Chapter Fifty-Three

It was past midnight when they hitched their team and headed home from the party. The children slept soundly in spite of the way the wagon bumped over the road. Carina was too tired to talk, and Amalia seemed glad to not have to speak. Donovan watched her out of the corner of his eye as he drove. Cautiously, he took her hand and was surprised that she didn't pull away and even seemed to smile a little in the faint light of the stars. The warm night air was gentle on his skin, and when he breathed, the clear sky, the distant stars and the desert breeze came into his body with a rush that intoxicated him.

It was a letdown to arrive at the ordinary little farm. Seeing that Carina and Amalia were tired, he put up the animals without enlisting their assistance. By the time he returned to the house, he felt certain everyone would've gone to bed. He was surprised to find Amalia set up with the book and lamp in the living room, Carina and the sleepy children on the sofa. "They insisted," Amalia said. "But you don't have to stay up if you're too tired.

Although whittling had become Donovan’s new evening project, he had a slight phobia for working with a knife at this late hour. He found his latest attempt at knitting and settled into a chair. Amalia picked up her knitting and opened Pride and Prejudice to where they had stopped the night before. "But the attention of every lady was soon caught by a young man, whom they had never seen before. . .'"

Donovan pretended not to notice the occasional glances the sisters were exchanging and tried instead to remember what count he was on, when to knit and when to purl, but it had been so long since he had knitted last that he couldn’t keep it all straight.

"'All were struck with the stranger's air, all wondered who he could be. . .'"

Well, it didn't matter how it looked, since it was just for him. He would knit straight through and see how that turned out, but as he listened to Amalia's clear soft voice, even the simple act of knitting failed him and he let the needles drop into his lap.

Amalia stopped reading and looked around. "I guess that's enough for tonight."

"I'll put the kids to bed," Carina offered.

For some reason Amalia blushed. "We'll do it like we've always done." She headed for the children's room with Tasha in her arms while Carina pulled Will off the sofa. She tossed a glance over her shoulder at Donovan. "Don't stay up too late."

Donovan thought he detected something coy in her manner, but was too tired to puzzle it out. "Not much chance of that. I'm going to bed as soon as I can find my candle."

"Take the lamp. We already have one lit in the children's room, so we don't need this one." Without waiting to see if he would take the lamp or not, she guided Will to his room. Amalia had already gotten Tasha into her nightgown and was tucking her into bed. "Don't worry about that," Carina said. "I'll take care of it."

"I don't mind."

A look passed between them. "Wait long enough and it will be too late."

Amalia looked at the floor. "You like him, too."

"It hardly matters whether I like him or not. I've still got a husband."

"You won’t be jealous?"

"Of course not."

Amalia kissed Tasha on the forehead, then went into the bedroom she shared with Carina and changed into a robe of authentic Chinese silk that had once belonged to her mother. She paused in front of the mirror and ran a comb through her hair, then on impulse put on a dab of Carina's lipstick. She smiled at her reflection and was relieved to see that in the dim light of the oil lamp, she still looked almost like the young woman who had once been thought a beauty. That was another lifetime ago, but maybe everyone was right, that you sometimes had to take a chance, take happiness where you found it.

She padded on bare feet down the hall, passing the children's room where Carina was telling a story in soft, measured tones. She stopped outside Donovan's room. He had left the door ajar, whether from carelessness or expectation, she couldn't be sure, but it didn't matter why the door was open, or why he was still awake with the glow of the lamp spilling out into the hallway. All that mattered was that the door swung inward at the pressure of her fingertips. She stepped inside and shut the door softly behind her.

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