And Glover was no fool. If Trenton Easton tried to steal Rosalind away, he’d pay with his life.
With Rosalind next to him, Trent strolled down the boardwalk contentedly, keeping a lazy pace with the baby buggy. This felt so much like what he wanted—to have Rosalind as his wife and raise a family with her.
But she didn’t want him that way. Yet, by looking at her and Glover together, her heart didn’t seem to belong to him either.
The road curved between the buildings, and people bustled in every direction. An acrid smell seeped through the still air. Trent exhaled. He missed his home, the quietness, working the land and riding through the clear night air. Soon he’d be there and find contentment again, but alone.
“What’s wrong?” Her gray eyes met his.
“I miss home.”
She faced the street suddenly. “Boston is a wonderful place to live.”
“Maybe for some. It feels like such a long time since I lived here.”
“I remember everything from our childhood.”
He smiled, recalling how she’d sneak his chocolate bars and how he’d eventually given them to her. “Tell me. What do you remember most?”
She stayed silent for a while, then a tiny smile flitted across her face. “You mean like the day in church when someone kept pulling on my hair and got me in trouble? I couldn’t help but squeal. You pulled it so hard.”
Trent stifled his laugh. He had forgotten until now, and how her high-pitched cry carried. “Was that me?”
She stopped. “Now you know it was you, Trenton Easton. You were the only one who ever messed with my hair.”
He couldn’t deny it. He took a few steps ahead of her and turned, still carrying the bag of dry goods. She stood with one hand on her hip, the other on the carriage, her foot tapping the ground.
“Well, what was I supposed to do?” he asked, eyes wide with mock innocence. “I couldn’t let that Michael Davenport keep hanging around. I had to do something. And it worked. His parents never let him come back to your house after you screamed like that.”
“You listen to me, Trenton.” She pointed a finger at his chest and forced a seriousness in her tone, but the lift of her lips said otherwise. His heart leapt as her gray eyes sparkled. “Do you know because of you I got a scolding after church?”
“I hope your father wasn’t too harsh.” They continued their stroll down the street, Sydney’s brick house coming into view.
“He wasn’t harsh then, loving really.”
The emotion in her words drew his gaze. The sparkle in her eyes had faded. A fierce urge to comfort her within his arms took form—and the thought raised the beating of his heart. Before she made it to the front steps, he reached for her hand and squeezed. “I’m sorry.”
She took a breath and glanced toward the house. “I should go inside. The children will need tending to very shortly.”
One of the babies squalled.
She bent to the crying child. “I know, William. It’s time, isn’t it?”
He didn’t know what time it was, but as Rosalind lifted one child from the carriage, the other one starting crying, her wails rivaling her brother’s. Trent set down the bag and lifted the baby. “I’ll help you inside.” Clutching Anna against his chest with one arm, he pulled the carriage to the porch and followed Rosalind into the house.
“What can I do to help?” He glanced around and spotted a plum-colored high-back chair. He lowered himself, gently cradling the back of the squalling child’s head. When he looked up, Rosalind left with William to another room.
The little girl sniffled and snuggled against his chest, her tiny hands clenched into small fists. Trent traced his finger on the soft skin, and her hand opened as she fell back asleep. A longing to have Rosalind as his wife, to have a family with her, washed over him again, and a gut-wrenching pain took its place. She was marrying another man.
The comfort she felt from the touch of Trent’s hand still warmed her. How could a sense of peace settle around her like a soft blanket on a cold day? She still wanted him to love her, to take her in his arms and hold her there for all eternity. She could even imagine how wonderful being kissed by him would feel.
No. She must stop such thoughts. What she wanted didn’t matter, couldn’t matter, she reminded herself as she fed William his bottle. Yet, the longer she stood around the corner watching Trenton with Anna, the more her heart ached for what she could have had, should’ve had. She finished feeding William, then laid him down in the children’s room and returned to the living room where Trenton sat.
“I can take her so you can leave.” She reached down for her sleeping niece.
“Actually, I’m enjoying this. I have always wanted children, but I didn’t know how much until now.” He smiled as he studied Anna, then looked back at Rosalind.
