To Win Her Favor

by Tamera Alexander

  “We’re not havin’ financial trouble. I just need to get the crops harvested, then we’ll be fine.”

  She started to ask again how he proposed to do that without the proper equipment, when something else occurred to her. “I have some money. Saved from my lessons. It’s not much, but it might be enough to convince Mr. Blake to—”

  “Sakes alive, woman!” His voice was harsh, but the look in his eyes held entreaty. “Can’t you see I don’t want you worryin’ with this? You’ve got enough to deal with. I don’t want your money either,” he added hurriedly. “And I certainly don’t want your pity. What I want is for you not to look at me as if I’ve lost what’s most dear in the world to you. That all but slays me.”

  Tears pooling too close to the surface in recent days threatened to rise, but Maggie kept them at bay.

  “I swore to your father to protect you, Maggie. To keep you—and this land—safe. And I aim to keep that promise. On both counts. No matter the cost. I owe him that much, at the very least.”

  He grasped the lead rein and led Levi into the stable, and Maggie let him go. Moved by what he’d said, one thing in particular stood out above the rest. He’d said it with such conviction and emotion.

  She walked back to the house and into the kitchen. Onnie was outside in the back, and Maggie poured herself a glass of water, her hands shaking. She brought it to her lips, but her quickness of breath made it impossible to drink.

  She set the glass down.

  I owe him that much, he’d said.

  Cullen had made a promise to her father. He’d also made a promise in marriage to her, however contractual that promise had been at the time. So which promise was it that held him here . . . that kept him in her bed? Was it one of obligation? Or one of the heart?

  She thought they’d been making a home together. A life. One with a difficult and unexpected start, to be sure, but still . . . Her stomach cramped, yet she wasn’t hungry. If his promise to her father was what was truly keeping him here . . .

  She brought the glass to her lips and drained the contents dry. It scared her how much it hurt to think that her heart was the only one wrapped up and bound tight by vows they’d made in haste and with the wrong intention . . . but which, somehow, her heart—and conviction—had come to embrace.

  She closed her eyes, a defeated little laugh escaping. A business arrangement. That’s what she’d told him their marriage was. And yet now it was so much more. For her anyway.

  With a steadying breath, she retraced her steps outside and saw Cullen standing by the well. She strode toward him then slowed. A hat? Since when did Cullen wear a hat?

  Then he turned, and she took a hasty step back. It wasn’t Cullen. It was another man. A man who looked very much like—

  “Ethan?”

  She heard Cullen’s voice behind her and looked back to see shock on her husband’s face reflecting what she felt. Yet his swiftly gave way to an altogether different emotion, one she’d seen on his face before, the night of the fire. And it didn’t bode well.

  Chapter

  THIRTY-NINE

  Cullen could scarcely believe his eyes. “Ethan,” he whispered a second time, even as a deep-seated anger, seething and white hot, shot up through him.

  Seeing his brother again after all this time, after so much had changed, unleashed a thousand different memories—some happy, some painful, most somewhere in between and sewn so thickly into the fiber of who he was, he’d never be able to extract this man from his life.

  And Ethan’s smile, same as it ever was. So carefree and jaunty. Cullen strode toward him.

  “Cullen, m’boy!” Ethan grinned and welcomed him with outstretched arms. “Look at ya! All filled out and—”

  Cullen drove his fist square into Ethan’s mouth. His brother’s head popped back and the hat went flying. Wide-eyed, Ethan staggered back a step, blinked—once, twice—then landed with a thud on his seat in the dirt. Blood trickled down his chin.

  Knowing his fist should be aching from the blow, Cullen barely felt it, his body on fire, shaking with all the rage he’d felt the day he’d buried Moira and Katie in the briny deep. Rage and grief roiled inside him, unlikely partners, each one feeding the other.

  Eying him, Ethan wiped the blood at the corner of his mouth. “Now that’s a mighty fine welcome for your brother!”

  “Get up.”

  Ethan smiled. “I will not. You’ll just wallop me again.” He smiled, his teeth tinted red. “I taught you well, lil’ brother. That’s quite a punch.”

