Only You

by Wendy Lindstrom

  She helped him stand, but as soon as he had his walking stick in hand, he put his arm around her and gave her a hug. “Thank you for giving an old man back his youth. I’m honored by your trust in me.”

  “How could I not trust a man my grandmother loved so deeply?”

  “I’d like nothing more than to openly acknowledge you as my granddaughter, but I have four daughters and a slew of grandchildren to consider.”

  “I understand. I shared the journal with you because I believed Grandmother would have wanted me to, and because I felt it was the right thing to do. I’m not looking for anything more than this,” she said, kissing his wrinkled cheek. “I’m proud to know you, too, Mr. Edwards.”

  When she drew away, his eyes were moist, but she suspected it was tears of happiness and peace. “I’d prefer you call me Abe. Or Addison. Or Grandfather.”

  She took his coat from the closet. “How about Grandfather in private, Mr. Edwards in public?”

  “That pleases me.” He pulled on his coat then wrinkled his brow at her. “Are you going out this evening?”

  “Yes.” She buttoned her heavy coat then linked their arms. “I can’t give you up just yet, so I’m walking you home.”

  He argued, but she insisted, until finally they both laughed and walked out the door arm in arm.

  They walked slowly, but Addison was huffing and trembling so badly by the time they reached his house on Spring Street, Claire walked him right to his front stoop. Desmona met them at the door, scowl lines an inch deep between her gray eyebrows.

  Claire was immensely grateful that she was free of the stifling prison of marriage. She would live with the loneliness and make new friends. Boyd Grayson wasn’t the only man in town.

  But he was the only man she wanted in her life. And he was in Buffalo.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  For the fourth day in a row, Boyd banged on the door of the huge white mansion with stately pillars. To his relief, a lanky man with graying hair and brilliant blue eyes answered his knock.

  “Is Bennett Dawsen at home?” Boyd asked.

  “You’re addressing him,” the man said in an imperious voice.

  Boyd ignored Dawsen’s arrogance, and held out his hand. He’d been waiting for Claire’s family to return home from wherever they’d been. “I’m Boyd Grayson, a friend of Claire’s. We need to talk.”

  Bennett Dawsen invited him inside, and introduced him to Claire’s mother, a fashionably dressed lady with dark hair and regal features. But Boyd was too worried about Claire to be overly cordial to her mother or impressed by the opulent house.

  Claire was treading into a dangerous situation, and he just wanted to get back to Fredonia and make sure she was all right.

  If only she would have agreed to marry him.

  He thought she would have wanted to. Every woman he ever romanced had angled for marriage. They wanted him. They wanted security. They wanted too much. He never considered proposing to a single one of them. Not once. Not until he’d fallen in love with Claire. Not until he realized that his name could protect her, that he could keep her safe.

  He wanted desperately to marry her.

  “I’ll leave you gentlemen to your business,” Mrs. Dawsen said then quietly left the room. She was pretty, but darker and shorter than Claire.

  “If you’re a friend of my daughter’s,” Bennett said, “then you must know we aren’t in communication with each other.”

  “You’d better change that, Bennett, if you want to keep your daughter alive.”

  “What’s happened?” Bennett’s face paled. The starch left his rigid body, and he sank into an overstuffed armchair.

  “Claire has been lying to you, or rather Lida, about her life with Jack.” Boyd repeated what Claire had told him about her marriage to Jack and about Jack’s death. “She said she would have come back to you on her knees, Bennett, but she was afraid Jack would find a way to hurt you. She stayed away to protect you. Now she thinks it’s too late, that you hate her.”

  “How could she think that?” Bennett asked, his voice filled with pain.

  “How could she not? You disowned her without a penny or even a wish for luck.”

  Claire’s father was every bit the arrogant rich man Boyd had imagined, yet Bennett Dawsen loved his daughter. When Boyd told him about the temperance marches and the danger Claire was putting herself in, Bennett insisted on taking the first train back to Fredonia.

