Apathy and Vigor

by Faye Hall

  She shook her head. She needed to stop thinking about such things. Whatever relationship she once had with Tristen was so very long ago. They were both different people now, for better and worse. There was no way they could ever go back to the people they used to be, nor look at each other with the innocence they once believed of each other.

  She had been told so many stories about Tristen and the tyrant he had become over the last year. Stories of cold-hearted business deals and numerous, meaningless affairs drifted from the lips of the regulars that frequented the Anabranch Hotel. Bastian constantly reminded her that the fire which killed Jacob and Amanda had been lit by Tristen, his motive to rob each of their families of everything they owned. None of these stories sounded anything like the man she had once known and loved. The Tristen she was being told of sounded little more than a stranger, caring for nothing and no one; and now Bastian expected her to walk back into that man’s life and seduce him into handing over some papers.

  Truthfully, she was doubtful she would even get past the front door, especially if the stories she heard had any truth to them. And if she were right, and she were turned away instantly, then how was she going to get these papers Bastian was so desperate to obtain? It was all beginning to seem very hopeless.

  The sound of a carriage pulling up across the road drew her attention. Glancing up, she noted immediately that it belonged to Tristen. Maybe she should just go and talk to him, ask if all the rumors she had heard about him were true...ask if he really did kill Jacob. Deciding that she had nothing left to lose, Amalie stepped off the curb and was about to walk across the road when a hand reached out, grabbing her.

  “Are you mad?” Bastian scolded her, his grip tightening painfully around her elbow. “Have you any idea what will happen to you should you be seen? The children of Albert Heather are still looking for you, remember?”

  She pulled her arm free. “I’m sick and tired of hiding, Bastian!” she exclaimed. “I can’t live forever on scraps of information and sheer rumor. If Tristen killed my brother like you claim, then I want him to admit it to my face.”

  He studied her. “You’re still in love with him, aren’t you?”

  She turned away from him and started walking back toward the hotel. “Don’t be a fool,” she said, but even she knew she sounded half-hearted. If she were truthful, she didn’t know what she felt for Tristen anymore. Part of her heart was still so very fond of him. Another part of her hated him for his desertion of her immediately after Jacob’s death.

  Bastian reached for her, his fingers painfully gripping her wrist and pulling her back to him. When she was again facing him, his other hand came up to her face; his fingers were firm and painful as he held her chin, forcing her gaze to meet his.

  “Need I remind you that it was Tristen who threw you into a life of servitude?” he hissed. “That it was him who left you to struggle to pay for every mouthful, not to mention be the target of every lecherous man in the area while he warmed his bed with as many women as he could pay for.”

  She tried to pull her face free from his hold. “You have made it quite clear who is responsible for taking my family away from me and forcing me into this life. What no one, including you, has been able to tell me though, is why?”

  He finally let her go. “What the hell are you talking about? I’ve already told you why.”

  “But none of it makes sense,” she persisted. “Tristen and Jacob were friends most of their lives, so why would he suddenly mean my brother harm?”

  “Greed drives men to betray those they once loved,” he explained. “Men like Tristen will go to any lengths to achieve what they want.”

  “But what could he have wanted from my brother that was so important he had to take his life?”

  He eyed her, a single brow raised. “Perhaps Jacob threatened to tell your father you had been sleeping with Tristen. Such an admission would have trapped you both in marriage. Maybe Tristen could see no other way to be free of such an obligation.”

  She knew he was fishing for information, trying to make her admit the true extent of her relationship with Tristen back then. She wouldn’t give him what he wanted though.

  “I’ve told you before, I never shared a bed with Tristen,” she said firmly. “If Jacob was killed over anyone, it certainly wasn’t me.”

  His stare never left her. “As you say.”

  She knew he didn’t believe her, but nor did he know the truth. Should he discover just how intimate she had once been with Tristen, and about the baby she miscarried, there was no telling the amount of horror Bastian would inflict upon them both. She couldn’t give him that power.

  Turning away from him, Amalie began the short walk back to her room at the Anabranch Hotel. There was no point in her staying there. Bastian wouldn’t give her the peace she needed right now to get her head around what he was ordering her to do. Even if he had, she wasn’t sure she would ever be able to understand it. In truth, she didn’t understand anything about her recent association with Bastian these last few months.

  Seeing the hotel up ahead, her steps slowed. This wasn’t where she thought she would end up after the death of her brother and father. She certainly didn’t think to be living with Bastian. Her father assured her before his death that he had called off her engagement. She had been sure she would never see Bastian again.

  Had she run the other direction from Albert Heather’s estate house, she might never have ended up in this position. But she hadn’t run the other way. Instead, she ran straight into the arms of Bastian, and now he was the only one who knew about the man she killed that night.

  She was trapped.

  Stepping into the hotel, and through to the stairs that led to her room, Amalie walked up them steadily, her steps feeling heavy. This hotel had come to be her new prison. Now it seemed she would be leaving it for another. Opening the door to her room, she stepped inside and walked straight over to the window that looked down on the street. Her gaze focused on Tristen’s carriage across the road, trying to see if he were in fact inside. She had not heard one word from him since the night her brother died. No admission of guilt or condolences. After their intense relationship, she hoped to receive something—anything—from him. She received nothing.

