by Jo Goodman
“They’re very close then.”
Irish shrugged. “In an odd sort of way. It always struck me how Brig wanted Nathan close so he could protect him and...”
“Yes?”
“Well, it doesn’t make much sense,” Irish said, “but I got the impression that Nathan stayed close so he could protect everyone else.” He laughed. “An old man’s fanciful notions, I’m afraid. Can’t give you an example to explain it clearly, but it was always there at the back of my mind when I’d see them together: Brig taking charge and Nathan letting him, but Nath always watchful.”
Lydia thought about that. Striving for nonchalance, she asked, “Did Nathan ever tell you about Ginny Flynt?”
“Ginny Flynt? No, I don’t—Oh, you mean the whore who was murdered in San Francisco. Yes, Nath mentioned it. Ugly business, that.” He frowned, his deeply blue eyes clouding. “You don’t think…you’re not suggesting it was Nathan who did it?”
“Not at all,” Lydia said. “I’ve been thinking about it off and on since my memory returned. It wasn’t Nathan. It never was. Brigham Moore’s the killer.”
Lydia collected her books from the desktop and her reticule from a side drawer. She glanced around the classroom, saw that everything was in order, and stood up. “You can go on home, Kit,” she said. “You don’t have to walk me to the hotel.”
“I don’t mind,” he said. Kit was sporting a yellow-and-purple bruise under his left eye, the result of an after-school altercation. Walking Lydia back to Petty’s was more for his own protection than it was for hers though he would never come right out and say so. He’d got the shiner for defending Lydia against an insult. She would never know that, either.
“Well, if you’re sure.” Lydia dropped her books in his outstretched arms. “Would you like to stay for dinner with me at the hotel? We’ll stop by the Garrisons and let them know.”
“I’d like that fine.”
“Good.” She reached out to ruffle his dark blond hair, saw his suffering glance, and withdrew, “Sorry. I forgot.”
Kit rolled his eyes and grinned. “It’s all right. You can do it this—” He broke off as the door to the classroom opened. Lydia had gone very still, her attention completely centered on the person in the doorway. Kit felt her shock. More than that, he sensed her fear. He looked over his shoulder to see who was standing there.
“Good afternoon, Lydia,” Brigham said. Leaning casually against the doorjamb, an insouciant smile on his lips, Brigham Moore felt the full impact of Lydia’s reaction and enjoyed it. “Father Colgan said I would find you here. He’s always been helpful. Part of his nature, I suppose.”
“Miss Chadwick?” Kit asked, his brows creasing. “Do you want—”
Lydia placed a hand on the boy’s thin shoulder. “It’s all right, Kit. Go on and wait in the hallway for me. I won’t be but a few minutes, then we’ll leave together.” She gave him a nudge. “Go on.”
Kit’s look was skeptical, but he complied, his eyes darting between Lydia and her visitor right up until the moment he was closed out of the classroom.
Palms sweating, Lydia folded her arms across her midriff in a self-protecting gesture. Brigham looked much as she remembered him: square-jawed, even-featured, with a rakish cock to his head. His sandy hair and tawny brows were a shade lighter, the result, she thought, of spending a lot of time on a ship’s deck without benefit of a hat. His face had the same open, pleasing expression he wore so well, and his green eyes were brightened by his easy smile. Now that she knew he was alive, Lydia had the luxury of wishing him dead. “You’re a thorough bastard,” she said calmly. “I’m glad for this opportunity to tell you so.”
Brigham laughed, genuinely enjoying himself. He pushed away from the door and took a seat on one of the children’s desktops. His long legs were stretched in front of him, his ankles crossed, and he picked up a pencil and tapped it lightly against his thigh. “I wondered what your first words would be,” he said. “Nothing so trite as ‘My God, you’re alive!’ Still, that’s what I sensed when you saw me. You thought you were seeing things for a moment.”
Lydia did not respond to his baiting. “How did you find me?”