Her heart broke—she felt it crack down the center. Again.
The grandfather clock chimed. “I need to start dinner for Sydney. Are you sure you’re fine?”
“Yes. Do you want me to feed Anna?”
“Give her a few more minutes to sleep. I’ll bring a bottle to you soon.”
Rosalind hurried into the kitchen and pulled out the flour canister. She scooped out just enough to make biscuits. She’d halve the flour they’d bought, which was still outside on the porch, with her sister after she rolled out the dough.
Rosalind pulled a bowl from the cupboard as tiny cries sounded from the other room. As the cries grew more intense, she left the biscuits to prepare Anna’s bottle.
“I’m coming!” Maybe the sound of her voice would quiet Anna some. She didn’t want Trenton to regret holding the child or staying. His presence in the next room comforted her.
She wiped down the bottle and spun, almost colliding with Trenton. He stood before her, patting Anna’s bottom as he held her against his chest. The sight of him doing so stirred her heart. “I was coming.” She held out the bottle.
Trent slipped it from her hand. “I can feed her. It can’t be that hard since she’s so hungry.” He bounced the child in his arms, placing the bottle at Anna’s mouth. She latched on and immediately her cries ceased. He smiled. “I’m a natural.”
“I guess you are.” She smiled up at him, engraining this moment in her memory.
“I’m home.” Sydney’s call came from the foyer. “Look who I found outside.”
She turned. “Glover.” Her month went dry as his eyes narrowed at her, then he glared at Trenton.
“What a lovely picture.” The clinch of Glover’s jaw sent a shudder down her spine.
Sydney eased past Glover and deposited on the counter the dry goods they’d left outside. “Since you’re all here, I want to share my news. Joshua’s coming home.”
“Oh, Sydney, I’m so happy for you.” Rosalind hugged her sister, then held her away. “How long will he be able to stay this time?”
“He’s been reassigned to a desk job. His stints at sea will be few and far between now. I’m happy for me too.” Sydney beamed as tears formed in her hazel eyes. “Thank you, Trenton.” She collected Anna and held her close. “Daddy’s coming home soon, Anna-bug. Daddy’s coming home.”
Rosalind watched her sister say goodbye and ascend the stairs.
Trenton nodded. “I should be going.”
The front door no sooner closed behind him than a python-like grip seized her wrist. Glover twisted her arm behind her back and shoved. Her cheek hit the kitchen wall. She squeezed her eyes against the pain. Oh, God, I’d rather faint than suffer Glover’s wrath.
“Do not think I am so naïve, Rosalind.” He pressed his mouth to her ear, his hot breath seemed to sting her skin. “I will not be played a fool,” he whispered. “Do you hear me?”
Eyes still shut, she nodded, hoping he’d do nothing else to her.
Chapter Eight
I shouldn’t have left her. Trent sat at the dining table with his family, swallowing back the unease he’d felt since leaving Rosalind with Glover at Sydney’
s home. He wasn’t a man who carried his gun belt unless he felt the need, but right now he wished for the pressure against his hip. Was that rage he’d witnessed in Glover’s eyes? If it had been, when he blinked it was gone. Whether Trent had seen it or not, he sensed something that provoked an urge in him to protect Rosalind and Sydney.
“Trent, are you all right?” his mother asked.
He stopped shuffling his food around his plate and set his fork down. “Things on my mind.”
His father glanced from around his newspaper. “Excited about returning home?”
“It will be good to get back.” But the thought of leaving Rosalind caused a knot in the pit of his stomach. A blurred outline of a woman running flashed through his mind. He reached for her in his thoughts and she vanished, only for the wolf to appear. My dream.
Trent grasped his cup to remind himself it was only a dream, but the fear for the woman rose like the tide, pulling him in. A muscle twitched in his jaw.
“I spoke with Glover Richards today about your party Monday night.” His father folded the paper in two and set it on the table.
Heat climbed through Trent’s veins at the sound of the man’s name. His father lifted the napkin from his lap, set it on his plate, and leaned back in his chair.