  “You need to pack. The carriage will be here soon to collect you,” Bastian said from behind her as he entered the room. “I want to hear back from you in a few days to tell me what you’ve found.”

  She just nodded, her stare still focused out the window. She would go through with this plan of Bastian’s. She had no choice. But if she were to do this, then she would be certain she would get not only her father’s properties back, but also Tristen’s admission of guilt. If he were really the one who killed Jacob, then she would go to any lengths to know for sure. And if he were guilty, she would make him pay dearly for his betrayal.

  As his carriage drove off, she couldn’t stop herself from thinking about what would happen should she find Tristen had not been involved in her brother’s death.

  Chapter 8

  Tristen sat staring at the papers he shuffled through his hands, not really seeing what was written on them.

  “Don’t the figures look wonderful?” Douglas asked, handing him more papers.

  Tristen just nodded. He didn’t have the heart to tell his lawyer that at the moment he really didn’t care about business.

  “Your profits from this cattle station the last couple of months are better than any I’ve ever seen,” Douglas continued. “As for your other businesses...I must admit I was dubious of your idea that I handle your meetings, but you have proved me wrong several times over. You knew what stations would make you the best profits. The landlords you put out of business were corrupt to a fault, but you even put an end to that, and now you have more tenants than most everyone else in the area, and they all pay their rent on time.”

  “You make me sound like some miracle worker,” Tristen said, feeling slightly uncomfortable by the constant prai
se of his business skills.

  “I think you must be,” Douglas insisted. “Over the last couple of months you have bought up most of the town, making you one of the richest station owners in the area. The miracle is that never once have you stolen or swindled to make your money. Everything you own was bought fairly and honestly. You have even sent some of the most corrupt retailers out of business, only to buy their shops up and run them honestly and at a huge profit. Not to mention those sterile pieces of land you bought from the Tanners. Never in a million years did I think you would have them occupied and running at a profit.”

  Tristen handed back the papers.

  “Most men in your position would be ecstatic to hear such news,” Douglas commented.

  Tristen knew his lawyer was right, but still he didn’t care.

  “Are you using again?” Douglas asked firmly. Stepping toward the desk, he leaned over and opened the drawers, searching through them. “You need to keep a clear head about you for business. I’ve told you time and again that all it takes is just one bad deal, and you will lose everything.”

  Tristen shut the drawers that had been opened. “You haven’t told me anything my own father didn’t drill into me before his death. As for your concern over my drug habit, you can stop searching my office as if I’m some insubordinate child. You won’t find anything in this room or any other in the house. You cut off every avenue I had for getting heroin, remember? Damn it, I’m not even allowed too much alcohol.”

  Douglas straightened. “I know what you must think of me, but I assure you my actions have only been to protect you. If I let you fall back under the control of your addiction, then it will be no more than a matter of days before you lose everything.”

  Tristen stared at his lawyer, knowing that everything he’d said was right. He should care about what he stood to lose, but he couldn’t force himself to. The problem was he already felt as if he had lost everything that was of value to him.

  “Have you learned anything about who might have wanted to kill Jacob and Amanda yet?” Tristen asked.

  “Still nothing,” Douglas replied. “The only thing anyone can tell me for certain is that the fire was deliberately lit.”

  “Damn,” Tristen hissed. “No one is ever going to believe my innocence if I can’t find any proof of who lit that blaze.”

  “No one?” Douglas asked. “Don’t you mean Amalie won’t believe you?”

  Reaching in front of him, Tristen’s hand curled around the ribbon that still sat there after so long, his fingers running along the silken blue fabric. This wasn’t the life he wanted, his emotions stuck in a moment of time with nothing but a single ribbon to remind him of what love felt like. He knew Douglas meant well, constantly checking on him and ensuring he didn’t again fall victim to drug abuse, not to mention the continual profits he aided in bringing into the estate. Tristen’s fingers dropped the ribbon. No amount of money in the world could give him back all he had lost.

  “It’s not like you have the police breathing down your neck wanting to charge you for what happened that night,” Douglas reminded him.

  “Nor do I have enough to prove to Amalie that I didn’t kill her brother.”

  “You need to stop being so hard on yourself. Think of everything else you have achieved these last few months,” Douglas continued. “You have managed greater profits than even your father did.”

  “I have never cared about the money, and you know that,” Tristen stated.

  “What about all the good you have achieved, ridding this town of so many of the corrupt businessmen and landlords that used to live here and taking control of their businesses?” Douglas asked.

  Tristen didn’t respond.

  “I give up,” Douglas huffed as he started packing up his papers. “I swear there is nothing I can say that will make you happy.”

  Just then there was a knock on the door.

  “Who is it?” Tristen asked abruptly.

  A station hand opened the door, looking noticeably nervous.

  “I’m sorry, sir. I know you said you didn’t want to be disturbed, but it’s just… I mean…”

  “Spit it out!” Tristen demanded.