“First let me say that your mother and Samuel send their love. They’re worried about you, Lydia. Your father hired me to bring you back to San Francisco. Set me up with passage money and a sizable down payment as a guarantee for your eventual return.”
“That’s a lie. He would never do that. He knows how I feel about you.”
“Oh? How would he know that? You’re probably referring to the bedroom window incident. But you treated Nathan and me alike on that occasion, remember? And you’re married to Nathan now, aren’t you? I don’t think Samuel knows what to think.”
“Nathan said he explained everything to Papa in a letter.”
Brigham shrugged. “The only one I know about is the one written in your hand saying that you eloped with Nathan. There was never any other. I stayed with Samuel and Madeline while I was recovering. Did Nathan tell you that? Yes, I see that he did. I would have known about a letter to Samuel if there had been one.
“It doesn’t matter,” Lydia said. Somehow Brig was responsible for her father not getting his letter. Lydia believed that just as surely as she believed Nathan had written one. “I’ve been here more than seven weeks. Not only has Papa received something from me by now, but I won’t have much longer to wait for his reply.”
Brig nodded. It was not unexpected that Samuel would eventually learn the truth from Lydia. He was philosophical about it. “It had to happen sooner or later,” he said easily, “I really never had any intention of taking you back to Frisco. You needn’t worry yourself on that account.”
“What do you want, Brigham?” Every nerve in her body was stretched taut.
“Right now?” He came to his feet lazily and smiled. “I just wanted to let you know I’m here, Lydia. As for what I want later?” He dropped the pencil he’d been holding back on the desk. “That will have to be decided between Nathan and me. I’m afraid you don’t have any say in the matter.”
By the time a response came to Lydia she was alone.
Two days passed before she saw Brigham again. He was waiting for her when the school day was ended, standing on the steps of Saint Benedict’s, squinting in the bright afternoon sunlight, and looking for all the world as if he hadn’t a single worry. Because she didn’t want to make a scene, and because the route back to Petty’s Hotel was crowded with pedestrians, Lydia allowed Brig to accompany her. Kit, though he had been dismissed by Brigham, followed in Lydia’s wake at a discreet distance.
“What is it you want now, Brigham? I haven’t any liking for this cat-and-mouse game of yours.” She pulled back her elbow sharply when he made to escort her across George Street.
Brigham pretended to take offense, giving Lydia a wounded look. “My, aren’t you the haughty one. I think I detect your mother’s fine influence. Tell me, have you heard from her yet? Or Samuel?”
“That’s not your concern,” she said. “Or it shouldn’t be.”
Her reply didn’t bother him. He knew she hadn’t yet learned of her mother’s death and probably wouldn’t for a while longer. He could hold back the news indefinitely if he could get Henry Tucker to give him her mail. He’d have to give some thought to what reason Henry would most easily accept. “I understand you’re staying at Petty’s Hotel.”
“If I thought you didn’t already know that, you wouldn’t be accompanying me now.”
“There’s definitely a shrewish side to your nature I don’t recall on our previous encounters. It’s not becoming, Lydia. Is that why Nathan sent you away from Ballaburn?”
Lydia was careful not to show her surprise. So Brigham Moore didn’t know everything. He only thought he did. She ignored his question and asked one of her own. “Does Irish know you’re back?”
“It’s only a matter of time before he learns about it. Nathan, too. I had no intention of staying on in Sydney u
ntil I happened to learn that you were here. I hadn’t expected you and Nathan would part so quickly. Perhaps you’ll consider going back to Ballaburn with me. I’m leaving soon.”
“I’m happy here,” she said tersely.
Brig looked over his shoulder and saw Kit was still dogging their steps. “I heard your little shadow back there call you Miss Chadwick the other day, yet Father Colgan told me he performed the marriage ceremony himself.”
Lydia sighed. Father Colgan probably never gave a second thought to sharing that information with Brig. No doubt he regarded Brig with as much affection as he did Nathan. “Nathan and I are most assuredly married, Brig. Ballaburn is his now.”
“Not quite yet,” he corrected her. “Until Irish dies it’s strictly only Nathan’s inheritance.”