  “I said . . . get up.”

  Ethan’s humor faded, and Cullen readied for what was coming.

  Ethan stood and charged. But Cullen moved at the last minute and caught his brother in the rib cage. Cullen heard the air go out from him, but not before a curse did too.

  Seeing movement off to his right, Cullen caught sight of Maggie, hand at her throat, her expression stricken.

  The blow from behind sent him sprawling, relieving his lungs of air.

  “Never turn your back on the other fella, Cullen.” Ethan hauled him up by the back of his shirt, wheeled him around, and delivered a well-placed blow to his jaw.

  Pain exploded through the right half of Cullen’s head. He blinked, the world spinning.

  “But maybe,” Ethan continued, smiling that smile, “there are a few lessons you still need to learn from your—”

  Cullen caught him beneath the chin with his left, then—thinking of that stallion again, and of Belle—he smashed his fist into Ethan’s jaw. His brother toppled even as the pain in Cullen’s hand sent him to his knees. He’d forgotten his brother’s granite jaw.

  “And you,” Cullen said, working his hand, shaking off the sting, “need to keep your trap shut when you’re fightin’. That’s always been your weakness.”

  On his back in the dirt, Ethan laughed, unmoving. And Cullen was glad to see it. He didn’t think he could take any more right now.

  He looked over at Maggie again, still standing where she’d been, and read concern—and confusion—in her expression. He shouldn’t have spoken to her the way he had earlier, and knew an apology was owed as soon as he could get her alone.

  He stretched out a hand to his brother, but Ethan eyed him as if not trusting the gesture.

  “Truce,” Cullen said softly.

  Ethan matched his gaze, then accepted, his iron grip every bit as familiar to him as were his brother’s features, so similar to his own, or Ethan’s wild shock of red hair, which was decidedly not.

  Ethan dusted off his britches and exhaled, then shot a look at Maggie. Appreciation—and more than mild interest—warmed his expression, and Maggie frowned and looked away.

  “So, lil’ brother.” Ethan turned back, his eyes bright. “I guess I deserved that beatin’ after what I put you through. You and Moira both,” he added softly.

  Just hearing her name on his brother’s lips brought a lump to Cullen’s throat.

  Ethan looked around. “So where is she? And that sweet little Katie? I have somethin’ for ’em both in my pack.”

  The emotion clenching Cullen’s throat made it impossible for him to speak, and he knew better than to look over at Maggie.

  Watching Ethan digging into his pack, Cullen closed the distance between them. “Ethan,” he said softly.

  “It’s in here somewheres. I’ll find it.”

  “Moira’s gone,” Cullen whispered, his eyes burning. “So is Katie.”

  Slowly Ethan straightened, a tiny doll clutched in his hand. He searched Cullen’s expression, his own full of disbelief. “W-what are you sayin’ . . . they’re gone?” He looked around. His gaze settled again on Maggie, this time absent anything but dread, then dragged its way back to Cullen’s.

  Cullen took a deep breath then gave it gradual release, letting the silence pressing in from all sides whisper the answer to his brother so he wouldn’t have to.

  Ethan’s eyes filled. His lips moved, but no words came.

 
“They died on the voyage here. On the ship.”

  The doll Ethan was holding trembled in his grip as tears slipped down his stubbled cheek.

  “I looked for you,” Cullen continued, “after everythin’ that happened. But you were gone. They came after me then, and aimed to lay the blame at my feet.” He didn’t want to be cruel, but the truth needed to be said.

  Ethan shook his head.

  “So I couldn’t stay. Not knowin’ only prison awaited. So Moira and me, we decided to get away before the authorities came.”

  Ethan held up a trembling hand then looked down at the doll. “I’m sorry, Cullen,” he whispered, his rugged shoulders shaking. “I’m so sorry.” He reached for the well beside him, grabbed hold of the rock wall, and sank down, head in his hands, and wept.

  Chapter

  FORTY

  So how did you find me?”

  At Cullen’s question, Maggie sneaked a look across the dinner table, wondering the same thing.

