Page 82 of Valley of Dreams

The wind blew something fierce. The sky was leaden, with fast-moving clouds. Thecéilíwasn’t likely to last to its usual late hour. Here was yet another reason the town ought to have been excited about the possibility of a nearby inn: their weekly party could be held inside when the weather was uncooperative.

If she could just see it built, those who were still unconvinced would see that she was offering them something of value. She had Patrick add to his building plans, a little room in the inn with a few things that passengers might wish to purchase from the mercantile, so they could buy what they needed without going into town. She’d also spoken with Seamus Kelly, the local blacksmith, about the possibility of building a small forge near the inn, should his services be needed. While she still hadn’t settled the matter of alcohol at the inn, she’d found answers to all of the town’s other concerns.

Couldn’t the stage company see that her inn was worth changing their schedule for? Building the inn would show Lydia that her mum could provide her a home and hope . . . andshoes, for heaven’s sake.

It all felt so out of reach.

When Eliza and Lydia arrived, light flickered inside the house. Patrick was home, then. Her nervousness and excitement halted her a moment, but only a moment. She knocked at the door and waited.

The door opened. A very confused Patrick eyed her standing there.

She offered what was probably an awkward smile. “I had a feeling you wouldn’t be at thecéilí.”

“So you thought you’d join the party I must’ve been hostin’ here?” Drier than a desert, that answer. Was he not at all happy to see her after two weeks? For heaven’s sake, he’d embraced her the last time they were together. He’d nearly kissed her. Did he regret those things?

“Don’t fret, Mr. Patrick. I’ll make absolutely certain not to enjoy myself or smile or say anything that isn’t strictly business. And”—she could feel emotion climbing her neck—“I certainly don’t expect you to pretend like you are”—the emotion thickened—“at all happy to see me. But you could at least”—she choked a bit on the lump in her throat—“let me get out two words before—before—” Merciful heavens, tears were actually falling. “Oh, never mind, you grumpy, grumpy man.” She spun and turned to go.

“Eliza.” He spoke her name so quietly, so tenderly.

She stopped but didn’t turn back. She kept Lydia close and tried in vain to stop her tears, but she was too tired, too worn down, too frustrated by life. Patrick left the doorway and stepped outside, over the threshold, facing her.

Eliza tried to look firm and unaffected, but her chin quivered, giving her away.

He put his arms around her and Lydia and held them gently. “I’m sorry. I’d not meant to make you feel unwelcome.”

She leaned into his unexpected but very-needed embrace. “I’ve had a horrible day, Patrick. Absolutely horrible, and there was no one I could talk to about it.”

“Is that why you came here?”

She took a shaky breath and nodded, though she wasn’t sure he could tell.

“Come inside. Tell me why things’ve been so horrible.”

This was precisely what she’d come hoping for, yet she hesitated. “You didn’t seem too keen on that a minute ago.”

“Lydia convinced me.”

She could smile at that. “We mustn’t disappoint her.”

His arms dropped away, but he didn’t leave her there on the stoop. Instead, he took her hand in his and led her across the threshold and inside the house.

She’d expected it to be more or less empty inside, knowing the state of his coffers. But it had a small table, a few chairs, and shelves to the side forming something of a makeshift kitchen. The blanket she’d sat on when she’d come visiting was now spread out like a rug in front of the fireplace. A quilt hung from the rafters, dividing off part of the room.

“The family made some donations,” he said, motioning to the furniture.

“You have more furniture than I do,” she pointed out.

“But Lydia has the best furniture of all.”

“True.” Smiling felt good. It drove away a bit of the misery she’d been feeling. “Her little bed is just perfect.”

“A nod to the designer.” Patrick motioned her over to the chairs near the fireplace.

Eliza set Lydia on the blanket, then sat beside her. She might eventually move to a chair, but the little girl looked a bit overwhelmed. Patrick sat on the blanket with her and her daughter.

“I-und!” Lydia scooted over to him, holding up her doll for his inspection.

“Patrick,” he reminded her.

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