Steps faltering, Lydia glanced sideways at Brig. “No one told me that.”
“Understandable, don’t you think? Irish had two wills drawn up in the event of his death. Which one will be executed depends on the outcome of the wager.”
“Which Nathan won.”
He shrugged carelessly. “Only time will tell.” Brig stopped on the corner opposite the hotel and faced Lydia.
His smile was perfectly genial. “A lot can happen in a year.”
“What do you mean by that?” Lydia reached for his elbow as he started to walk away from her. Brig brushed her off much as she had done to him earlier and kept on walking.
Lydia stayed with Kit and the Garrisons for the next four days, hoping to give Brigham enough time to leave Sydney. She made a habit of never going out unescorted and varied the route she took to and from the church. Believing she had eluded him, Lydia was stunned to return to Petty’s and find Brigham waiting for her in her room.
Concluding that his presence had been made possible by Henry Tucker, who thought he was doing a favor for his friend, Lydia didn’t bother asking Brigham how he got in her room. Lydia had no intention of entering her room while Brig was lounging in the only chair, one leg hooked over the arm, the back of his head cradled in his palms. He was studying her; she simply stared at him.
“You’re going to have to leave,” she said, clutching her books a little more tightly.
“Have to?”
“Or I am going to scream, Brig. I am going to scream so loud they’ll hear me all the way at Ballaburn. Now get out.”
Brig sat up straighter and raised two fingers. “Two minutes, Lydia. That’s all I want.”
She hesitated but said wearily, “Two minutes.” She didn’t move from the threshold and kept the door open behind her.
“You’re acting as if I mean to do you some harm, Lydia. I can’t say that flatters me. I’m the one who should be concerned. After all, the last time we were together in Frisco, you shot me.”
Lydia didn’t think his statement deserved a reply and she didn’t give him one.
“I might not have recovered at all if it hadn’t been for Nathan. He made certain there was someone to take care of me. That’s the kind of friends we are, Lydia. Until you, no one’s ever come between us.”
“It’s not me, Brig. It’s Ballaburn.”
“You are Ballaburn.”
“No,” she said. “I’m not. And I won’t let you or Nathan treat me as if I were a tract of land.”
“Is that why you’re not with Nathan now? Doesn’t he know how to treat you like a woman?” Brigham stood. “I would do better by you, I can promise you that. You can’t really be happy here, Lydia. If you’d divorce Nathan you could become my wife.”
“That’s the kind of friend you are,” she said softly. “Get out of here, Brigham. I’m going to scream.”
Brigham scooped his hat from the end table and laid his coat over his arm. “If you won’t consider divorce, then you don’t leave me many choices.” His green eyes were pensive, his smile a trifle sad. “G’day, Lydia.”
She stood clear of Brigham as he walked past her, afraid that somehow the mere touch from him could contaminate her. She stared after him until he had disappeared down the steps at the end of the hall, then she went into her room and locked herself in. Still clutching her books, Lydia dropped to the floor and leaned heavily against the door.
Divorce. It wouldn’t have to be divorce, she thought. An annulment would accomplish the same end. It would be as if the marriage had never been, as if she and Nathan had never shared anything important or intimate. Brigham would take it as a sign that she meant to marry him and he would have no reason to try to take Ballaburn by any other means.
Dissolving the marriage, leaving Nathan free of both her and Ballaburn, might be the only method of saving his life.
Father Colgan interrupted Lydia’s class on Tuesday afternoon with word that she had a visitor in his office. She did her best not to show her frustration and left the priest in charge of a very competitive spelling bee. Brigham was sitting behind Father Colgan’s desk in his high, leather-backed chair. He was turned away from the door, staring out the window into the children’s barren play area.
Lydia shut the door behind her hard and was satisfied to see the chair jerk in response to Brig’s surprise. “I don’t like you interrupting my lessons,” she said. “If you must see me, then leave a note with Henry at the desk. I’ll meet you somewhere publicly, but not here. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to get back to my pupils.”