  The station hand swallowed so hard Tristen heard it. “There’s a woman here saying she wants to see you,” he finally rasped out.

  Douglas stopped what he was doing and turned to face him. “What did you say?”

  The station hand shuffled his shoes nervously against the ground. “She said her name was Amalie Fergus.”

  Douglas turned back to face Tristen. “You’ve said nothing of your mended relationship with her.”

  “That’s because I don’t have one,” Tristen explained, trying to make sense of what the station hand told him. “The last time I saw Amalie was the night her brother died.”

  “Then why is she here now?” Douglas asked.

  Tristen shrugged, trying to portray a calmness he didn’t feel. “I assumed you would already know the answer to that.”

  Douglas shook his head. “I went to see her at her father’s estate house, but I was told she wouldn’t receive me. That was almost a year ago though. I certainly haven’t seen anything of her recently.”

  “Do you want me to send the young lady up, sir?” the station hand asked.

  Tristen shifted his gaze away from Douglas, staring at the station hand for a moment, trying to think of what could have brought Amalie here after so long. Everything he thought of only increased his suspicion, until finally he was certain he was being set up.

  “Tell the young lady I’m indisposed,” Tristen said, waving his hand and dismissing the station hand.

  “What are you doing?” Douglas asked him. “You can’t just refuse to see her.”

  “I can and I will,” Tristen rebutted.

  “Are you mad? You’ve written this woman every week for almost a year, begging her to come back to you, and now she’s here asking to seek an audience with you, and you will refuse her?”

  Tristen nodded. “My scars are a near certainty that Amalie isn’t here to suddenly share my bed again or confess her undying love. Whatever has sent her here is nothing good.”

  “And what if she’s here to confess her heart to you?” Douglas asked.

  Tristen scoffed at the lawyer’s remark. “Amalie has refused to see me since her brother’s death. She ignored my continued pleas for a second chance with her, instead accepting an offer of marriage from Bastian Tanner.”

  “I’ve told you several times now that it was Michael Fergus who arranged that engagement.”

  Tristen waved his hand in the air, dismissing Douglas’s remark. “When Amalie’s engagement was suddenly canceled, I bought up her father’s properties, thinking that in the event of his death, she would at least still have her home. Instead, she ran as fast as she could away from the place and into a life of servitude. She went to several of the richest property owners both sides of the Burdekin River seeking employment and lodgings, but even then, at her lowest point, she refused to come to me for help.”

  “Maybe she didn’t know how to ask you,” Douglas tried to reason with him. “Even you must realize that you aren’t the easiest of men to seek an audience with.”

  “So why is she here now?”

  “One of her employers, Albert Heather, was found dead some time ago,” Douglas explained. “I would assume she has nowhere else to go.”

  Tristen reached for the ribbon again, his fingers stroking it. “I know about Albert, and about the murderer his sons are still chasing. But that doesn’t explain why Amalie is here now, asking for an audience with me.”

  Douglas shrugged. “Maybe she has finally come to her senses and realized it wasn’t you who killed Jacob.”

  Tristen thought on the lawyer’s words, aching for them to be true. His hand dropped the ribbon, instead going to the scar on his face, the cruel reminder that such hopes concerning Amalie were useless. “Maybe she’s here to hide from the crime she committed. You know the rumors a
s well as I do, that Albert thought nothing of forcing himself on his female staff. What if Amalie fought him off and there was an accident?”

  “And what if she’s only here because she’s been told of the money you offered her father prior to his death for her hand in marriage?”

  Tristen’s hand dropped to the desk. “She could have decided it’s time she came back to make me pay for the deaths she believes I’m responsible for.”

  “It’s been almost a year since Jacob’s death,” Douglas reminded him. “Surely if Amalie wanted revenge against you, she would have sought it before now.”

  Tristen stood from his seat and turned toward the window, staring off into the distance. “Maybe she already has,” he muttered, his hand going to his face, his fingers tracing over the raised scars there. He was certain Amalie would turn away from him once she was forced to look at his scarred flesh, and such a notion pained him greatly.

  “What did you say?” Douglas asked.

  He turned to face his lawyer. “It doesn’t matter,” he replied, clearing his throat in an attempt to regather his senses. “You need to get those papers back to the safety of your office.”

  Douglas picked the stack of papers and folders up in his arms. “What are you going to do about the woman waiting for you downstairs?”

  “Nothing,” Tristen answered. “Besides, she should be on her way back to town by now.”

  Tristen walked past Douglas and out of the study toward the back door. His mind was a whirl of mixed emotions and memories. After so long of yearning for Amalie to return to him, finally she had come to see him. Reaching the back door, he opened it and stepped outside, taking a deep breath, needing to clear his mind. He was no fool. If Amalie had come to his station, there had to be some underlying reason other than her wanting to see him.

  Despite her rejection of him, Tristen couldn’t just cut himself off from her. He had been certain to stay well informed of her actions these past months, from canceled engagements, to her father’s death, to her many terminated employments. When he heard the news of Albert Heather’s death, he feared what had happened to her and what would become of her. He tried to contact her again, begging her to give him another chance, assuring her he would protect her at all cost. He never received a reply.