  The depth of Ethan’s reaction a while earlier when he’d learned about Moira and Katie’s passing had been both unexpected and heartbreaking. Such tender emotion for so rugged a man. Especially a man who had done what he did to that stallion.

  No matter how she tried not to, every time she looked at Ethan McGrath, that’s what she thought about.

  When Cullen had made introductions between them, the surprise in Ethan’s expression had been revealing. Ethan had taken the opportunity to wash up before dinner, so this was the first opportunity the brothers had to speak to one another without fists flying.

  Watching them now, Maggie felt as though she was examining two sides of the same coin.

  Hunkered over his plate, Ethan finished chewing a bite of pork roast before answering. “I was at a pub in town last night. Heard about a skirmish at a local farm. Somethin’ ’bout the owner bein’ Irish, and how someone had stitched together a body and wrote”—Ethan’s gaze met Maggie’s then quickly fell away. “Wrote somethin’ not quite so favorable ’bout an Irishman on it before hangin’ it from a tree. And I thought to myself, ‘That could be my lil’ brother they’re talkin’ ’bout.’ And sure ’nuff—” He speared another bite of meat with his fork and raised it in triumph. “I was right!”

  “But how did you know where to look, Ethan? How did you know I was here in Nashville?”

  “I didn’t. I just kept thinkin’ ’bout what Moira told me. ’Bout her wantin’ to come to Tennessee.”

  Cullen’s eyes narrowed. “Moira told you about Tennessee?”

  “Aye.” He skewered a roasted potato. “She said what she’d heard of the place made her think of home, or somethin’ close to that.”

  “That its hills are as green as those of home,” Cullen whispered, as though quoting.

  Ethan’s eyes came open. “Aye! That was it.”

  Cullen leaned forward. “When did she tell you this?”

  Ethan grew quiet, his expression more serious, as if only now detecting the earnestness in his brother’s tone. “I think it was the last time I saw her. Right before I left London. For good,” he finished, his voice barely audible.

  Cullen eased back in his chair, his features steeped in memories another world away. And in another woman. “She must’ve known that you were leavin’.” He gave a humorless laugh. “Moira knew it before I did.”

  “I never said a thing to her, Cullen. I swear. I wouldn’t have involved her.”

  “You didn’t have to. Moira could see into a person. And she read you, Ethan.”

  “But why would she tell me somethin’ like that?”

  “Because likely she knew that when you left, they’d come for me. Then we’d have to leave. And even knowin’ how angry I was with you, she still wanted you to know where we were goin’.”

  Ethan didn’t speak for the longest time. “You were so angry.”

  Cullen locked eyes with him. “And I’ve been angry with you ever since. From the day I walked into the stall and saw that stallion on its side, unable to breathe. Until today when I looked up and there you were.”

  Seconds passed before Ethan spoke again. “I’m sorry, little brother. If I could take it all back, I would.”

  “But you can’t.” Cullen sighed. “And neither can I.”

  Ethan rested his forearms on the table. “I’ve learned my lesson, and I aim to do better than I ever have.”

  “Leavin’ me to answer for your actions? Runnin’ away from what you did? Then hidin’ who knows where for over a year now . . . That’s what you call learnin’ your lesson?”

  Ethan’s features clouded. “I wasn’t hidin’ for the past year, Cullen.” His mouth tipped the slightest bit, but the look in his eyes was grave. “I’ve been in prison. I got wind they’d arrested you. That’s what the papers said, anyway. But it was all a ruse.” He exhaled and leaned back in his chair. “But by then, they had me.”

  Maggie looked over at Cullen and saw the same surprise on his face that she felt.

  Cullen stared. “So you came back after all?”

  “Aye. I couldn’t let you take the blame. And the only reason I’m here now is because I knew every crooked trainer and jockey in London, and I handed ’em all over to the London Thoroughbred Society. Well, at least the worst ones,” he added with a wink. “Else they would’ve let me rot in there for good.”

  Maggie studied Cullen’s contemplative expression, wondering what he was thinking.

  Discovering Ethan had served time in prison for what he’d done should have eased her own misgivings about the man, but it didn’t. She still didn’t trust him. And frankly, didn’t want him at Linden Downs.