“Well, dear, don’t keep us in suspense.” His mother’s eyes widened. “Did he agree or not?”
“Am I missing something here?” Trent glanced to his mother. When she said nothing further, his focus trained on his father.
“Trent, I know this trip has been a little more than difficult for you, and with you leaving so soon, your mother and I thought this would give you and Rosalind a proper chance to say goodbye after these many years of friendship.”
More than friendship, Father. Trent lifted his watch from his pocket and assessed the time. After five and still no sign of Rosalind.
His mother touched his arm. “Trent, your father is speaking to you. He’s done you and Rosalind a great service.” She searched his eyes. “Is everything all right?”
Trent glanced toward the door and snapped his watch closed. “What time do you expect Rosalind?”
Her brows furrowed. “I’m not sure. She never mentioned a time she’d be returning.”
The heat he felt moments ago flamed to his feet. He stood with an immediate need to find Rosalind.
“Trent,” his father said. “You’re still in love with her.”
He paused, stared at his father, and swallowed. It wasn’t a question, and he had no reason to ask his meaning. “I never stopped loving her, but she’s set her sights on someone else.”
“I see.”
Trent sat back on his chair. “I—I can’t stay here. When we’re together ...” He met his father’s gaze again. “I ...” Could he tell his father that he couldn’t keep from thinking about her, that the thought of losing her to another man tied him up in knots so bad he was going crazy? He wanted to sweep her into his arms and kiss her lips, jaw, cheek ...
Dear God, what am I doing? She isn’t mine, but my heart can’t let her go. Why, Lord? I’m fearful for her ... and this dream that haunts me day and night ...
The front door slammed.
Trent quickly rose from his chair, his father beside him.
Rosalind ran up the stairs with Glover close behind.
A nerve pulsed in his jaw.
“Mariam,” his father called, but his mother had already moved toward the stairwell. “Where is Roger?” A look of concern rested on his father’s face, but there was something else he didn’t recognize. What was his father not telling him?
“I don’t know.” She paused on the step before following Rosalind and Glover up the stairwell.
Help me, Lord. Rosalind ran up the stairs toward her bedroom, intent on locking herself inside where she’d be alone, safe.
Glover’s hard fingers caught the door, and he followed her inside, pushing the door shut. With an ominous click, he locked the door behind him and stepped to her like a lion ready to pounce. If possible, her blood turned even colder than it had when he’d pinned her to the wall just minutes ago. Is he simply going to kill me now?
She’d fight, scream. She opened her mouth, but Glover cupped her cry with his firm grip.
“Shhh,” he whispered close to her ear. “You hold too many lives in your hand. I’d hate to see harm fall upon the Eastons or Sydney’s sweet little twins.”
Her body trembled, and she couldn’t breathe. She tried to pull away, but his grip only tightened. She saw it then, held within his gaze. He controlled her, owned her. Her body went limp.
The corner of his mouth rose. “Good girl.” He slowly removed his hand, then gently wiped her tears.
She heard footsteps on the stairs, saw in his eyes that he heard them too. He unlocked and opened the door as Mariam reached her doorway. Her gaze flicked between them.
“Rosalind. What happened?” Mariam rushed to her side and cupped her bruised cheek.
Rosalind winced as she searched for a reasonable excuse to what was going on.
“I’m to blame for the mishap, Mrs. Easton,” Glover said. “Rosalind mentioned how much she loved Boston this time of year and asked if I would take her for a walk. I agreed. I should have insisted we take the carriage. If I had, she wouldn’t have fallen. But what man could deny a fiancée as lovely as Rosalind. I confess, I succumb to her every whim.”
How can anyone lie with such ease? Such conviction? Rosalind swallowed hard and looked away. “I need to sit down.”
“Yes, of course.” Mariam guided her to the bed. “Thank you, Mr. Richards, for bringing her home. I assure you, I will take great care of her. We need to call the doctor.”
