Leave a Widow Wanting More by Charlie Lane
Chapter 16
Upon waking hours later, Henry nuzzled into the bundle of woman in his arms. Warm. Mine.
Then he thought, Cold. The fire had dwindled while they slept. He pulled the covers tight around Sarah’s shoulders and threw on his pants and shirt. The fire didn’t take much convincing to roar to life, and he returned to the bedside but didn’t crawl back into the warm space beside his new wife. He watched her instead, letting the cold air besiege his skin.
She looked tiny in his giant bed. Pale too. She always looked so pale. And even though she’d been a fountain of life and energy just a few hours before, she lay still as stone now. Emmeline had looked just the same in the hours before her death—still and pallid and small. The image of the two women, so different in personality and looks, merged into one and a fist clenched around his heart. The icy cold air of the room seeped into his veins.
He should crawl back into bed and pull Sarah against him. He’d feel better with her heart beating next to his.
The urge to join her gripped him, terrified him. In all the world, the place he wanted to be most at that moment was next to her. In this home. With his children sleeping soundly nearby. If he crossed that threshold, though, he might never be able to rip himself away. No more travel. No more discovery. And if anything should happen to her, to any of them, after letting them into his heart? He’d lived through such pain once. Never again.
He left.
His heart, its beating ignited by memories of those he’d lost, propelled him down the hall. The girls slept in the same wing, and he found Ada’s door in seconds. She looked like a child, curled tight under the covers. She slept on her side, one hand under her cheek. Her hair had slipped from its braid and lay in a wild mess about her pillows. He crept forward. She’d never let him so close while awake. He smoothed the hair from her forehead like he’d done when she was a child. How could he make everything right with her? The one thing he sensed she wanted most from him—to stay—he couldn’t give her. He turned to leave, then spied a small shelf along one wall. Curious, he crept closer and leaned in to view the titles of the books on display there.
They were all the ones he’d brought her from his travels. A lump formed in his throat. His daughter hadn’t hugged him in over two years. He’d thought her love for him irreparably damaged. But the books neatly lined up in plain sight gave him hope. He pushed it down. Hope was useless if he didn’t plan on changing his ways. And he didn’t.
He left, closing the door softly behind him.
He checked on the others—Nora, Pansy, the twins, even James. They all slept soundly. They all breathed evenly, safe, healthy, alive. For now, at least. An image of a breathless body laid out under a still white sheet assailed him, and the terror—a physical pain—tore through his chest anew.
He left, almost running, hesitating only outside the door to his room. He placed a palm against the smooth wood. For five years, he’d run from home, visiting briefly, then leaving; guilt and longing his steadfast traveling companions. Terror pursued him as surely as a crocodile pursued a bird on the Nile. In the last year, each trip home had chipped away at his resolve to leave, each angry glare from Ada, pleading look from Nora, and shy glance from Pansy made him want to shake the dust of travel from his boots for good.
So, he’d gotten a wife to alleviate his guilt and care for his daughters. He thought he’d chosen well, too. Sarah had the mind of a scholar, the courage of a soldier, and the body of a pocket courtesan.
He laid his head against the door. She tempted him.
Zeus, she tempted him to stay.
But what would happen if he stayed? He already cared too much. What would happen if he actually fell in love? If he admitted and embraced all he had to lose, how much would it hurt when he lost it all?