by Ava Winters
She had to do something. She had to end her marriage to Jacob, and she had to do it sooner rather than later. Her heart wasn’t with the man she’d married; it was with the man she was now seated with. The man who made her heart soar when she saw him.
“Peter,” she said gently.
He looked at her with that same warm smile. “Yes?”
“Do you think you could find me a solicitor?” she asked. The moment the words left her lips, Peter’s expression changed. His lips spread wide and a grin lit up his face.
“I sure can,” he said.
Layla could see Annabelle observing their exchange intently from beside her, but Layla did her best not to look at her. She was too busy gazing at Peter.
“When would you like to meet them?” he asked.
“As soon as I can,” Layla answered. “It’s time to get all this sorted,” she added with a small smile.
“I agree,” Peter replied. He was still grinning and his spoon hovered in mid-air above his stew. It seemed almost forgotten as he held her gaze. Layla felt the same.
Looking into Peter’s eyes, she could forget everything else. She could forget what she went through before she met him. She could forget about Jacob and the way he’d treated her. She could forget the orphanage, and the hurt and neglect she experienced there by the people who were responsible for her but never loved her.
In Peter’s eyes, Layla found a home and a chance for her dreams to finally become real. She wanted him in her life. She wanted to be his wife and not Jacob’s. She didn’t want a man who was just now coming to realize what she was worth, but one who had always seen it. Maybe who saw it even better than she did.
“I’ll ask around town when I finish up here,” Peter informed her. He was talking about his lunch, yet he hadn’t yet returned to it. His eyes were still on her and Layla felt as if she could fly because of it.
“You better eat,” she reminded him again. “The stew is much better today.”
“It is,” Peter replied. “A lot of things are.”
Layla could feel her cheeks warm at his words. She knew he was talking about her, that was obvious, but the fact that he was being so open with Annabelle there was something she hadn’t expected. She doubted he did, either, by the sudden bashfulness that came over him.
“Miss Annabelle, I heard you were having some trouble with the house needing repairs,” he said to change the subject.
“Some,” Annabelle replied. “We were lookin’ to have the repairs done but Gilbert’s askin’ too much for it. It’s just gonna have to wait until we have the money.”
“I can do it,” Peter offered. “I can come over on my off days and work on the repairs for you. It’d be my pleasure,” he told her before he shoved a spoonful of stew in his mouth.
Annabelle looked at Layla with a smile. “I would be much obliged to yah,” she answered. “Just tell me when yah can start.”
“As soon as possible,” Peter replied as his eyes once again settled on Layla. “I wouldn’t want to waste another day.”
Chapter Thirteen
Sunday couldn’t come quickly enough for Peter. Since Layla’s announcement that she wanted to find a solicitor, he’d been on cloud nine. He’d found a few people who were willing to handle the matter on her behalf and had given the names to Layla. He’d left it to her to make contact with him. The fact that she’d taken the step to ask was enough for him. She was over her marriage and Jacob McCarthy. She was ready to move forward and so was he.
That morning he woke early and got himself breakfast. He headed to church, but he heard little of the sermon. His mind was focused on what was to happen after the service. He was expected at Annabelle’s house to start the repairs. She’d also promised him lunch and dinner, both of which were welcomed, if only for the fact that it would allow him more time with Layla. During the sermon, his eyes kept darting over in her direction.
Layla was stunning in her new dress. It was a deep blue that made her fair skin shine. It was almost as if she was wearing a jewel, but Layla was always precious in his eyes. She smiled, seemingly enthralled by the words the preacher was speaking, and Peter wished he could have the understanding of it that she did, but he didn’t. The only thing he knew was that his heart wanted more of her in his life.
He met with several of the parishioners after service as they mulled around before lunch. Mrs. Franklin invited him to join her and her unmarried daughter for lunch, but Peter politely refused. Mrs. Franklin’s attempts to marry him off to her daughter were something he had long become accustomed to. Unfortunately, she didn’t seem to understand that he wasn’t interested. However, by the time he convinced the woman that he couldn’t join them, Layla and Annabelle were already gone. Peter hurried home to change and get to their house.
His steps were brisk as he walked to Annabelle’s. He stopped by the saloon to find that Jacob and his friends were there, seated at a table together. Jacob seemed to be looking for someone, and Peter could only guess it was Layla. He smiled to himself.
She isn’t here today.
He nodded toward his workers, who smiled and raised their hands in acknowledgment. Jacob turned toward the door and their eyes met. Peter nodded silently, and Jacob did the same. Whatever he wanted, he wasn’t going to get it. Layla was going to be free of him, and soon. Peter turned and walked away.
