by Jodi Thomas
Abigail closed her book and leaned forward. “Kind of makes us half orphans, don’t you think? Never knowing our mommies? Did you know mine?”
I swallowed at the barrage of questions. “I met her once.”
“What was she like?” she breathed.
God, I knew this conversation. I’d had it at least once a week with my father for the first ten years of my life. Any speck of information, of knowledge, of anything that would make me feel closer to the woman I never knew.
“She was very pretty,” I said, digging hard for that. “Just like you. Shouldn’t you be in bed, Abigail?”
She shrugged. “I couldn’t sleep.”
“So you came down here to be nosy?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
She shook her head. “We don’t care about the people.”
“We?”
“Me and Daddy,” she said. “But Uncle Travis did, so Daddy plays pretend once a year to give him a belly laugh in heaven.”
I chuckled in spite of myself. “And you? What’s your excuse?”
“I like to read,” she said. “Books are nicer than people.”
“You are absolutely correct about that,” I said, dabbing under my eyes to get myself in order.
“You aren’t wearing a hat,” she said. “Most grown-up ladies do.”
“I don’t like hats unless I’m riding,” I said. “They make my head feel heavy.”
“I don’t think I’ll like them either,” she said. “My daddy doesn’t like this room.” My hands stopped in midmotion. “He says it’s a sad room, but I love it. So I come in here to get some quiet sometimes.”
A sad room.
I cleared my throat. “I understand that. I have a place like that, too, at my house.”
“A library?” she asked.
“The stable,” I said. “I like sitting with the horses.”
“Me too,” she said, her bright eyes lighting up. “Mrs. Shannon doesn’t understand that.”
“Who’s Mrs. Shannon?”
“My nanny,” she said. “She takes care of me. Does the mommy things.”
I laughed. “I have one of those, too. Her name is Lila.”
“But you’re a grown-up.”
I tilted my head. “I wasn’t always.”
Her eyes grew wide. “And she still takes care of you?”
I nodded. “More than she should have to.”
“Why were you crying?” she asked.
Jesus, this girl.
“I wasn’t.”
“Daddy says that lying is bad,” she said.
I snorted. “I’m not lying.”
“I saw you.”
“Abigail!” boomed a voice from behind me that simultaneously fired the anger in my blood and made me weak in the knees. “What have I told you about sneaking out of bed?”
I whirled, ready to defend her, but the ire in Benjamin’s tone was in full contrast with the mockery in his eyes. Love emanated from him as he gazed upon Abigail, stealing my words.
“I told Josephine I didn’t sneak,” she said. “This is just the best room in the whole house.”
His eyes darted to mine, and the playfulness faded slightly.
“Apologies,” I said quickly, turning to move around him before this highly observant, well-spoken toddler picked up on the animosity. “I just stepped in here to get a moment of quiet, and—”
“Abigail is good at finding those places, too,” he said softly, the low rumble of his voice giving my feet reason to slow. “Tell Jo—Miss Bancroft good night, Abigail,” he amended. “And go back to bed.”
“But—”
“You can take the book with you,” he said. “I’ll be up to tuck you in again in a minute.”
Abigail sighed and rose to her feet, padding across the room with her book under her arm. “Good night, Josephine.”
“Miss Bancroft,” he corrected.
“Actually, you can call me Josie,” I said, kneeling to face her and whispering conspiratorially, “We half orphans sometimes have to bend a rule or two.”
Her serious little face broke into a grin. “G’night, Josie.”
“ ’Night, Abigail.”
Then she was gone.
And the déjà vu suddenly swam with a vengeance. This room, filled with the smell of old books and older wood, was my permanent memory of the worst night of my life. Along with the company.
His hand was outstretched to help me up, but I rose without it, not needing or wanting anything from him. Not even common courtesy.
“She’s quite something,” I said, smoothing my skirt. “I know you’re proud.”
“She’s my world,” he responded, and something in his tone made me look up.
This close, I saw more than just sadness in his face. Tiny lines fanned from his eyes, and something like anger set his jaw. His full mouth looked hard.
Anger . . . at me?
That was absurd.
“I didn’t seek her out, if that’s what you think,” I said. “I didn’t know she was in here.”
“Why are you here?”
I narrowed my eyes in confusion. “I told you, I was just looking for a quiet place.”
“I’m not talking about the library, but yes, I find it ironic that you’d come here for solace,” he said, his tone sarcastic, his eyes darkening. “Of all the choices in this house, you’d come in here.”
My jaw dropped. “I don’t know the other choices in this house, Mr. Mason, because I’ve never been farther than this in the five minutes I’ve spent here. Either time.” I felt my blood heating and my mouth was sure to overflow soon. “If you’ll excuse me, I have—”
“You have what?” he asked, closing the space between us. I could feel his body heat radiating off him and I curled my short nails into my palms to keep my hands from doing something stupid. “Why are you here?”
“I believe I was invited.”
“You’re always invited,” he said smoothly. “And you’ve never come. Not once since—”
“Since when, Mr. Mason?” I said, lifting my chin defiantly as he leaned closer. “Please finish that sentence.”