  But Linden Downs wasn’t only her home anymore.

  She looked between the two of them. So similar, yet so different.

  She remembered Cullen telling her how much bigger and stronger Ethan was, but Cullen was every bit as broad-shouldered and muscular as his brother. Perhaps the months Cullen spent working the docks in Brooklyn had evened that score . . . even if other scores seemed yet to be settled between them. The fighting her brothers had done was tame by comparison.

  Seeing the emotion on Cullen’s face when he’d spoken of Moira and Katie’s passing fed her newfound doubts. Of course he’d loved his first wife and their child dearly. He wouldn’t be the man she loved now if he hadn’t. Still . . .

  She wished she knew if he was with her because he truly loved her, or if his affection was rooted in a hastily made promise. Or if it was merely because he’d needed a place to hide.

  Her appetite gone, Maggie confined her gaze to her dinner plate.

  “How long have you been in town?” Cullen asked.

  “I was here several weeks back. But when I couldn’t find you, I moved on to other towns. Eventually got into Georgia. Pretty country down there too.”

  Head bowed, Maggie felt a nudge of realization at Ethan’s admission. That day in town, weeks ago, when she thought she’d seen Cullen . . . It must have been Ethan.

  As the silence lengthened, so did her discomfort, and she decided to take advantage of the opportunity. “If you’ll both excuse me . . .” She pushed back her chair and rose, causing Bucket to rouse from his corner. “I need to check on Bourbon Belle.”

  Cullen stood, and Ethan quickly followed suit.

  Ethan cleared his throat. “Even though I don’t know what kind of creature belongs to such a name, I like it, Mrs. McGrath.”

  Maggie’s smile came from obligation. “Bourbon Belle is my horse, Mr. McGrath. She’s a thoroughbred.” She could feel Cullen’s stare. “And she was poisoned four nights ago.”

  Every trace of levity slid from Ethan McGrath’s face, and the silence from a moment earlier couldn’t begin to compare to the heaviness blanketing the room.

  “And whoever it was,” Cullen added with a weight in his voice, “used white snakeroot.”

  “You know who did it . . . don’t you? Who poisoned your wife’s horse. Who started the fire, and tried to kill that man.”

&nb
sp; Cullen looked over at his brother sitting beside him on the darkened porch, the night quiet around them, the moon slowly retreating behind the clouds. “I have a fairly decent notion,” he answered, reaching down and rubbing Bucket, who was sprawled beside him.

  Ethan’s brief laugh was telling. “For you to say somethin’ like that, you’ve got more than a decent notion, brother.” He leaned forward in the rocker, his voice lowering. “Tell me, and I’ll pay them a visit for you. I’ll pass along your desire that they never set foot on Linden Downs again.”

  “No.” Cullen shook his head.

  “But you said yourself . . . these men, they won’t be givin’ up ’til they’ve gotten their way.”

  “It’s not as simple as payin’ someone a visit anymore, Ethan. Not when you have people you’re responsible for, and when those people can be hurt because of somethin’ you’ve done. Come against you or me”—he exhaled—“and we can hold our own. But my workers, my wife . . .” He looked toward the stable, where Maggie and Rachel were caring for Belle. “I can’t take care of situations the way you and I used to.”

  So many opinions he’d held earlier in life weren’t so steadfast anymore. Changes were going on inside him that he didn’t understand, nor could he ignore them.

  Cullen rose and walked to the railing, pausing close to where he’d stood with Gilbert Linden that first afternoon. How long ago that day seemed now, yet how deep a love for the man’s land—and his daughter—had taken root inside him.

  “I can be civil, you know,” Ethan said, joining him at the rail.

  Cullen laughed. “Your definition of civility and mine have always stood a bit at odds. And I’m guessin’ that after this past year, your definition has changed yet again.”

  Ethan shrugged in a way that usually accompanied a wry grin, but the truth of his features was lost to the shadows.

  A breeze carrying a surprising touch of cool even for September stirred the night air and shushed the limbs of nearby maple and oak, causing their leaves to tremble. Bucket stood and stretched, then trotted over and settled by Cullen, heaving a sigh.