A Husband Returned: Men of Wicked Sorrow, Book One

by Wynne Roman

  He went to pull his hand back, but she held on until he subsided. “Give them a chance. They know what kind of man Jordan was. You are no more to blame for your circumstances than they are.”

  Cruz blinked, inspected her with the first curiosity she’d seen from him. He opened his mouth as though to speak, but the moment was lost when Nathan entered the room.

  “Sheriff says it’s time to go, Pecado.”

  Cruz dropped her hand and turned to face his half-brother. Mariah watched the younger man stiffen, withdraw into himself, and she spoke up quickly, well before she could think better of it.

  “His name is Cruz.”

  “What?” Both men looked at her, but it was Nathan who asked the question. She shot him a warning look.

  “He’s your half-brother. His name is Cruz. He should be Cruz Fairchild, and you know it.”

  Nathan stared at her, nonplussed, while Cruz shook his head sharply. “No. I am Cruz Pecado. I choose to be Cruz Pecado.”

  Mariah swallowed a soft sigh. “All right.” She let it go because too much had happened to all of them over these last few days, and she hadn’t the heart to force them to accept one more thing.

  Nathan turned to lead Cruz from the room, but she stopped them just as they reached the doorway. “Cruz?”

  Both men stopped and turned to look at her.

  “Thank you for coming. When I’m ready to travel, I’ll come to the jail for a visit.”

  “Mariah—”

  “Missus Fairchild, you shouldn’t—”

  She cut both men off. “It’s settled. Nathan, you make certain to tell Sheriff Barstow that Cruz is a Fairchild, and he should be treated as such.”

  Nathan said little after Cruz left. He brought Mariah lunch on a tray, sat on her little footstool, and insisted on feeding her himself. No amount of protesting on her part changed his mind.

  “I’m not an invalid,” she insisted more than once.

  “No, you’re not,” he agreed as he spooned a last bite of chicken soup into her mouth. “But let me pamper you. I have so much to make up for.”

  “Nathan.” Her fussiness softened. “My love.”

  Movement behind him caught her attention, and she peered around her husband to see Gabriel backing out of the room. She called his name.

  Nathan turned and then stood, her tray clutched in his hands. He stared at the other man, his back to her, which prevented Mariah from seeing his expression. She needn’t witness it to feel a difference in the tension between the men. It wasn’t at all what she would have expected it to be.

  “Bonham,” Nathan said seriously.

  No, the men weren’t friends, she amended her expectations. They never would be. Still, she saw an unexpected respect reflected back from Gabriel’s expression.

  The Segundo nodded in Nathan’s direction, then glanced back at Mariah. “I’d like to—” He cut the words off and shook his head. “May I speak with you, Mariah?”

  She blinked, glanced between her husband and the other man, and then nodded slightly. “That will be all right, won’t it, Nathan?”

  He peered at her over his shoulder, his eyes flickering with an odd mixture of understanding, appreciation, and frustration. He understood; she knew he did, but he also fought a difficulty she hadn’t considered before.

  Nathan had to see the man who had been her lover, talk with him, suffer his presence from time to time. She had never had to do such a thing. She hadn’t been forced to tolerate Susannah’s presence after Mariah had married Nathan, nor would she ever be forced to meet Wren. As surprising as it suddenly seemed, she realized that she might be the luckiest of them all.

  The loving gaze she sent Nathan said as much—and so much more. I love you. Whatever Gabriel wants, I will put it to rest, and then there will be no more between us.

  Her husband’s expression softened, his eyelids dropped in an appreciative blink that told her, I understand, and then he turned back to Gabriel.

  “I’ll put these things in the kitchen. Don’t be too long. This is her first day out of bed.” Mariah swallowed a sigh upon hearing her husband’s warning, but Gabriel only nodded.