I watched his jaw muscles twitch in response.
“So, why now?”
It took all I had not to avert my eyes. To steel myself against his hard gaze and remain composed with his face just inches away.
“Maybe I came for the exquisite dinner,” I said finally, acid dripping from my tone. “Why do you care?”
The question backed him up, as if he’d just realized how dangerously close he was and remembered that we didn’t like each other. I tried to focus on that, too, fighting my body’s automatic desire to pull him back.
“Do whatever you want,” he said, rubbing a hand over his face. “I need to go check on my daughter.” He glanced back at the open door behind him. “Do you want to go out first? I can wait a few minutes so the other guests won’t talk.”
“Please,” I said sarcastically, walking past him. “It’s a little late to worry about my reputation. If you’ll excuse me, I have business to take care of.”
Chapter 7
1904
Ben
After doing everything short of making Abigail take a blood oath to stay in her room, I finally left her with her book and a cup of water—and a pastry from the dessert table—and went back downstairs. I couldn’t have her wandering around down there with strangers. Call me overprotective, but I didn’t know most of the people in my house.
And she was all I had.
She was my miracle baby who survived a premature birth that Winifred had not. As horrible as the woman I was forced to marry could sometimes be, the memory of her huge, terrified eyes as she screamed through her contractions that something was wrong haunted me.
Of course something had been wrong; the baby was too early. The doctor had been summoned, and yes, there was concern, but Winifred was a professional at being melodramatic. Crying wolf was her forte for just about anything. And my mind was distracted
with thoughts of betrayal. Being almost a month early—what if my wife had lied to me? What if it had all been a ruse to trick me?
Anger had blinded me to the pain in her eyes. The baby was positioned wrong, and when Winifred went stiff and then limp in the middle of pushing Abigail out, I thought she’d just fainted from the exertion. It wasn’t until the doctor cut the cord and tried to rouse her to meet the tiny person needing her attention that we realized her heart had stopped.
No amount of lifesaving measures worked.
I’d finally stared down at Winifred’s lifeless eyes as I held our child and realized it was all on me. This was the reason my life had turned inside out. Why I’d had to lose everything. It was because this moment was coming. I had to figure things out, and take care of our daughter. Keep her safe. Keep her happy. Be her father.
Abigail Winifred Mason wasn’t full-term; she truly was early and needed to be transported to Houston for care for the first few weeks. It was terrifying, and out of my control, and humbling.
And the reason I went to Winifred’s grave every week with Abigail, and sometimes without her, was to silently apologize for my doubt and for not being the husband she needed in her most frightening moment. To tell her about the child she never got to see. I might not have loved my wife, but she gave me an incredible gift that I never knew I wanted. I could swallow my resentment to give her at least that.
Abigail had had a rough start, but my little firecracker was tougher than her petite little frame showed. At just under four and a half years old, she never met a stranger, and had her mother’s strong confidence, albeit rooted in grace and sweetness instead of greed. That’s why I worried for her. She didn’t care for crowds, but she’d talk to anyone, and trusted everyone.
And had already made a friend in Josie Bancroft.
Damn it.
I even doubted that Josie had wanted to be her friend. Hell, she’d probably tried to leave the library fifty times once she realized who was in there, but Abigail had that way.
My eyes drifted to where I knew Josie was talking to an older gentleman, a permanent smile affixed to her face as she tilted her head, pretending fascination in whatever he was saying. I knew it was pretending because she wouldn’t smile like that, unmoving, not speaking her mind. Josie was animated when she spoke, her whole body coming alive in mesmerizing motion. Or she had been, five years ago.
She didn’t even show repulsion when the man—who at second glance I realized was someone I once knew and was a lecherous cad even back then—unabashedly appreciated the view of her perfect cleavage to the point that I thought he might just dive in.
What was she doing? He was the second old asshole I’d watched her corner since she left me in the library. Again.
I’d mostly given Josie a wide berth since that fateful night. I understood her ire and sense of betrayal that I’d kept the truth from her, but what I never understood was her inability to forgive. I’d attempted twice to see her afterward, wanting to apologize, but her father had turned me away. I didn’t know what she’d told him about us, but he was cooler with me after that night, cooler with everything, actually. As if losing his best friend in my uncle turned off his spark. He was gone, himself, a couple of years later, and then I stopped trying. I wasn’t the only one who had amends to make, after all.
Yes, I was in the wrong, but I’d loved her enough to go to her. She never even tried to come to me. She’d walked away from me in that library and never looked back. What level of love was that?
When the current jackass touched her waist and leered suggestively, I couldn’t take it anymore. I scooped a fresh tumbler of bourbon from a passing tray and headed their way.
“Martin, I’ve brought you a fresh drink,” I said, stepping closely enough to force him back from her several inches. “How are you? It’s been too long.”
It hadn’t been long enough as far as I was concerned. Back when I was working at the Lucky B, Martin LaDeen was a senior ranch hand. A senior with an ax to grind and a lot of mouth, but Mr. Bancroft trusted him. He’d been the only one in the stables who was aware of my role.
