Free A Promise for Spring by Kim Vogel Sawyer Page B

a funny-looking bench holding an upended boot on a peg. Obviously Geoffrey did his own cobbling. Once more she was struck by the isolation of this ranch.
    Geoffrey didn’t pause to allow her to explore but passed directly through the room to a single pocket door across from the double doors. This, too, he opened, and then turned a huge smile in her direction. “Your parlor.”
    Emmaline sensed his pride as she stepped past him to enter the room. The bay windows, devoid of curtains, looked out on the front yard. Two tall, narrow side windows, their sashes high to allow in the night breeze, faced the Solomon River. In the gloaming, Emmaline could not see the river, but she could hear the gentle sound of water moving. A peaceful sound.
    She moved deeper into the room. A large secretary stood between the side windows. Emmaline crossed to it and touched the fold-down desktop. The attached china cupboard held no ornaments, but paper and envelopes filled the cubbies of the desk. A pen and a fat jar of ink awaited use. Her fingers itched to make use of the pen and paper. Tomorrow she could write a letter to Mother and tell her she had safely arrived. But she must word her letter carefully lest she let slip this unusual arrangement, which would certainly displease her parents.
    She turned away from the secretary and spotted a spindled rocking chair in the corner beside a square parlor table that held an oil lamp. A perfect place to sit and embroider—if Geoffrey allowed her to purchase muslin and floss.
    “I am certain you will want other furnishings eventually.” Geoffrey remained in the doorway, his eyes following her as she investigated the room. “But I felt you would like to choose those yourself. We will go to Moreland one day soon and allow you to order things from the catalog.”
    Emmaline clasped her hands behind her back and turned to Geoffrey. He had tried so hard to make this house her home, and his expression seemed to beseech her to offer assurances for the future. Yet uncertainty sat like a rock in her belly. She blinked back tears. “I-it is a v-very nice parlor, Geoffrey. Thank you.”
    He nodded silently, biting down on his lower lip. Then he turned to another raised panel door, this one on hinges. He cleared his throat, and the nervous sound caused the fine hairs on the back of Emmaline’s neck to prickle.
    “And here,” Geoffrey said, swinging the door wide, “is our— your sleeping room.”

NINE
    E MM ALINE WAS AS skittish as a canary in a room full of cats,
her brown eyes huge in her colorless face. Geoffrey felt his
pulse beating in his neck, and he hoped it didn’t show. He
forced himself to breathe shallowly when Emmaline entered their
sleeping room. As she passed him, she tucked her skirts close to her
legs and pressed against the opposite side of the doorframe.
    He couldn’t deny a feeling of deep disappointment. In his
dreams, he had carried her through the doorway, placed her gently
on the bed, and pressed his lips to hers. He shook his head to
dispel the idea. They were not wed. They might never be wed.
Until the end of the getting-reacquainted period, he must curtail
such thoughts or go mad.
    He watched her move to the center of the room and stop with
her back to him. Her arms remained pressed to her sides, and she
did not turn her head to peer around in curiosity as she had done
in the parlor. The muscles in her back quivered, and he longed to
reach out and curl his hands around her narrow shoulders, to assure
her that he meant her no harm. But fearful of what might happen
if he touched her, he plunged his hands into his pockets instead.
    Silent seconds ticked by while she stood motionless beside the bed and he hovered in the doorway. Then, deciding someone must take action, he cleared his throat. She jumped at the sound and spun to face him. Her cheeks wore two bright banners, and he was certain his own face blazed red, too. “Before I retire for the evening,” he said, “I will bring