  Once they were alone and Gabriel had taken a seat across from her, both remained silent. Looking at him, she registered all the things about Gabriel Bonham that had first attracted her. His tall, muscular build. His shoulder-length blond hair and that bright, piercing blue eye. Even the eye patch and scar appealed to her in a purely feminine way, and she could admit to herself that he remained as handsome and alluring as he had always been.

  But he wasn’t Nathan, and she observed the attraction as though from a distance. It meant nothing to her beyond a fond memory, and she could imagine no man for her but Nathan.

  “Thank you,” she said softly, when he didn’t speak.

  “For what?” he scoffed. “For nearly getting you killed?”

  She stiffened but kept her movements guarded. She’d begun to remember just how much she could move without drawing a twinge or two of pain and protected herself accordingly.

  “You did not almost get me killed!”

  “It was close enough. Too close. It was reckless and—”

  “You had no choice,” she interrupted. “I know how fast things were moving in those moments. You faced a group of outlaws who had already proved themselves violent. You did what you thought to be the right thing at the time, and you were there for me when I needed you.”

  “No, Nathan was.”

  She couldn’t disagree. “You didn’t desert us. You were there from before the shot, you stayed with me, and you helped him. We—I—couldn’t have asked for more.”

  He closed that one insightful eye and sat quietly for a moment. “Thank you.” True appreciation filled his voice.

  They remained silent for a few seconds until Gabriel opened his eye. “I came to tell you I’m leaving.”

  “Leaving?”

  He nodded. “Tomorrow. It’s for the best.”

  “For the best?”

  She could only to repeat his statements, but they seemed so inexplicable otherwise. Never had she imagined that he would go so far as to leave the Sangre Real.

  “You know it is.” He pinned her with a serious if surprisingly caring look. “Remaining here is . . . difficult.”

  “But this has become your home! You can’t just walk away from it and the life you’ve built here.”

  He took a breath, closed his eye again, and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. He looked at the floor more than he looked at her.

  “You know how I feel, beautiful. I can’t stay here and watch you with him. You love him, he loves you, and you deserve your happiness. I just . . . it’s more than I can witness.”

  “Gabriel.” Her voice disappeared when words didn’t immediately present themselves.

  “You belong to him. It’s so clear to me. You were never mine. I wanted you to be, and if he hadn’t returned?” He shrugged. “Who can tell? But that isn’t how it worked, so it’s time for me to move on. Find the place where I really belong.”

  “I thought that was here.”

  “So did I, beautiful.” He stood suddenly, the usually brilliant blue of his eye dull and filled with pain. “We were both wrong, and it’s time to let go of the things that were never meant to be.”

  “Gabriel,” she said again, because she didn’t know what else to say. How could she apologize for loving Nathan as she did?

  “Thank you, beautiful. I loved the time you were mine. I’ll carry the memories always.”

  Tears prickled behind her eyelids, but she hadn’t the composure to say anything. He took the two steps it required for him to cross the room, bent to drop a slow, tender kiss to her forehead, and then he turned and stalked from the room.

  It wasn’t until she heard the backdoor bang shut that Mariah let the tears come. She let them streak down over her cheeks and finally found two words.

  “Goodbye, Gabriel.”

  34

 
; Nathan got Mariah dressed and out of bed every day after that. She was always tired by the end of the day, but she also gradually became aware of a renewed energy and interest in things beyond her immediate situation. In her heart, she knew that Nathan’s declaration of love had done much for her emotional state of mind.

  The day after Gabriel’s visit, she told Nathan of her conversation with him.

  “Gabriel is leaving,” she said quietly, keeping all other emotion from her voice.

  “Leaving?”

  Oddly, Nathan sounded only distantly curious. She had perhaps expected something more. Some approval on his part, or at least male satisfaction. Though the affair with Gabriel was long over, the fact that it had happened at all wasn’t completely behind them yet.

  “He’s leaving the Sangre Real. In fact, he’s probably already gone.”

  “I see.”

