by Kristin Holt
Gus soothed her with a touch. “He’s dead. And your mother.”
Dead? The news rendered her incapable of speech.
They’d been very much alive when she’d fled Hartford. If she’d approached them for help, they’d have returned her to her husband. So she’d left Hartford without contacting her parents.
Only one regret haunted her still—she’d also severed ties with was her only sibling, Victoria.
“You didn’t know.”
She shook her head.
“The papers reported your father passed after a brief illness. I did some digging.” He shrugged. “Natural causes. His heart, most likely. Consumption claimed your mother a few months later.”
“Tori.” What had become of her little sister? Did the sweet, quiet girl with luminous eyes believe Effie dead? What purgatory had Father consigned her to?
“She’s well. Lives in the family home, fights with your father’s lawyers, and typically wins. She’ll be happy I’ve found you.” Gus grinned. “She hired me to find you.”
Chapter Three
The following morning, Effie stretched within the warm cocoon of her bed.
The barrage of information—the death of her parents and the death of her estranged husband, word of her sister…it had all been too much. She’d needed time.
Somewhere in the middle of the night, she’d realized she’d never set Gus straight.
He’d kissed her, implied he loved her still. He wanted to take her home with him.
She would not go. Honestly, the Carmichaels had very little to do with her decision. She would not go because Gus expected marriage.
She’d learned the hard way marriage was not for her. Never again would she give a man control over every aspect of her life.
Never.
She and Gus wanted two very different things, thus they had no hope of a future together. She couldn’t allow him to make further plans, to assume she’d do as he bid. Yes, she’d wanted to marry him, once, but that had been a very long time ago. Before she learned what marriage was truly like.
She’d ensure he understood, at the first opportunity.
She stretched, basking in the excellent news Gus had delivered.
I’m free.
Free of Reuben Carmichael’s threats, free of his moneyed long-arm reach, free of marriage, free of her parents’ manipulations.
Free.
She could stay here in Mountain Home, continue operating her business. She’d be around to sew the flannel nightgown and wrapper Hunter ordered as a Christmas present for his wife. She would hold her friends’ baby.
Relief swelled, an unfamiliar emotion she didn’t know what to do with.
She tossed back the covers, pushed her toes into chilly slippers and reached for her wrapper. Morning’s light eased from grays to muted shades of color.
Happy anticipation fueled her desire to dive into her work. Within thirty minutes, she’d stoked the fire, heated water for a sponge bath, dressed, twisted her hair into a knot atop her head, made her bed, and brewed coffee. She briskly swept the floor to remove the dirt tracked in last night by curious folk.
She’d nearly finished the job when a light tap sounded on her front window. She glanced up to find Gus back-lit by early dawn. He waved to her.
“What are you doing out so early?”
He brought a rush of bitter cold air with him inside. He stomped clumps of snow off his boots and leaned on the door to shut it.
So much for swept floors.
“I couldn’t wait to see you.” A grin softened his features.
“I’m glad you’re here.” She’d rather set him straight in private.
“Good.” He leaned in, expecting a kiss.
She gave him her cheek. “I’ve carefully thought through everything you told me last night.”
“Anxious to go home?”
“Actually, no.”
He paused in the process of shedding his heavy coat. “No need to worry over the Carmichaels. I know you’ve been in hiding from them—I understand. They searched for you after your abrupt departure, but quickly turned their story into a tale that favored the family.”
She could imagine what they’d said. Likely that she’d left to visit a distant relative. Or that she’d been confined to her bed with consumption. Certainly not that she’d left Reuben Carmichael and disappeared. Never that.
Gus removed heavy leather gloves, then pulled something from his coat pocket. He presented stiff papers with a flourish.
“What’s this?” But she already knew. Railway tickets.
“I bought two return fares. One for you. One for me.”
Her heart sank. Rather presumptuous of him, wasn’t it?
She must’ve given away her displeasure for he rushed to continue, “You’ll be home in time for Christmas. Think of it. Christmas in Hartford, with Tori.”
Tempting, but inadequate. “Thank you, Gus, for your generosity. I need you to understand—”
“I’ll help you pack. We can make the four-o’clock.”
“No, thank you.”
“It’s too big a job to do alone.”
“No. I mean, thank you, but I won’t pack. I won’t leave today.”
He paused, his expression slack with disbelief. He glanced about the shop, taking in the value of her inventory, her sewing machine, seemed to recognize she had a business to operate. “I guess you need time to sell the place. I’ll help. We’ll get word out—”
“I intend to stay.”
“You can’t be serious.”
She’d spent too many years under Reuben’s control, cowering beneath his temper. She intentionally straightened her posture. Gus wasn’t anything like her disastrous husband—she hoped. “This is my home. This is my business.” It represented independence and safety.
“I love you.” His deep baritone constricted with emotion. “I’ve loved you since I was fifteen years old.” His features contorted.
It seemed too cruel to tell him she didn’t love him anymore, hadn’t loved him for a very long time. After a pledge like this, what was the best way to inform him of her iron-clad decision to remain unmarried?
