The girls were talkative during breakfast. Several times, he slipped his gaze toward Clara. When their eyes connected, hers full of softness, his heart lurched against his ribs.
The four of them went to the church.
He looked about. The pile of wood that had been on one side of the room was gone, cut into shapes for pews. “We’re all done sawing pieces.”
“The pews are almost finished.” Did she sound as regretful as he felt? This work had given them the opportunity and the excuse to spend time together. Once they were done, what would they do?
“It will still take a few hours to assemble them all.” He held an end piece in position. She knew what to do and steadied the piece.
Her hand slid across the edge and rested against his.
Whether or not the touch was purposeful, he couldn’t say, but his heart rushed up his throat in a response that was both primitive and surprising. When had he ever had such a powerful response to a simple touch? Never. Not even with Alice, though he’d loved her as fully as he could.
A stunning truth flared through his mind. His love for Alice had lacked a degree of depth he’d been incapable of back then. The sorrow he’d lived through had given him a deeper capacity for emotions.
He sought Clara’s gaze.
When his eyes met hers, he realized she’d been watching him and was aware of his reaction. Her blue eyes were liquid with answering emotion. Her lips parted slightly. They were temptingly kissable.
At the sound of the girls playing across the room, he cleared his throat and forced his attention back to work. “Eleanor and Libby, do you want to help assemble this pew?”
They rushed over, always eager to be of assistance.
Over their heads, his gaze locked with Clara’s. Time ceased as their look went on and on. Hers burning into his, silently claiming places in his heart that had never before been occupied. Places that had, until this moment, been hidden, curled like a flower bud waiting for her smile before they bloomed.
“Mr. Blue, is this where you want it?” Eleanor’s question jerked him back to the here and now.
And the realities of his world.
He needed to keep his mind on his task, his emotions contained to what was possible and his heart firmly under control.
Throughout the day, he repeated that warning to himself often, but every time he and Clara touched, whenever their gazes brushed, he forgot it for minutes at a time.
Late in the afternoon, he stood back, Clara at his side. “They are all put together.” The pews were crowded together against one wall. “Soon they’ll be arranged for church.” There was still work to be done—shellac to be applied, the pulpit to be built and the walls to be finished, but others had volunteered for those tasks.
“Even more importantly, they’ll hold people who come to worship.”
Did her voice contain a wistful note, as if she wanted to be among those worshippers?
“Are we done?” Libby asked. “Now what?”
He didn’t have the materials for putting on the finish. Didn’t know if Macpherson had what he needed. “Tomorrow I’ll clean the tools, sweep the floor and generally tidy up.”
“Can we help?” Eleanor asked.
He squeezed her shoulder. “I never turn down help.”
“You’re right.” Clara studied the pews.
“What am I right about?” Dare he hope she’d changed her mind about leaving?
“There’s a great deal of satisfaction in knowing I had a hand in making those.”
He reached for her hands, examined the back of each then turned them over and examined the palms. “These hands did a fine job.” His voice had grown husky.
If the girls weren’t watching them, he would have placed a kiss on each palm. Would have followed it up with a kiss to her lips.
“Then we’re going to be done?” Libby didn’t sound pleased about it.
“Yup,” Blue answered.
“You’ll go back to the ranch, won’t you?” She faced him, anger and disappointment twisting her face.
“Maybe not. Why not wait and see?” He needed to tell them he meant to go wherever they went, but, fearing it might bring on an argument from Clara, he kept his plans to himself.
“Let’s go for supper.” He held a hand out and took a girl on either side. His smile included Clara. “Unfortunately, I don’t have a third hand.”