  Nathan said nothing more, and Mariah let the moments play out silently. They sat side by side on the settee. He’d gone to far too much trouble to tuck her into place. Her feet rested on the now-familiar footstool, and her legs were draped with a small coverlet she’d been using as a quilt.

  She felt coddled. Cared for. Loved.

  Even so, he didn’t touch her as she would have liked. From the moment he’d taken a seat next to her, she’d been wishing that he would put his arm around her shoulders. He didn’t. He’d already explained that he wouldn’t risk her body’s healing by accidentally jostling her wound. He held her hand instead.

  It was nice, but it was nothing like the closeness and cuddling that she had only recently begun to treasure.

  “It’s probably for the best,” he finally declared.

  Mariah hesitated. She didn’t disagree, but she regretted that circumstances had brought them to that end. Gabriel deserved better—but then, so did she and Nathan.

  “You’re probably right,” she finally admitted.

  “You think not?” A sting of irritation pierced his question. She could only guess that he found her response lackluster and disappointing.

  She tightened her fingers around his. “You’re right. I know it’s the best thing. I’m simply sorry that I was the one to chase him away.”

  “Chase him away how?” Nathan demanded, his impatience clear.

  Mariah weighed her words carefully. Could she explain in a way that would both clarify her feelings and reassure Nathan at the same time?

  “Gabriel felt more for me than I did for him. Perhaps he always had. I don’t know. I didn’t look for such a thing until it was too late.”

  Nathan’s frown displayed more concentration than disapproval, and so she continued. “For me, you were always there in my heart, a part of me, but having you come back was an impossible dream. When my miracle happened,” she smiled tenderly and brought his hand to her mouth for a quick kiss, “anything Gabriel might have hoped for was destined to die a sudden and eternal death. It seems he needed some time to accept that, but he knows now. He must find his own happiness.”

  “And that isn’t here.”

  “No.” She lowered their hands to her lap but kept their fingers tightly entwined. “As you said, it’s better this way.”

  They sat silently for a few moments. Mariah had come to treasure the quiet time she spent with Nathan. They were together and luxuriated in their closeness. It came as such a precious reward after all the time that she had believed such a thing was impossible.

  “I should talk to Tristan, ask after his plans.” Nathan’s comment came after a few more silent moments.

  “Do you think he’ll welcome your interest?”

  Nathan shook his head. “Who’s to say? When I first returned, I would have said absolutely not. Things have changed now.”

  And they had. No one could argue the point. Nathan and Mariah had moved to the Double C, Cruz had come into their lives with his own brand of trouble, and now Gabriel was leaving. Tristan would need his brother—if only he would open himself up to it.

  “Will you go to see him?”

  Nathan shook his head. “No. I won’t leave you that long. He’ll have to come to me.”

  “Nathan—” she began, but he interrupted immediately.

  “Don’t argue with me.” He dropped a quick kiss to the top of her head. “He may need a few days to arrange it, but he can travel here. I’ll send word with one of the men.”

  She took him at his word and let the subject drop. She had learned long ago—as far back as when they were still children—that the brothers had to work through any issues in their troubled relationship on their own. Interference was frowned upon, especially by the brothers themselves.

  As it turned out, it was a full week after the shooting before Tristan finally came to call. Mariah still couldn’t dress herself on her own, nor could she be on her feet for long, but she had found some small chores she could do. If she held her arm just right, she could knit or crochet for short periods of time. Mostly, though, Nathan insisted she wear a sling he’d fashioned out of bandages and one of her ugly—his description—black mourning shawls. It kept her arm in place against her middle, and she couldn’t deny that it provided her with some comfort.

  For himself, Nathan had refused to go out with the herd until Mariah was fully healed. He kept busy with her chores and all other things required around the ranch grounds. He did it all alone, as the elimination of the rustling threat had returned the vaqueros to the Sangre Real.

  She was, therefore, surprised one morning when Nathan walked into the parlor with Tristan close on his heels.

  “You have a visitor,” her husband said stiffly.

