A Time to Bloom (Leah's Garden #2)(82)

“Could you?” She looked up at him. “I hate to put you to the trouble. Perhaps we can help cover the expense.”

“No need. Your family is paying me amply to build the boardinghouse, after all.”

“How is that coming? Lark says we are nearing ready to open.”

“I believe it should be finished enough by next week for you to start setting up the rooms. Jesse and William have been hard at work on the furniture. Those two make quite a team.”

“How is William? Has there been any further sign of those ruffians?”

“Not since I’ve been spending nights there. And Jesse barely lets him out of his sight when they go about town.”

She smiled. “That’s a really good thing, isn’t it? Those two young fellows working together. I don’t remember Jesse ever having a friend like this before—not that I’ve known him that long. Lark told Jesse we need to build him a workshop where he can have all his tools about him, all he needs to build cabinets and furniture. Maybe that would be good for William too.” She stared unseeing at the stack of essays.

“You have to do all those today?” RJ ran his finger down the edge of the paper pile.

“I should—tonight, anyway. Or tomorrow, but I think Lark wants me to help her at the boardinghouse for a while in the morning, since it’s Saturday.”

RJ raised a brow. “We won’t be finished by then.”

“Tell that to my older sister. I think she wants to figure out how to arrange the kitchen, that sort of thing. Don’t worry, I’ll try to keep her out of your way.” Del gathered the papers and slid them into her satchel. “I’ll just take these home to grade. I can’t seem to keep my mind on them just now.”

“Miss Nielsen . . . Del.” RJ laid his hand on her arm.

She stilled.

“The Kinsley family—it’s not your fault. You do know that.”

Del bit her lip, tears suddenly pricking from nowhere. “I should have checked on them sooner.”

“And done what? What good did our going do even now?”

She gave half a laugh and dashed her hand against her eyes. “Some comfort you are.”

He grimaced. “I don’t mean it like that. Hopefully we did something. Adam is able to check on the mother for now, and Kinsley knows someone is watching him. I just mean . . . this isn’t under your control.”

Del clenched her jaw against more tears. “I don’t do well with that.”

“Nor do I. But my ma would say we’re not supposed to be in charge anyway. That’s what God is for.”

She blinked. “Sounds like our mas would have gotten along.”

“And I wish we still had them. But since that too is something I cannot control . . .” He took her satchel with a gallant sweep and held out his other elbow. “Might I have the honor, Miss Nielsen, of escorting you to the mercantile?”

Del stared. Had he lost his senses? “The mercantile?”

“Indeed.” RJ bent his head conspiratorially. “It’s near four o’clock. That sacred hour when, without fail, Mrs. Jorgensen deposits a new batch of some heavenly baked goods on the counter. And it is a scientifically proven fact that sweets can alleviate one’s cares in a truly magical way.” He waggled his one visible brow.

Del couldn’t help a smile, which spread into a chuckle. “A treat does sound rather nice.”

“Well then, fair lady.” He set his felt hat on his head at a jaunty angle, which combined with his eye patch to give him a rakish look. “Let us be off.”

Inside the Jorgensens’ mercantile a short while later, Del bit into a fresh apple turnover, savoring the warm pastry and sweet, cinnamony chunks within.

“Mmm.” RJ closed his eyes and chewed. “That must be pretty close to heaven.”

“Thank you for this.” Del caught a crumb from her chin with her thumb. “I must admit this day just decidedly improved.”

“You’re welcome.”

The dark brown of his eye warmed. She’d never noticed it being such a rich color or the depth and feeling there. And just now, it was focused entirely on her. Her coat felt too warm inside the store, the air between them too close.

Del took a step back, her cheeks tingling. “I’m . . . going to see if there’s anything I should pick up for home while I’m here.”

She hurried over to the dry goods section, scanning the bolts of fabric with unseeing eyes and trying to breathe. What was the matter with her? One moment it had seemed perfectly natural to walk down the street on RJ Easton’s arm, two colleagues off for an after-school treat. Then they were standing there munching pastry together, and suddenly she’d been all too aware of his closeness, his manliness. Del lifted a hand to her throat, her pulse pounding.

“I hear they let him move right in before the boardinghouse is even finished. And then he got into some fight in the middle of the night.”

The murmur of women’s voices caught Del’s ear. She glanced over to the counter.

Mrs. Jorgensen and Mrs. Dwyer, the speaker, bent their heads together over a length of cloth.

“I heard that too. Could be that more and more of ’em will be coming to these parts now they’re freed. Not that I begrudge them that. Slavery was a terrible thing, but . . .”