I knew my actions were rude, interrupting them, but Josie was here unaccompanied. That alone put a bull’s-eye on her back for unwanted attention, and the way she looked in that dress didn’t help. I didn’t know what she was thinking, but I knew damn well what every red-blooded single and married man here was.
“Fine,” he said, blinking in irritation before covering with a tight smile. “Thank you, I appreciate it.”
“Enjoying the move out of the field?” I asked. “Banking, is it? Or—”
“Oil,” he said, lifting an eyebrow. “It’s a massive wave of the future, Mason. You should look hard at it yourself.”
“Got it,” I said, dismissing him. “Miss Bancroft, may I have a quick word?” I asked, not wasting a moment, especially when I saw the fire in her eyes. “Martin, be sure to try the chocolate cake. Theodore assures me it’s divine.”
The words weren’t even all the way out of my mouth before I turned her and guided her off. Three steps and she stopped short. I hadn’t expected anything less.
“What are you doing?” she hissed.
“I could ask you the same,” I said under my breath. “Do you know—”
“What I know and what I do are none of your business,” she said sharply, covering the vitriol with a polite smile as an older couple passed us. “I’m a grown woman with no attachment to you.”
“Who’s acting like a fool right now?” I said. That wasn’t going to win me any rounds, but winning wasn’t in the cards anyway. “You can’t come in here alone and talk to men like that without it going in a direction you won’t like.”
She blinked at me and shook her head. “Of course. Because men are such spineless, stupid, crotch-ruled creatures that they can’t possibly be held to a higher standard.”
She moved to walk around me, maybe to chase after Martin, I didn’t know. But my hand shot out of its own accord.
“Josie,” I said, feeling her warmth against my arm as she walked into it, her breasts heavy and soft. I felt the gasp she bit back at the solid contact, and fire shot straight to my groin.
Dark eyes shot up to meet mine, her cheeks flushed.
“Please let me go,” she whispered through her teeth.
“What are you doing?” I asked through mine, echoing her words.
Her breaths were shallow and fast, belying the calm of her face.
“Whatever I have to,” she said.
* * *
What did that mean?
That question plagued me for the next interminable hour as I watched her chat with Harris Green, our mutual accountant, and then, in turn, make her way to discreetly introduce herself to two well-to-do men he’d pointed out.
There was something nefarious going on, that was without question now. Anyone with eyes and an inkling of suspicion could see that.
“Mr. Mason?” an older female voice belonging to the sheriff’s wife was saying. “Do you think so?”
I blinked back to her, clueless as to what she’d asked me.
“I’m sorry?”
“I asked you what you thought of the Lucky B’s situation,” she said, which continued to tell me nothing. “Do you think she’ll let it go to the bank?”
“The—bank?” I echoed.
“Oh, I know I’m speaking out of turn,” she said. “But it’s no secret the trouble they’ve been having the past few years, since that disease took her herd. Three of her hands are Charlie’s deputies now. They needed jobs. I heard a rumor that—”
“Will you excuse me?” I said as pleasantly as I could. “I need to speak to someone before he leaves.”
I made a beeline for my accountant.
“Benjamin!” Harris Green said jovially as I approached, probably looking anything but. He held up one of the little glass plates filled with slivers of meat. “Great idea! Love the modern twist.” Lowering his voice, he added, “I was dreadi
ng Theodore’s seating chart this year. Last year I was stuck next to that taxidermist who always smells odd.”
“What’s going on with Josie?” I asked.
He looked at me like I was speaking in tongues. “I don’t understand.”
“Yes, you do,” I said. “You’ve been coaching her all evening. Sending her to various boneheaded fools she’d never give the time of day otherwise. And now I just heard that her ranch might be foreclosing?”
My head started banging out a rhythm against my skull, and guilt had a big role in that. Not so much the distant past anymore—that was done and couldn’t be undone—but as Josie’s neighbor, I should have known if they were in real trouble. I knew about the cattle disease, or at least that something had hit the herd hard. I’d heard through my men that the loss was pretty bad, and I’d worked out something the year before with her old man to help out after Galveston’s supply ports were destroyed. He was pretty frail then, but still wouldn’t accept a handout, so I’d purchased a tiny piece of their property. The only part that meant anything to me. I hadn’t heard anything more after the cattle debacle, but then, I hadn’t gone looking for myself either.
Green sighed and put down his plate, glancing around as if ears were lying in wait to listen in.
“You know that I can’t talk about another client with you, Benjamin,” he said.
“And you know how little I care about legalities,” I responded. “Her father and my uncle were best friends, even almost business partners,” I said. “We’re neighbors.” I wanted to say “friends,” but I knew that was pushing it. “She’s by herself now, and if she’s in trouble, I want to know.”
He looked at me wearily.
“She would rather be trampled by her own horse than have you know anything about anything,” he said. “You realize that.”
“Duly noted,” I said. “Now tell me.”
Chapter 8
1904
Josie
I hadn’t been able to strip out of that dress fast enough.
Yes, it was beautiful and my mother’s, and I felt dreamy in it, and all the things that women are supposed to feel upon dressing up, but that all wore thin in the first hour. Actually, I was pretty much done after the library.