  Mariah swallowed a sigh. Had they argued already? Or was it simply the sibling rivalry that had always existed between them?

  “Hello, Tristan,” she said, working for a pleasant tone that maintained just enough reserve to show her allegiance to her husband.

  Tristan moved close enough to squat in front of her. He inspected her head to toe. “How are you?”

  “Better.”

  “But you’ll be all right?” he persisted as he stood.

  “Yes. Ethan says I will be.” She glanced at Nathan and his serious gaze and gave him a tender smile. “Your brother has been a better nursemaid than I could ever have dreamed possible.”

  Surprisingly, Tristan gave a short bark of laughter. “Fairchild men have been known to do the right thing from time to time.”

  “Is that so?” she asked. Except for the recent changes in her relationship with Nathan, she hadn’t seen much of it. That, however, was a subject she preferred not to confront any further at the moment.

  Tristan hesitated, as though considering what or how much to say. Finally, he merely shook his head. “Carolyn asked after you.”

  “Did she?” snapped Nathan from the middle of the room. “Why didn’t she come to visit? Or help?”

  “No!” The word erupted from Mariah, but she didn’t try to call it back.

  “No?” Nathan frowned at her.

  “No,” she repeated firmly. “She would have one of her headaches or the vapors or something, and then we would have to care for her, too. She would probably want to stay and sleep in our bed.” Mariah shook her head. “No.”

  Nathan remained frowning in irritation, but Tristan snorted. “You’re right.” He turned to look at his brother behind him. “I admit, I didn’t encourage it.”

  “Thank you.”

  Tristan stepped aside then and peered at Mariah once more. “She did ask about Christmas.”

  “Christmas?”

  Christmas, she thought again. The holiday had never come close to entering her mind.

  “We haven’t celebrated in years.”

  “How many years?” asked Nathan with a frown.

  “Since you left for the fighting.” Mariah blinked and looked between the two men and their stoic expressions. “Jordan forbade it during the war, and after he died . . .”

  She paused as she searched for the right words. “You were reported dead s
oon after, the war was going badly for the Confederacy, and Carolyn wouldn’t hear of any festivity beyond marking the anniversary of your birthday.”

  “Would you like to celebrate?” Nathan asked carefully. “I ruined your thanksgiving dinner.”

  “Thanksgiving?” Tristan asked, but Mariah shook her head.

  “Something Nathan and I were going to do. We’ll consider it again next year. All of us,” she added after a breath.

  “And Christmas?” Nathan reminded her.

  “I would like to wait until I’m better recovered. I would prefer to do something in January and start 1866 properly.”

  Neither of the men replied, although both finally nodded as though agreeing. It was then that Nathan gestured toward the only other chair in the room. Tristan sat, Nathan chose the settee, and both looked curiously at Mariah. She returned their gazes expectantly.

  The moments extended until Tristan blurted out, “Mariah, I’m sorry for what happened.” He sounded as sincere as she’d ever heard him.

  “It wasn’t your fault.”

  “Still, I—”

  “No.” Her voice came out a bit harsh, more than she’d intended but sudden irritation scraped over her nerves. “You and Nathan and Gabriel all suffer from the same overdeveloped sense of guilt. The fault belongs to none of you and, if we’re honest, even Cruz isn’t completely responsible.”

  Nathan sputtered, but she held up a hand.

  “He’s simply a hotheaded young man who grew up without a father, and he acted without considering all the consequences. Yes, circumstances escalated when he aligned himself with some unsavory people, but he hadn’t been taught to regard all the things that could possibly happen.”

  Neither man answered, the quiet extending uneasily until Tristan offered a less-than enthusiastic, “Well, yes. I understand your argument, but—”

  Mariah shook her head, refusing to let him finish. “If you want to blame anyone, it should be your father.”

  The room fell silent again, lasting long enough that she began to wonder if she’d offended the Fairchild brothers somehow. Then, remarkably, Tristan snorted, “Jordan?” while Nathan laughed.