“I wholeheartedly agree with you, Mrs. Easton, but Rosalind will have none of it.” Glover gave Mariam a sheepish look. “I admit, before we entered the house, Rosalind and I argued over her refusal to see the doctor.” He strolled over to the bed, collected Rosalind’s hand, and pressed his lips against her knuckles. “Although I heartily disagree, I accept her wishes.” Glover’s fingers squeezed around her shaking palm.
Play your part, Rosalind. You have no choice. “I’m a little bruised is all. I’m fine. No doctor.”
“Rosalind, I have a late meeting, but it seems I’m leaving you in capable hands. Mrs. Easton, if I can be of service, please don’t hesitate to send for me. Good night, dear.” He kissed the top of her head, then left.
“Good night, Mr. Richards.” Mariam glanced at him as he left, then embraced Rosalind.
She pulled back, studying her face. “Are you sure, Rosalind? I think a doctor—”
“No doctor.” Rosalind’s head pounded. She wiped her face with the back of her hand and flinched, careful not to show the depth of her pain, then leaned against Mariam’s side.
Mr. Easton came into the room, forehead creased. “Are you all right, Rosalind?”
Seeing the concern on Mr. Easton’s face, love she missed from her own father, Rosalind inhaled a deep breath. “I’m sorry to worry you both.”
“Nonsense. No need for that.” He gently lifted her chin with his finger, then scanned her eyes and face. “I will be back with some ice. You rest.” His gaze landed on his wife for the briefest of moments, then he turned and left.
Mariam held her close. “We are here for you. In fact, you’re the reason we traveled to Boston. When I received your father’s letter, I was heartbroken by the news, but also that I wasn’t here for you. We love you, Rosalind.”
“I’m glad you came.” Her voice quivered. Steps sounded in the hall, and she straightened at the thought of Glover’s return. She wouldn’t put it past him to make sure she remained silent, but it was Mr. Easton, who’d returned with Trent on his heels.
Mr. Easton extended his hand, placing the ice on her cheek. “Doris brought in the dry store goods.”
“Thank you.” Rosalind held it in place.
Heat rose in her cheeks at their attention. What were they thinking? Did they suspect Glover i
n any way for her “accident”? It was possible, but she hoped Mariam believed Glover’s explanation of what happened. She’d share Glover’s story with Mr. Easton and Trent, and all would be well. She tried to reassure herself, but fear gnawed in the pit of her stomach. Or was it Trent’s presence? Or both? She had yet to look at Trent, but she felt it in her body, the burn of his gaze.
“How are you, Rosalind?”
She lifted her gaze to him, and the blue in his eyes had turned frightfully dark. A storm of emotions raged and pinned her. She wished to look away, to answer, but she was powerless. She didn’t want to lie to him, but she needed to protect him, his family, and her sister. She’d do anything. “I’ll be fine. Once I rest—”
“Your cheek ...” He knelt before her and lowered her hand, exposing her injury. “I’m sorry you’re hurt.”
“Nothing a little chocolate won’t cure.” She forced a smile to her lips. What she wouldn’t give for her words to be true.
“We aren’t children any longer, Rosalind. Chocolate won’t cure everything. Especially this.” He ran his fingers through his hair and took a long breath. “When Glover left, I saw Doris. She looked frightened, and when I questioned her, she clammed up.”
Doris not only disliked Glover, but also feared him. She, like Rosalind, could see past his calm demeanor and sense his displeasure or when his anger tilted to rage. Certainly she witnessed it now. “She doesn’t care for Glover.” She spoke quickly, perhaps too quickly, judging by Trent’s narrowing eyes.
“She mentioned to me yesterday that you haven’t eaten chocolate for some time, since your mother’s passing. That Glover doesn’t allow it. Why is it a man who claims to love you won’t allow you this simple pleasure?”
Her mouth gaped and she closed it quickly. “Doris isn’t aware of what Glover does or doesn’t do for me.”
“Then it’s not true?”
Rosalind thought for a moment, trying to find the correct words.
Mariam’s hand settled on hers. “It’s true ... isn’t it? Why, dear? Why would he deny you something you enjoy when moments ago he said he gives in to your every whim?”
The Rescue Page 6