Lost and Found

Chapter Seventeen

Glancing at the stairs to make sure the children hadn't snuck out of bed, Lillian left the house and headed toward the barn. A soft glow came from the window of the bunkhouse, which meant the men were still up, and Lillian briefly wondered if Sawyer was with them.

Wanting to spare herself the embarrassment of not knowing where her husband was at this late hour, she decided to check the barn first.

Entering into the darkness, broken only by soft beams of moonlight from the door and several windows above, she slowly walked past the stalls and down to the tack room, listening carefully for any sound that would alert her where Sawyer might be.

After not seeing him or any sign he'd even been there, she turned and headed back to the house. Perhaps he'd left through the back, and that was why she hadn't seen him leave the property.

When Jethro emerged from the shadows in his stall and nudged against her arm for affection, Lillian petted his velvet nose. If Jethro was here, Sawyer was as well, but where was he hiding? Hay drifted through the boards above as if to answer her unspoken question, falling in front of her.

She looked toward the ladder leading up to the loft three stalls away and wondered if she'd stumbled upon his location after all.

Chewing her lip in indecision, she quietly walked over and gathered her skirts in hand before carefully ascending the ladder.

Sawyer stared out over the West pasture, his boot-clad feet dangling from the hay door, as he tried not to think—of anything. He just wanted to watch the sky change color until dark overtook it completely, and then watch the stars.

He was glad he'd kept his coat on; it was cold enough that each breath formed little puffs, and his nose was tingling from the chill. The savory aroma of beef and potatoes reached him, and knew Lillian was making dinner.

For a moment, he thought about going in. His stomach grumbled—reminding him he hadn't eaten since that morning. But, the moment passed, and he found himself staring at the sky instead, wondering what it was about him that made it so hard for Lillian to trust him.

He wouldn't deny any longer that he loved her; he'd probably loved her from the very beginning. No, he wouldn't deny it, but neither was he about to go spouting sonnets and singing songs or shouting it from the rooftops. Not when the very woman he craved didn't return it.

And he did crave her, he admitted, adjusting his legs. He needed her the way flowers required sunshine. He physically ached with his want of her. But, she'd practically admitted that she wouldn't still be here if she hadn't married him. She would have left and taken his heart with her, thoroughly ruining him for any other chance at finding happiness.

Blowing out an irritated breath, he scratched his head and stared out at the full moon, willing himself to stop running over the same thoughts he'd been trying not to think for the last several hours.

He had fallen desperately in love with her, and as far as he knew, she tolerated him. Lillian liked him enough to marry him and allow him into her bed, and now he was completely vulnerable.

What he needed was to come up with a plan on how to fix it.

He needed to gain her trust, get her to love him, and then be able to let her leave him if he wasn't able to accomplish it.

"May I sit with you?" Lillian asked timidly, walking up behind him.

Glancing over his shoulder, he twisted at the waist and watched as she appeared in the shaft of moonlight he sat in. "If you'd like." He scooted over to allow her room, "Are the kids asleep?"