  “You need to talk some sense into your daughter,” Boyd said later that day as they crossed the Common in Fredonia. “I’m overhearing some nasty grumbling from my patrons.” He told Bennett about some of the conversations he’d overheard in his saloon, and that the other saloon owners were reporting the same unrest from their patrons. “I’m afraid these men are going to start retaliating. I’ve tried to explain this to Claire, but she insists on marching.”

  “Impulsive chit.” Bennett shook his head. “She’s been rash and reckless from the cradle.”

  “She’s certainly reckless. She and her friends are agitating every drinking man in town, and the liquor salesmen are furious over their lost income.”

  “I don’t blame them. They depend on those sales.”

  “I’m afraid they care more about their sales than being gentlemen. They’re too greedy, and that scares me.”

  Bennett kept stride with Boyd without exerting himself. “Wanting to make money doesn’t make one greedy. Desire can drive our ambition and help us achieve great things. Greed is when that desire gets out of control.”

  Boyd cut his eyes to Bennett’s chiseled face. “Greed can also cause a man to disown his own daughter.

  “I offered Claire the chance to stay,” Bennett retorted. Boyd saw it as the confidence and arrogance of a wealthy man. “She chose to go with that wretch Jack Ashier instead.”

  “You gave her terms she couldn’t live with,” Boyd explained firmly. “Jack isn’t the only man who has hurt Claire.” Boyd slowed his pace, needing to speak his mind before reaching her door. “Jack was an abusive son of a bitch. But you didn’t help. You tore Claire’s heart out when you disowned her.”

  Bennett jerked to a stop and glared at him. Boyd didn’t blink. He was prepared to go as many rounds as necessary with this man to get him to own up to the mistakes he’d made with Claire and with his mother.

  “Claire may have survived her mistake with Jack, but it’s very possible this temperance nonsense could get her hurt. You need to talk to her, Bennett.”

  “I tried to do that four years ago, but Claire was too hardheaded to listen.”

  “Make her listen. You’re her father. Your daughter thinks you hung the moon. She needs you in her life, and she needs your common sense to keep her from making another dangerous mistake. If you’re going to worry about being right, or about protecting your pride rather than your daughter then stay away from her. Because if you hurt her again, I swear I’ll break your neck.”

  Bennett’s nostrils flared, but he didn’t say a word. He faced Boyd man-to-man, eye-to-eye, seeming to study and measure him. Boyd stood unflinching and let him look.

  He didn’t care if Bennett approved of him. All he cared about was keeping Claire safe.

  What began as an amused chuckle in Bennett’s throat grew into a robust laugh that forced his head back and echoed across the Common. “Where were you when Claire was eloping with that wastrel Jack Ashier?” he asked, slapping his hand over Boyd’s shoulder.

  “Making my own mistakes, I’m sure.”

  Sailor’s presence was a mixed blessing. The dog kept her company, but every time he curled against her, Claire thought of Boyd.

  Why else would he have gone to Buffalo?

  Why else would his travel plans be uncertain?

  Maybe he was considering Miss Newmaine’s suggestion to open a saloon in Buffalo. Maybe he was simply enjoying himself too much to return. He’d been gone five days, and it was killing her to think of him with Miss Newmaine.

  “What
’s bothering you?” Addison asked, lowering his hand of playing cards. “You look positively heartbroken.”

  She was. Her life was empty without Boyd. Only weeks ago she would have given her last nineteen dollars to shut down his noisy saloon and get rid of the rakehell, but now, “despite being two dollars away from broke because of his saloon, she missed him so desperately it hurt. The irony made her want to laugh and weep at the same time.

  She had given him her heart. Every aching inch of it. She had fallen in love with him despite her strictest warnings.

  How pathetic.

  How stupid.

  How typical of her.

  “Do you want to call the game?” Addison said.

  “Would you mind?” she asked, knowing she couldn’t keep her mind on it. She was at a crossroads with Boyd, and she didn’t know which way to go.

  “Of course not.” The old man tossed his cards onto the sofa cushion between them. “Truth is, I’d rather pester you with more questions.”

