyway, to do the milking.”
“I appreciate your bringing me out here when I got hurt. But I don’t want you looking after me.”
“I don’t mind.”
His gaze locked on hers. “But I do.”
Heat rushed to her face. She had enjoyed the small intimacies his presence afforded. Nursing him in his illness, making his meals, touching the fabric that touched him—all had made her feel closer to him. But now he was pulling away, putting distance between them.
“I’ve been thinking that in another few days I should go,” he said. “My shoulder’s much better; my strength is back. I’ve relied on your good graces much too long.”
It wasn’t exactly news. Hadn’t he intended to leave town on Race Day? Even so, tears misted her eyes. “I suppose you’re eager to leave Hickory Ridge. It must seem too tame to a man like you.”
He picked up a clean towel and dried the serving platter she had just washed. “I might stay in town awhile longer. I’ve missed my sailing from San Francisco anyway.” He set the platter aside and picked up a plate. “The day I arrived here, Mr. Gilman made me a proposition. Now I’ve got one