“I had no way to claim you, not before. Not when your father wielded the power, not when he’d already contracted with Carmichael.” His wide, strong shoulders slumped.“I loved you every last day you were wed to that pompous fool, Euphemia Scofield. I loved you enough to search for you for nearly a year. I love you enough to take you home with me, keep you safe. We’ll marry in Hartford, in front of the whole world, with your sister standing up with you.”
Did he realize he hadn’t asked her opinion nor considered her wishes? “It sounds lovely, but—”
“We,” Gus informed her, “are leaving no later than day after tomorrow. And we’re getting married no later than New Year’s.”
“No. We’re not.”
He stared at her as if he could not reconcile her answer with the truth according to August Rose.
“I’m flattered, honored that you want me for your wife after all this time. But you must listen to me. I’ve made up my mind. I will never again marry.”
“Carmichael.”
That’s all he need say. He did understand, at least a little. “Yes, my marriage was an unmitigated disaster. I learned far too much about the consequences of turning over every ounce of control to a man.” Old, once-buried desperation and fear resurfaced, sitting on her chest with the weight of a full-grown man. She couldn’t breathe.
“I’m not Reuben Carmichael.”
She raised a hand, indicated she understood that to be true. She fought for breath, reminded herself she’d left that oppression behind.
When she regained her composure, she continued, feeling she owed Gus more of an explanation. “I don’t like the woman I became, what marriage did to me. I chafed in the confines of marriage. I won’t go through that again.”
“That was an arranged marriage, you didn’t choose him…” He paused. “It will be dif
ferent—good—with you and me.”
“You can’t promise that. I’m not cut out for marriage. I would make any man a poor wife.”
“I can’t accept that. You and I would’ve been happy, had we eloped like we wanted to.”
No matter what angle he argued, she wouldn’t change her mind. “I need my independence. I choose to remain unwed.”
He shook his head, as if he’d never considered the possibility of rejection. “I pursued employment with the Marshals to get close to you.”
That gave her pause. She’d seen the notice in the paper the day Gus was first sworn in. He’d been the youngest man given that honor in Hartford’s history.
“U.S. Marshals were assigned to guard Reuben Carmichael. If I had that job, I could get myself assigned to him. I’d be nearer to you.”
Her heart pounded, but she knew he wasn’t a deranged man, unable to accept the loss of a would-be bride. No. He had risen in the ranks, gone after what he wanted and claimed it. No apologies, no time wasted. The man exercised patience and confidence.
And he wanted her.
The realization was both flattering and terrifying.
“Please, don’t turn this into a contest of wills. You and I want significantly different things. We are at cross-purposes and cannot both win.”
He gathered his coat and slowly donned it. He buttoned from the collar on down. “You’ve spoken your mind, and I heard every word. It seems you heard me out, too.”
She nodded, relief somehow compounding the deep sadness aching at the pit of her stomach. It hurt to say goodbye. “Thank you for bringing me word of…of Carmichael. And of my parents.”
He nodded. A long moment passed and he made no further conversation nor move toward the door.
“Thank you for searching for me.” Thank you for respecting my decision.
“It sounds like you’re saying goodbye.” A hint of a smile toyed with his full lips.
She smiled, just a little. “I guess I am.” Surely he’d take his train tickets and be on today’s four-o’clock.
He eased on one glove, then the other. “Well, that’s where you’re mistaken. I’ve a mind to stay in Mountain Home for awhile, enjoy the fresh mountain air, and spend time with you.”
Oh, no.
“After all,” he murmured, “you and I are were good friends once. You loved me, then, and I believe you’ll come to love me again.” He winked and smiled broadly.
The bells tinkled as he shut the door behind himself.
Effie stumbled toward the chair in the back corner and sat, and dropped her head between her knees. Breathe. Just breathe.
She’d made up her mind. She would not soften, would not reconsider, would never marry again—no matter how long Gus remained in Mountain Home.
Luke boarded Domino at the livery across the street from Effie’s shop. He didn’t know how long he’d be, and he couldn’t leave the gelding standing in the frigid wind.
First hints of daylight shaded the eastern sky in pinks and purples. It was far too early to pay a social call, except in the most dire of circumstances.
This qualified.
Last night, he’d watched her through the shop’s front window from a shadowed alley. He’d seen the marshal take her into the back room. Though he’d wanted to pound on the door and insist they do their talking in plain sight of the street, he’d waited until Rose finally quit Pettingill’s for the boardinghouse. He’d waited a half-hour more, ‘til he could reasonably believe Rose was in for the night.
By the time Luke had saddled up and headed home, he’d had ice in his bones.
This morning, Effie’s demeanor still haunted him. She’d sent him away last night, and he’d gone, out of some misguided respect for her wishes. Not this time. They were going to have a talk, and he wouldn’t leave until he understood the threat August Rose posed.
As he left the livery and stepped into the frozen mud of the street, the door of Pettingill’s opened and shut. August Rose.
What was he doing here at this hour?
The marshal struck a match and cupped his hands around the flame, but it would take a whole lot more than that to hide his scowl. He drew deeply on the cigarette and exhaled smoke.