  Since Addison had read the journal, he’d visited each day, asking about Claire and her father and Marie. “What do you want to know?”

  “Why you’re pining over that young fella across the street, for one thing,” he said, a teasing twinkle in his eye.

  Claire adored her grandfather, and thoroughly enjoyed his company, but on this cold, dreary day, her heart ached too deeply to appreciate his teasing. She longed for Boyd, needed him, missed him so deeply she wanted to curl up in bed and sleep until he got back.

  The knock on the door made Sailor yelp and scramble to his feet. Claire’s heart leapt, and she followed the dog to the foyer, praying it was Boyd who was knocking.

  Would he stay for a while? Would he allow their friendship to continue? Would he finally close his saloon and give her business a chance to flourish? Or was he only here to take Sailor?

  When she opened the door, she gasped in shock.

  Her father stood on the porch, a tall, imposing man with silver sideburns and salt and pepper hair, handsome despite the telltale signs of age in his face. The blue eyes that had once looked at her with pride were filled with sadness.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about Jack?” he asked, his strong voice wobbling. To her shock, he stepped into the foyer and pulled her into his arms with a gentleness and compassion she hadn’t felt in a very long time.

  After so many years of missing him, Claire burst into tears. She clung to his broad shoulders as he rocked her and let her cry like the little girl she’d left behind so many years before.

  “Oh, Daddy. I’m so sorry.”

  “I didn’t know you were unhappy,” he said, his voice gruff. “Lida said your letters were filled with joy.”

  “They were.” Claire sniffled and wiped her eyes. “I couldn’t tell anyone the truth.” She searched her pocket for a handkerchief, but came up empty-handed. “I’m sorry I broke your relationship with Grandmother. I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.”

  He retrieved a crisp monogrammed handkerchief from his jacket pocket and handed it to her. “Your grandmother acted irresponsibly. I trusted her to chaperone you and keep you safe. Instead, she let you run off with a wastrel and ruin your life. How can I forgive her for that?”

  She’d forgotten how unrelenting he could be, how stubborn and unforgiving. She slipped his damp handkerchief into her pocket then curled her fingers around the carving, needing Boyd’s comforting presence. “What brought you here?” she asked, feeling the distance grow between them.

  “Your young man paid me a visit.”

  She looked at him in confusion. “What young man?”

  “Your suitor. Mr. Grayson. He’s a bold rapscallion, but I rather like him. He told me I’d better take care of business with my daughter before she got herself into trouble again. “

  She stared in disbelief. No one told her father what to do, not even his business partner.

  “I believe that boy would have spoken as frankly to our good President Grant without batting a lash.”

  She didn’t doubt it. Boyd was like her father in that way. “I’m sure he didn’t mean to insult you, Daddy.”

  “That boy meant every word he said. He suggested I’ve been acting like a pompous ass. I’m afraid there’s some truth to that.” He caught her hands and squeezed them. “Why didn’t you tell Lida you were unhappy?”

  “What good would it have done?”

  “I would have brought you home.”

  “You disowned me. You told me I was no longer your daughter.” Tears flooded her eyes and spilled over her lashes. “You stopped loving me.”

  “Never.” Regret filled his eyes, and he pulled her back into his arms. “I never stopped loving you. I only wanted what was best for you, sweetheart. I’m sorry I hurt you.”

  She could barely believe that her father was standing in her parlor, hugging her and apologizing for hurting her. But more unbelievable was that Boyd had gone to Buffalo to confront her wealthy, powerful father.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Claire waited three days for Boyd to come by her house, but he didn’t set foot on her porch. He’d answered her note with his own note of apology, and he’d paid the bill at the Harrison Hotel, and reimbursed her lost income without complaint. But the saloon remained open and Boyd stayed away. He hadn’t been in the bar during Claire’s marches. Claire and her temperance friends had pleaded their case with his bartender, Pat, who promised to give Boyd their message.

