“You said you were visiting your sister’s grave,” she said in a hesitant voice, as if she wasn’t certain whether to broach the subject.

He nodded, and the familiar heaviness of grief rose in his chest. “Mary died in childbirth a month ago. Her husband owns a cattle ranch outside of town.”

They had reached the gate leading to the two-story brick house with the green shutters. The rail fence enclosed a small but well-cared-for garden. A hen pecked at the ground next to a row of sprouting squash plants.

Miss Lockwood afforded him a look of sympathy. “I’m sorry for your loss,” she said.

“And I’m sorry for yours.” In danger of drowning in the blue-green depths of her eyes, he averted his gaze. “Where would you like me to put it?”

“Put it?”

He shot her a sideways glance. “The corset…uh”—he grimaced—“hope chest.”

She lowered her lashes. “The porch would be just fine,” she murmured.

Since the cart wouldn’t fit through the gate, he had no choice but to haul the chest by hand. Fortunately, only two steps led up to the wraparound porch. Even so, he was out of breath by the time he set the heavy chest next to a wicker rocking chair.

She’d followed him up the porch steps. “I’m much obliged.” Her prettily curving lips made the sadness in the depth of her eyes all the more touching.

“My pleasure.” He studied her. “I hope you don’t mind my saying this, but…if I had someone like you waiting at the altar, I would never walk away. Not in a million years.” The expression on her face softened, and he was tempted to say more but decided against it. Better stop while he was ahead.

With a tip of his hat, he jogged down the steps and headed back to his horse. The memory of all that silk and lace remained, as did the shadow of her pretty smile.

* * *

Meg stood on her sister’s porch, surprised to find herself shaking. If I had someone like you…

Never had anyone said anything like that to her, not even Tommy. Just thinking of Mr. Garrison’s soft-spoken words sent a shiver racing though her, one that ended in a sigh.

Pushing such thoughts away, she knocked and the door sprang open almost instantly.

Josie greeted her with a questioning look. “Who’s that man I saw you with?”

“Just…someone passing by. He stopped to help me.” Meg seldom kept anything from her older sister, but she didn’t want to discuss Mr. Garrison. Not in her confused state.

Josie looked her up and down. “Oh dear. You’re covered in mud. What happened?”

Meg glanced down at her skirt. “I had a little accident.”

“I told you to wait for Ralph,” Josie scolded. “That hope chest is far too heavy for a woman to manage alone.”

Meg hadn’t wanted to ask her brother-in-law for help. Not with the way he’d been coughing lately.

“It’s a good thing I have you to help me, then.” Meg cleaned the sludge off the soles of her high-button shoes on the iron boot scraper, then shook as much of the mud off her skirt as possible. Satisfied that her sister’s pristine carpets would not be soiled, she circled the hope chest. “Grab hold of the other side.”