The chair swiveled around. Nathan’s silver-gray eyes were expressionless in their regard, his features impassive. “Very well, Lydia.”
“Nathan!”
There was no denying her shock was real. Nathan felt himself relaxing a little. He had given some thought to the kind of welcome he might expect from Lydia, but none of his imaginings were close to the coldly terse and dismissive greeting he received. Now it seemed that it was not meant for him at all. “Who were you expecting?”
Lydia’s mouth opened and closed as every thought fled from her head. Nathan! Her heart was pounding so hard that she was sure he would hear it and know that she was not indifferent to his presence. “I thought…that is…I was expecting...” She sank slowly into the chair on the other side of the desk and laid her hands lightly in her lap. “Father Colgan didn’t say it was you. I didn’t think you’d reply so soon to my letter and certainly not in person. It was good of you to come, Nathan.”
“I haven’t come in response to any letter, Lydia. If you wrote something recently I haven’t received it. Perhaps it arrived at Ballaburn after I left today.”
No letter. Her shoulders sagged a little. He had no idea what she wanted from him. Everything she had explained so carefully in her letter would now have to be explained in person. She wasn’t certain she was capable of that sort of confrontation with Nathan. What if he saw through her?
“Then why have you come?” she asked. She blinked, her eyes widening anxiously as something occurred to her. “Is it Irish? Has something happened to Irish?”
Nathan shook his head. “No, Irish is much as you last saw him.” Lydia would have to make of that what she would. He would not break his promise to Irish, but if Lydia was observant at all she would know her father was not doing well. “He sends his best.”
“I miss him.”
“You could do something about it,” Nathan said, seizing the opening she had given him. It was difficult to sit where he was, pretending a certain emotional distance was between them, when what he had really wanted to do since she came in the room was kiss her. He’d release the tight coil of her hair and his fingers would sift through its length and thickness. His hands would cradle her head gently, hold her still, and his mouth would touch her, lightly at first, then when he’d just given her a taste of him his kiss would deepen, harden, and his tongue would...
“Nathan?” Lydia frowned, tilting her head to catch his attention. “I asked you if that’s why you came—to convince me to return to Ballaburn?”
Nathan came back to reality. “I think you’re putting the cart before the horse, Lydia. Tell me, can you leave the chil
dren for the day? I don’t think this is the best place for what I’ve come to discuss. Why don’t we go to Petty’s? I’ve taken a room there for a few days.”
Lydia blanched. “You took a room at Petty’s? Oh, Nathan, how could you do that? What will people think—you in one room, me in another? Henry’s certain to have told someone by now.”
Dark eyebrows raised, Nathan’s look was disbelieving. “If you care what people think, then your place is at Ballaburn, not here in the city. Can you leave for the day or not?”
“I’ll meet you at Petty’s when I’m finished,” she said quietly. “My room number is—”
“Come to mine,” he said. “It’s the suite we had. I’m sure you remember it.”
Too well. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Don’t you trust me?” he asked bluntly.
“Well…yes, I trust you.”
You’re foolish, he wanted to say. What he said was, “Then you must not trust yourself.” He stood, skirted the desk, and touched Lydia’s shoulder lightly on his way out. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”
Lydia got through the rest of the day on sheer nerves. Sister Isabel was helpful with the younger children while Lydia worked individually with some of the older ones. It was difficult for her to keep her attention focused when her thoughts kept straying to Nathan waiting for her at the hotel. He was right about not trusting herself with him. It was easy to think she could be cool and reserved when he was at the station and she was in the city, quite another thing when she was in the same room with him.
It wasn’t fair that Nathan could turn her inside out when he looked at her in that certain way. She had always felt the pull of those predator silvery-gray eyes, and there was only a brief period of time when she hadn’t run from the fiercely felt attraction. Lydia had known it again in the priest’s office, and the urge to leave had nearly overwhelmed her. She couldn’t run, though, not if she wanted to convince Nathan that what she felt for him was nothing so much as indifference.