  Sailor ambled between their houses like a nomad, eating like a king, sleeping wherever he flopped down, and returning to the noise and excitement of Boyd’s bar each night.

  She spent her time at the temperance meetings and marches, or with Addison and her father, watching them play chess and talk about politics. She hadn’t worked up the nerve to tell her father about the journal or Addison yet. Addison was leaving the timing up to her, but he obviously wasn’t about to miss the opportunity to spend time with his son.

  Claire left them to their chess game and went outside. The rhythmic chopping of an axe came from behind the Pemberton Inn. She crossed the street, hoping it was Boyd splitting wood.

  Her spirits lifted when she saw Sailor pawing through a pile of firewood, and they lifted higher when she saw Boyd raising a long-handled axe above his head. He brought it down with a smooth stroke that split a fat stump in half. She stopped and watched, admiring Boyd’s strength and precision, the ease at which he worked. Sailor was too busy sniffing and digging in the chunks of wood to notice her.

  The dog and the man captivated her. After Boyd split a stump, Sailor would clamp his teeth around one of the chunks and carry it to the mounting pile as if he knew exactly what to do. Claire smiled at the silly dog, wondering how long it had taken Boyd to train him.

  Her attention swung back to Boyd, and her heart melted. Somehow he had gotten her hardheaded, stubborn father to forgive her, and even more surprising, to get on a train to come see her. Because of Boyd, she was slowly reuniting with her father, and hopefully would renew her relationship with the rest of her family in the spring.

  She waited until Boyd had finished splitting a stump then crossed the yard. The instant Sailor spotted her, he tore across the crusty snow and lavished her with wheezy attention.

  Boyd looked up as if expecting to see Pat rounding the corner. His nonchalant expression changed to surprise. He rested the axe head on a huge stump he’d been using as a chopping block, and watched her walk toward him.

  She liked that he was looking. It gave her the confidence to lift up on her toes and brush a kiss across his lips. “Were you planning to avoid me forever?” she asked, easing down onto her heels but not away from him.

  “I wasn’t avoiding you. I’ve been working.”

  “Sailor says you’ve been avoiding me,” she said, hoping to tease a smile from him.

  Not a flicker of humor touched his face. His lips didn’t quirk, his eyes didn’t crinkle, he just stood stiff and unyielding in front of her. How could he be
so cool? Had Martha reclaimed his full attention already?

  “Why are you here?” he asked, his coolness cutting into her but reminding her why she refused to marry again. Right now she was free to walk away from his displeasure. If she married him, she would spend each day of her life striving to please him.

  She pushed her hands into her coat pockets and backed away from him, from another mistake. “I wanted to thank you for bringing my father to Fredonia.”

  “He should have come on his own.” Boyd yanked his axe from the stump.

  “I shouldn’t have turned my back on him.”

  He nodded, as if to agree with her. “Step back,” he said then raised the axe above his head.

  “Daddy wants me to move home with him.”

  Crack! The chunk of wood split in two. “Perhaps you should go.” Boyd’s jaw clenched, and he kicked a thick piece of wood away from his feet. “You wouldn’t have to worry about your income if you lived with your parents.”

  “I’d go berserk within hours,” she said truthfully. “Until this week, I didn’t realize that Daddy and I are so much alike.”

  “I knew it the minute I met him.” He swung the axe and it connected with a hard crack against a piece of oak. “You are both too hardheaded for your own good.”

  “Exactly,” she said, agreeing with him because it was the truth. She was every bit her father’s daughter and she knew it. “Daddy and I would be at each other’s throats if I lived with him.”

  He stopped and propped the axe on his cutting stump, cupping his hand over the top of the handle. “Does that mean you two aren’t getting along?”

  “We’re doing as well as we can under the circumstances. Daddy is used to giving orders. I’ve gotten used to living my own life. That causes friction. But we love each other and are happy to be reunited.” She slipped her hand over Boyd’s cold knuckles, wanting to connect with the tender side of him. “Thank you for bringing him back to me.”

  He shrugged as if it were nothing.