Luke halted, one boot on the boardwalk at his back, and one on the street. By the looks of August’s departure, he wasn’t happy.
That made two of them.
The lawman bent into the wind and headed to Ihnken’s Boardinghouse. He’d better stay there. Luke was in no mood to mind his manners or keep his fists to himself.
“Come in out of the cold.” Effie must’ve seen him coming because she met him at the door. Her dimpled smile faltered. “What’s wrong? Is it Miranda?”
“No, she’s fine.” The shop was toasty warm and smelled of fresh coffee. “I’m here about you.”
“Me?” She gestured him nearer to the stove’s heat.
“Yes, you. I saw how Rose affected you last night—I’ve never seen you that anxious—and you sent me away. I’m back to check on you.”
She merely nodded as if resigned. Color had returned to her cheeks and the shakes had stopped.
It wasn’t enough. “I saw him leaving just now. Is he bothering you?”
“No.”
He took notice of a pair of train tickets weighted with dressmaker shears.
She noticed where his attention had gone. “I told him no. I won’t go.”
He figured he understood why. She operated a successful business and had the freedom to do as she pleased. The folks of Mountain Home liked and respected her, considered her one of their own.
“You won’t go where?”
“Home…Connecticut.”
Luke had taken a hard look at the U.S. Marshal angle during the night. He’d seen the way Rose looked at Effie, with a certainty and propriety Luke hadn’t appreciated. Despite the badge, it looked personal. He didn’t know what to make of it. “Why? Official business, or something personal?”
“He offered to take me back home. I have a sister. He thought…”
He could well imagine what August Rose thought. His mood darkened further. He noticed Effie hadn’t actually answered his question.
“You want to stay here, despite the chance to visit your sister?”
“We were never close.” She sighed. “This is my home.”
“Good. It’s settled.”
She nodded.
He claimed the two unwanted tickets from beneath her scissors and prepared to return them to their owner.
“I know you, Mrs. O’Leary, and an old friend showing up, offering to accompany you to visit a sister isn’t nearly enough to ruffle your feathers this much. Something else is wrong.”
Her gaze flitted about landing everywhere but on him.
“I can’t defend you, protect you properly, if I don’t know what I’m up against. It’s obvious you’re in trouble. Let me help.” He searched her gaze but found no answers there. “Tell me the truth. Trust me.”
“It’s not like that. He just brought news.” Her gaze skittered away. “My—” She paused, drew a deep breath, let it out with agonizing slowness. “My parents have passed away…he simply thought to deliver the news.”
“I’m sorry to hear your parents are gone, Effie…but he came here just to tell you in person? I don’t believe it. People don’t travel two thousand miles to deliver news, even to a dear friend. That’s what the postal service is for. If a letter won’t do, the telegraph has made it all the way to Mountain Home.”
He watched her closely, took note of her hesitancy to meet his gaze, the tightness of her mouth. She’d folded her arms in a defensive posture that screamed insecurity…and fear.
She feared August Rose. He’d put a stop to that. “He threatened you.”
“No.”
“He’s sure as shootin’ holding something over your head, and I won’t stand for it.”
“He did not threaten me.” She actually looked at him then.
“If he didn�
�t threaten you, why are you afraid?”
“Because he plans to stay in town.” She shivered and briskly rubbed her upper arms to warm herself. She seemed so small, so defenseless.
Luke didn’t like the idea of August Rose staying, but he needed to understand why Effie didn’t like it. “This is a problem because…?”
“He thinks there’s a possibility for us, for he and I…”
His gut clenched. “Why would he think that?”
“Years ago, before I married, Gus and I were too young to know better. We fell in love—it was brief, misguided, and over quickly.” She waved a hand as if to dissipate the memory.
Ouch. He didn’t like knowing she’d once loved Rose, but at least she didn’t claim to fancy him now.
“Gus seems to believe there’s hope for us to rekindle that youthful romance.”
Luke weighed her answer against the level of anxiety he’d seen with his own two eyes…and it didn’t reconcile. Effie had proved herself too level-headed, too rational, too reasonable a woman to tremble with barely suppressed emotion just because an old beau had reemerged and expressed interest.
No. There was more to it than what she’d disclosed.
He’d get to the bottom of it.
But first, he had railway tickets to return to their rightful owner. As much as he dreaded confronting an armed U.S. Marshal, he looked forward to making himself clear. It was time August Rose left town—alone.
Luke found August Rose in the boarding house dining room. From the slump of his shoulders and contemplative expression, the fella had a lot on his mind.
But not so much he’d let his guard down. He sat with his back to the wall, in full view of the front door.
At this hour, Mrs. Ihnken prepared breakfast. Aromas of cooking meat and frying potatoes wafted through the warm house. Footsteps sounded overhead in the second story bedrooms for let.
Luke was pleased to find he had August’s attention to himself. No sense having this conversation with an audience.
August stood, and to Luke’s surprise, offered a handshake.
He hesitated, just a beat. He wouldn’t read too much into this. He closed the distance and accepting the gesture of greeting.