His heart was dancing in his chest as he raised his hand and knocked on Annabelle Baker’s door. He had his tools in a bag slung over his shoulder and he was ready to get to work. As he waited, he looked up at the eaves of the house. Some were dangling precariously, and Peter could see where the wood had been chewed by the termites. Then the door opened, and his gaze was drawn inside.
Layla stood in the doorway with a bright smile on her face. She was wearing a pale blue dress which buttoned up the front, and had a white apron tied around her waist. Her brown hair was parted down the middle and pulled into a messy bun. Loose strands danced around her face as the breeze took hold of them. Peter’s heart thundered.
“Layla.” He said her name reverently.
The young woman blushed. “Peter. Come on in.” She stepped back and let the door stand wide open for him to enter. Peter walked inside.
There was a feeling in the air as he stepped in and took a few steps to pass Layla. There was tension, but it wasn’t unpleasant. It was almost expectant. It was as if they were both waiting for something, and Peter knew what it was.
Layla was going to get free, and when she did, he was going to be there. He was finally going to be able to let her know what he truly felt for her. He would be able to tell her the place she had in his heart—not in loose or vague terms, but the complete and honest truth.
“Miss Annabelle is in the kitchen,” Layla informed him as she closed the door.
“I’ll just say hello, if I may?” he asked as he turned to look at her. Layla couldn’t meet his eyes. There was an almost permanent pink hue to her cheeks that made Peter grin.
“Follow me,” she answered as she led him to the kitchen. Peter did as she’d instructed.
Annabelle was busy stirring a large pot when he walked in.
“Miss Annabelle,” he greeted her. The older woman turned around with a large smile. “I was wondering if Millie was gonna set you free,” she commented, referring to his waylay with Mrs. Franklin.
“I managed to escape,” he replied.
“Glad yah could come,” she replied. “We do need yer help around ‘ere. Lunch will be done in a while, I’m making some stewed peas now. Layla roasted a duck and some vegetables,” she added with a smile. “She also made a Johnny Cake for us. She’s really got talent in the kitchen. She’s gonna make some man a real good one of these days. Hopefully soon.”
“Stop, Miss Annabelle,” Layla replied bashfully. “It’s no big deal.” Her eyes shifted to Peter.
“I think Miss Annabelle’s right,” he commented. “You have all the makings of a really wonderful wife.”
Pet
er could see the effect his words had on Layla, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy it. Her cheeks reddened, and a smile spread across her face so steadily that it was the most beautiful of transformations, watching her calm demeanor change to a happier one. He enjoyed being the cause of it. He wanted to be credited with more of Layla’s happy expressions. In fact, he was determined to be.
“Layla, could you show Peter where the problems are?” Annabelle asked. “I’m busy in ‘ere.”
“Sure, Miss Annabelle, I can do that,” Layla agreed. “This way,” she continued as she turned to Peter. He followed her silently, observing her every move as she walked ahead of him.
Layla led him to an upstairs bedroom. There was a bucket under one of the beams where the termites had eaten a hole in the roof and partially through the beam. “That doesn’t look good,” he noted, looking up at the space above him.
“When it rains, it gets wet up here,” Layla informed him. “That’s why we keep the bucket there, just in case. You can never be sure when the rain might fall, and running up and down to deal with this doesn’t make sense.”
“I agree,” Peter answered, then set his tools down and got a chair from the corner. He stood on it to get a better look at the problem. “Yep, this wood is going to have to all be removed.” He looked down at Layla. “You need a new roof. I can see where the termites have gotten into the boards going right across the length of this room. Who knows where else they’ve gotten into? I’d better check the other rooms.”
Layla nodded in agreement as he got down from his perch and put the chair back in its place. He left his tools and he followed her into the room next door.
“This is my room,” she said before she opened the door. Peter’s heart faltered. Her room? This was a place he’d never imagined he’d see. Peter was surprised by his nervousness at the fact that he was about to entire a very private place.
Layla nodded at him and opened the door.
The room was modest and decorated with light wood. A single bed was pushed up against the far wall near the small window, and beneath the window was a small trunk with a quilt on top of it. Next to that was a small cabinet with a single drawer and one cabinet at the bottom. An empty basin sat on top of it, beside a lamp and a water jug. There was a small rug by the bed, and a handmade curtain covered the window.
Peter couldn’t help but smile. There were a number of dresses on the bed, all in various states of creation.
“You made all these?” he asked as he stepped into the room.
“Yes,” Layla answered. “I told you, I’m very handy.”
He looked over his shoulder at her. “I can see that. Maybe I should ask you to make me some shirts?” he jested.
“If you’d like,” Layla replied. “I wouldn’t mind.”
Peter turned to look at her. He wanted to say something, but he didn’t know what. It was still too soon to admit his feelings, but it was even more difficult to hide them. She was everything he wanted. His eyes wandered over her gently, and he noticed a small bandage on her hand.
