“Papa. Papa.” Olivia tugged on his pant leg. “I’m talking to you.”
Will lowered his gaze. A tiny frown creased the soft skin between Olivia’s slim brows.
Sometimes, he thought with a burst of affection, his daughter could be such a serious little creature.
In an effort to calm his child’s worry, or whatever had put that look on her face, he smoothed his hand over her hair. “What have you found, my darling? Show me.”
“A dolly.” She thrust the toy higher, a slow grin spreading across her lips. “I couldn’t reach her at first. The nice lady helped me get her down from the shelf.”
The nice lady. Did his daughter mean Bridget? Bridget Murphy?
Will looked up again. This time he felt an actual impact when his eyes met Bridget’s. Under her soft gaze something unexpected awakened deep within him, as though a part of him had been half asleep, poised and waiting to come alive until this precise moment.
Bridget smiled. The feeling dug deeper.
“Hello, Will.”
He managed a short nod. “Bridget.” He could think of nothing more to say.
Needing a moment, he dropped his chin and gazed at his son. Will had never seen Caleb that at ease with a stranger. In fact, the boy was holding Bridget’s hand with unmistakable confidence, as though he’d been doing so all his life.
“I see you’ve met my children.” Will spoke past the lump in his throat.
“I have.” Her gaze went blank a moment and then understanding filled her expression. The look said she’d put several missing pieces of the puzzle together in her mind. “Well, that explains it.”
“Explains what, precisely?”
“Their eyes.” Her voice softened. “They have your eyes.”
How often had he heard that before? Too many times to count. But spoken in Bridget’s soft Irish lilt, the compliment seemed to take on new meaning.
Olivia tugged on his pant leg again. “I like her, Papa.”
He did, too. God help him, he liked her, too. Perhaps a bit too much. He’d been down this road before, to devastating results. Had he learned nothing from his mistakes?
Will swallowed back a wave of unease.
Unaware of his discomfort, Olivia skipped back to Bridget and took hold of her free hand.
A brief moment of silence passed. The three stood there, looking back at him with smiles on their faces. Bridget and his children looked comfortable together, happy, as if they were a family.
The sight nearly brought him to his knees.
There was no denying that Bridget Murphy, in her simple muslin dress and hair confined in a neat bun, looked the picture of a happy young mother spending the day with her children. An illusion, of course. A trick of the eye.
Again Will wondered why the woman was here in Faith Glen.
Perhaps her appearance on the scene, at this particular moment in time, was no accident, but a part of God’s plan for all of them.
Is she our answer, Lord?
There was an easy way to find out. But not in front of the children. “Caleb, Olivia, have you picked out your toys yet?”
Olivia studied the blond-haired doll in her hand, looked up at Bridget, then shook her head decidedly. “I don’t like this dolly anymore. I want one with brown hair—” she pointed up to Bridget “—like hers.”
Although surprised, Will couldn’t blame his daughter for her change in preference. Bridget had the loveliest head of hair he’d ever seen. He was sorry for the perfectly neat bun, sorrier than he should be. “Then go on and pick out a different one.”
Olivia skipped off.
Caleb, however, wasn’t budging from Bridget’s side. He had that stubborn look on his face, the one Will knew all too well. The boy was staying put.
Before Will could decide how best to pry his son loose, Miss Murphy provided a solution of her own. “Caleb, I think I would very much enjoy a miniature boat to remind me of my trip across the ocean. Would you go pick one out for me?”
It was all the encouragement the boy needed. He rushed toward the display of toys with a promise to find her the very best one in the store.
Will’s heart twisted in his chest. He hadn’t seen his son that enthusiastic in a long time, maybe never.
He turned back to Bridget. She watched the children with a soft smile playing on her lips. She was really quite beautiful when she smiled like that.
The thought put Will immediately on guard.
The woman could be hiding a selfish heart behind that pleasant look. Or she could be exactly what she seemed, a lovely Irish lass worthy of his trust.
He was desperate enough to hope for the latter.
“When we met yesterday,” he began, keeping his voice even, “I hadn’t realized your final destination was Faith Glen.”
She turned to look at him. “Nor I, you.”
“You are staying with relatives?” He didn’t recall any Murphys in town, but Bridget could have family living here under a different name, perhaps on her mother’s side.
“No.” She shook her head. “My sister and I are renting a room at Rose’s Boardinghouse.”
Although that didn’t explain why she was in Faith Glen, Will nodded his understanding. “I see.”
Her features suddenly shifted with concern and her cheeks turned a becoming pink. “Oh, you must think me terribly callous. I haven’t yet asked you, what did you find out about your fiancée?” She touched his arm, the gesture full of compassion. “Please, tell me I was wrong about Miss Collins and that she is here in Faith Glen with you now.”
As if hoping to find the woman in the store, she looked over his shoulder and scanned the immediate area behind him.
Will shoved back the despair that tried to rise within him. “Unfortunately the woman who died in the accident aboard ship was by all indications my intended.” He had her baggage in his possession to prove it.
“Oh, Will.” Her hand tightened on his arm. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
He believed her, believed the sadness in her tone and the sympathy in her touch. Something in him, some need he hadn’t known was there, wanted to rest inside all that gentle concern. If only for a moment.
He didn’t dare. This wasn’t about him. It had never been about him.
“Thank you for your condolences.” His voice sounded as stiff as he felt. He hadn’t met Bridget Collins. Her death was surreal to him. But that didn’t mean he didn’t feel sadness and guilt. Especially guilt.
Bridget must have sensed his shift in mood because her hand fell gently to her side. “Do your children know their new mother is de—” She cut herself off before finishing the word. “I mean, do they know Miss Collins is…gone?”
“No.” He shook his head. “I thought it best not to tell them anything about her until she arrived, in case something happened on the journey over.”
And something had happened, the worst possible something. Had Will not sent for Miss Collins, had he not insisted she come immediately, she might not have been in the wrong spot at the wrong time. She might still be alive today.
Forgive me, Lord, for putting the innocent woman in danger.
“Keeping your bride a secret until she arrived.” Bridget’s expression turned thoughtful. “That was rather wise of you.”