To Catch A Suitor (Dalton Family 2)

“How could I when you’ve reminded me of your hatred toward it every day since you were ten years old?” He leaned in close to her and took a big taunting bite of his own cucumber-filled sandwich. She wrinkled her adorable nose and leaned away.

“I despise them.”

“I know.”

“Loathe them, in fact.”

“I know.”

“Wish that Adam had stomped them to bits in the Garden of Eden and abolished them forever.”

He smiled. “I know.”

“Good. Only making certain you never forget.” She peeked up at him and he felt his stomach turn over from the almost flirtatious look she gave him. Their gazes held for a moment before she cleared her throat and looked down at her own sandwich—which really couldn’t even be considered a sandwich since it was only bread and cheese. “I don’t know what it is you see in the fruit.”

“My mother loved them,” he said and then froze. Had he really just said that out loud? He never spoke of his mother. Never. Not to anyone.

Elizabeth’s mouth parted and she took in a breath. She knew this unspoken rule as well. Questions, concern, and uncertainty ran through Elizabeth’s sky blue eyes. Her gaze dropped to her sandwich and something in him longed for her to cross the line he’d drawn. The line he’d never allowed anyone in the world to even get close to.

“Go ahead,” he said, his voice shaking a little at the permission he was offering. “Ask me.”

She turned her face to him, her expression soft and tender. “What was she like?”

A breath released from him like the first cleansing breeze of spring. He shut his eyes to conjure up the soft memories he kept tucked inside his chest. “She was lovely in every way.” He smiled as he pictured her. “I have the most vivid images of my mother’s eyes crinkling in the corners as she held my hands and spun me around in the pasture as a child. She was the sort of mother who would chase and play and laugh and…she protected me with everything she had.” Oliver had to clear his throat against the emotions he felt welling up.

“In the darkest of days, she laughed—just to make sure I always had a reason to smile. She told the most wonderful stories of adventure and romance and somehow managed to make our very dark life brighter.” And then she died and all of his light fled with her.

Oliver felt the familiar knife twist through his chest at the memory of losing his mother. At the feelings of loss and heartache and fear he had experienced as a young boy when he had learned that the only person who loved him in the world was gone. The only relief from the pain was to force himself to return his focus on the present where he was no longer a helpless child.

With his eyes still shut, he tuned into the world around him. The smell of summer. The warmth of the sun. The sound of birds overhead, and the breeze pushing through the leaves of the tree. He stretched his fingers then gripped the sharp blades of grass under his hands. After a moment, the twisting of the knife subsided a little.

But then an unexpected feeling joined the rest. Warm. Soft. Velvet. He opened his eyes to see Elizabeth’s hand covering his. “What happened to her?” She asked gently.

This was the difficult part. The part that had changed his life forever. “She died unexpectedly in her sleep.” That night flashed in his mind. Frank Turner’s voice loud and angry rising behind the closed door after mother had retired for the night. He could still hear her sobbing into her pillow once Frank had finally let her be. Oliver shut his eyes again, wishing he could go back in time and be stronger for her. Open the door. Protect her from his father as she’d done for him all his life.

“The doctor said it was most likely due to a condition of the heart, and I don’t doubt it. My father was hateful and aggressive and…dark. I’m convinced his hate killed her and that she died of a broken heart.”

Oliver looked from where Elizabeth’s hand was covering his to her eyes. They were sparkling with unshed tears. She blinked and one fell down her cheek. Oliver raised his hand and used his thumb to wipe it away. She shut her eyes and leaned ever so slightly into his touch. How was it that she wasn’t saying anything, but he had never felt more comforted?

“You’re like her, you know?” she said softly, and his whole body stilled. Her eyes opened and fixed on him. “Your eyes crinkle when you smile and your laugh has always pushed away my shadows.”

He couldn’t say anything. He was frozen, soaking up this moment and her words—silently begging them to be true.

“And, you love cucumbers,” she said.

He smiled, his hand falling away from her face as he looked down to his sandwich. “But you do not.”

There was a small thoughtful pause.

“No,” she said simply. “But as long as we are friends, I’ll always make sure you have them.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Enough was enough. He had tried to be patient. He had tried to give Elizabeth her space that morning. But it was torture watching her bat her lashes at Hastings and lavish him with flattery. Not because he was jealous—although he most definitely was—but because she was terrible at it. This version of Elizabeth was painful to watch. She was rigid and uncomfortable and very clearly enjoying her new change about as much as he was.

He was confused. Why would Elizabeth be throwing herself away on that buffoon? No, buffoons were at least interesting. Hastings was a statue. He wished for Elizabeth to marry an upstanding gentleman who could take care of her in a way that Oliver feared he couldn’t—but that did not mean that he wished for her to marry someone who would do nothing but make her yawn for the rest of her life.

Oliver continued hugging the wall and peeking through the crack of the door to the little closet in which he was standing. It was a little desperate to be waiting inside a closet for Elizabeth to walk by, but what could he say? He was desperate. He needed to get her alone for just one minute. He needed to talk to her. To understand why she was acting the way she was, and why the devil she was pretending to love cucumbers.