“What happened here?” he asked, stepping closer and taking her hand in his. She allowed him to hold her hand.
“I cut myself this morning sharpening a knife,” Layla informed him as Peter inspected the wound. He unwrapped the makeshift bandage and looked at the angry wound beneath it. The fabric was slightly stuck to the dried blood and Peter was careful as he removed it.
“Looks nasty. You should change that bandage,” he instructed.
“I will,” Layla assured him.
“I think you should do it now,” Peter urged as he kept her hand in his. Her skin was so soft. He didn’t want to let go.
“Would you help me? Miss Annabelle did her best this morning, but you know how it is with her hands.”
“Of course,” he answered gently. “Where’s the antiseptic?”
“Over there.” Layla pointed to the cabinet on the wall behind her. He hadn’t even noticed it.
Peter walked across the room, opened the cabinet, and took out the antiseptic ointment and the bandages. When he turned, Layla was seated on the edge of her bed with her hand opened, palm up.
He halted. Sunlight was streaming through the small space in the window that the curtain didn’t cover. The golden light fell on her dark hair, making the ends glow ethereally. She was an angel. His angel. He couldn’t wait to make her that for real. He gathered his thoughts and took the chair from the corner of the room and set it in front of her.
Peter poured the water from the jug into the basin and used the cloth to clean the wound once more. Layla winced with pain as he did so, and Peter did his best to be gentle. “Sorry,” he apologized.
“It’s alright,” Layla assured him. “You’re very good at this.”
“I’ve had to patch a few wounds in my time,” he replied with a chuckle.
“Have you been hurt before?” she asked. There was a slight alarm to her tone.
“Nothing serious,” Peter said quickly. “We don’t get a lot of trouble around here,” he elaborated. “However, we have had some folk come through town who brought trouble with them. Things did get dangerous, but that was only a handful of times over the years since I took the post of deputy sheriff.”
“Were you shot?” Layla questioned as Peter tended to her hand.
He shook his head. “No, but Bill was. I was with him and had to help him tend the wound until we could get him to a doctor.”
Peter concentrated on the task before him. He traced the damp cloth around her cut carefully, stroking her skin gently as he cleaned up the dried blood. Once it was clean, he took the antiseptic ointment. “This may sting a bit,” he warned her before he applied it to Layla’s palm. Peter placed the ointment on the wound and then carefully spread it with his finger. Layla winced again and hissed slightly. Peter smiled as he brought her hand closer to his mouth and blew softly on the wound. Layla’s complaints stopped immediately.
Layla smiled. “The lady at the orphanage used to blow on my cuts when I was a girl.”
“I don’t usually blow on cuts,” Peter admitted. “At least, not for just anyone,” he added.
“Then I guess I should be thankful to make the list,” Layla replied.
“You should. Only the most special of people get that.”
“I don’t deserve it.” Layla’s tone was thick with melancholy. Her eyes and chin lowered, but Peter wasn’t going to have that. He placed his finger under her chin and lifted her head until her eyes met his.
“You deserve the best life has to offer,” Peter assured her. “And you’re going to get it. It may not come all at once, but I know it will,” he continued. “The things you’ve endured won’t matter anymore. You’re going to live your dream, Layla. I know it.”
“How do you know that?” Layla asked hopefully, as her eyes remained on him.
Because I’m going to make it happen.
“Because God wouldn’t allow you to suffer always,” he answered. “There’s a season for everything under the sun—and your season of happiness is coming.”
“I hope you’re right,” Layla answered.
“I know I am. You mark my words and wait and see. Your dreams are going to come true, and when they do, I hope you’ll remember this day and the fact that I told you they would.”
“I will,” she replied. Her eyes lingered on his face as his lingered on hers. “You’ll be there when it happens, won’t you? When my dreams come true? It wouldn’t be right if you weren’t; after all, it was because of you that I even had this chance.”
“I’ll be there,” Peter said. “I’ll be right beside you.”
His hand closed around hers lightly, not enough to cause her pain. Peter wished he could transfer her his feelings in that touch. That, through that simple action, she could feel how much he cared for her. How much she meant to him.
Soon.
Peter took a deep breath as he took a strip of cloth and began to wrap it around Layla’s han
d. He was as gentle as he could be and Layla never uttered a word as he tied off the fabric and sealed up the wound. He met her eyes and smiled. “Now, that’s out of the way. You’d better show me where else the problems are.”
Layla smiled and pointed over the other side of the room, to where lines were eaten into the wood on the roof. “Right there.”
Peter turned and looked at it. “Guess I’d better take a look,” he mused.
Layla smiled at him and nodded. “You bet,” she replied. “You have to work for your meals,” she teased.
