Strong and Stubborn (42 page)

“I know.” But Braden didn't look at all like he really understood how inappropriate this dance would be. He stared out the window into a distance only he could see. “So many deaths.”

She waited for him to acknowledge Arla specifically, to snap to his senses and declare he'd look after his cousin instead of letting Naomi be sacrificed for the sake of some stupid advertisement. And when he finally did speak, his thoughts surprised her.

“There's a lot that's not fair, Cora. Mrs. Nash's death, leaving her child orphaned, Naomi needing to pick one of her suitors so fast … None of this is fair.” He pointed out the window. “But it pales in comparison to the men who died in the belly of that mountain, buried alive by the greed of a man I've yet to catch.”

“Draxley's dead.” Cora didn't follow his reasoning and wondered whether Doc had snuck Braden another dose. Normally she'd say it served him right for pushing himself too hard, but right now she needed Braden to be able to think clearly and act strongly.

“I know.” His arm fell to his side, fist clenched. “So's Owens. But what about the man who convinced Owens and Draxley to sabotage the mines? We don't know his name, so he escapes any justice.”

“That's not something I can solve. I'm busy trying to figure out how to keep Charlotte from ruining Naomi's life—and you don't seem to care!” Cora pinched the skin between thumb and forefinger, refusing to start wringing her hands or pacing. She'd promised herself she'd stay strong any and every time she talked to Braden.

Braden swallowed and faced her. “I care, Cora. But Naomi's a grown woman who can choose her own husband. The men on that ridge beside Mrs. Nash can't hunt down their own killer, can they?”

Cora was about to tell him she'd come back after his medication wore off when something clicked into place. “The investors.”

He nodded miserably, confirming her blossoming suspicion.

“You invited the previous investors because you hoped the saboteur would be greedy enough to show up and say something so stupid and so obvious we'd all know what he'd done?” Cora gaped at her fiancé in disbelief. “That's beyond far-fetched, Braden!”

“It was all I could do.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I thought I'd lost my last chance, but this dance gives me another opportunity to question Blinman and Corning. I can't cancel it.”

Cora felt her pulse thud at the base of her throat and raised a hand to cover it. “What about Naomi? What about little Dorothy, who'll someday hear that Hope Falls threw a party days after her mother's death? What about what you owe the people who still live?”

“Like the Loathly Lady in your story, Naomi can make her own choice.” Braden gave a weary sigh. “And what makes you think little Dorothy will stay in Hope Falls? Lawson might move on, you know.”

“Not if I marry him, like he asked, so I can be a mother to Dorothy.” For the first time, Cora spoke of the promise she hadn't meant to give Arla. “I assured Arla that I'd take care of her daughter, and Mr. Lawson can't do it alone. Dorothy will stay.”

“You're adopting this child?” Braden sat up, exuding anxious energy. “And you didn't think to discuss it with me before now?”

“No. You're busy pursuing your own vendettas. Our engagement is dissolved, and you don't see fit to honor my friends. Why would I discuss any of my decisions with someone like that?” She couldn't keep the scorn from her voice. “If it came down to you or Dorothy, there wouldn't be any question. I choose the child, and I choose to keep my promise to a friend who deserved more from this town.”

She left before Braden could summon a response. No argument he concocted now could change her mind. He wouldn't help Naomi, and Cora couldn't help Braden. He'd failed her for the final time.

“You need more time.” Mike didn't waste words when he finally got a moment alone with Naomi. He'd been trying to pull her aside since her sister's announcement, but she hadn't so much as stepped foot in the workshop since. The lumbermen abandoned all attempts at logging, keeping Naomi hopping with their final, desperate attempts to woo her. Mike pushed away his bitterness over failing to do the same. Now he had this one chance, mere moments before the dance began, to make her listen.

“We'll catch up on the dollhouse.” Naomi's eyes, made even greener than usual by her verdant dance dress, looked tired. “With all the things the men have made, we can make up the time.”

“That's not what I meant.” He curled his fingers around her elbow, feeling the warmth of her skin through the thin fabric. “I meant you need more time to make the biggest decision of your life.”

“Why?” She blinked at him, more remote than he'd ever seen her. “It isn't as though my options are going to improve or expand. I put out the advertisement; I've gotten to know the men who responded. The men are waiting. Lacey and Evie's weddings are waiting on me.”

“Hasn't anyone told you you're worth waiting for?” He rubbed his thumb along the soft fabric, wishing he could touch her without any barriers between them. “I don't think there's a man in that clearing or a single one of your friends who'd disagree with me.”

“Well, there's one.” She gave a sad smile, and suddenly Mike knew, without a doubt, Naomi was thinking of Harold Blinman.

“Any man who'd let you go didn't deserve you to start with,” Mike whispered fiercely. “If you can't see that, then I'm right. You need more time to come to terms with your past before you can promise any man your future.”

Now Naomi's eyes sparkled, but they were wet with unshed tears. “What do you know about coming to terms with the past, Michael? Some mistakes, once made, color everything that follows.”

“Only if you let them.” He wasn't whispering anymore. “But if there's any part of you that still belongs to Blinman, you shouldn't accept another man. You know I'm right. Don't do this.”

“What do you know about Harry?” She looked as surprised and wounded as if he'd slapped her across the face. “Why do you care?”

“I want better for you.” He stepped closer and abandoned his attempt to talk sense into her without pressuring her further. Mike cupped her cheek in his palm. “I would wait for you, Naomi.”

Longing flashed through her gaze, and her gloved hand rested atop his for a moment. She closed her eyes, and when she opened them, he saw only grim determination. She dropped her hand. “You shouldn't.”

She rushed off into the night, leaving behind a half-heard addition. “You'd only find out that I didn't deserve it.”

S
haken by Michael's unexpected offer, hardly able to breathe while regret pinched her ribs like a remorseless iron cage, Naomi ached to tell him the truth. To see if he still thought she was worth waiting for or if he'd denounce her as the worst sort of woman.

She didn't think she'd like his answer, even if she could ask the question. Ringed with lanterns and pressed by the promises she'd made her sister and her friends, the dance floor held all the charm of a gallows. Each step felt leaden, her stomach swimming in her shoes. Naomi knew full well she didn't dredge up a smile for anyone.

Lord, if I'm not to be with Michael, why did You let him return my regard? I know my sins; I've confessed and repented. So why this torment? If he didn't want me, I could move forward with my plan to accept Clump. But how can I do that now, knowing Michael might feel the same way I do? Knowing that I can never find out because I'm bound by my promise to Charlotte and my own unimaginable past?

She managed to nod and murmur her way through a dance with Corning before her suitors queued up. The phonograph Charlotte dragged from the house sounded as scratchy and sore as Naomi's throat felt from swallowing back her tears. But the music played on, and so did the farce her life had become. Gent took her for the first dance.

Admittedly, she didn't pay close attention to what he was saying until she caught a smattering of French. The words acted like a cold dousing, dragging her forward to face the moment.

“I'm sorry.” She concentrated on not tripping over his boots. For some reason, her movement seemed disjointed and surreal. “You know, my French is rusty. Would you mind repeating that for me?”

“Ah, that caught your attention.” Gent beamed down at her through a particularly enthusiastic swirl. “Your sister said it would. I practiced all day to memorize the inflection.
Votre premier amour n'a pas que vous voulez, et pas plus que ces hommes
.“

Your first love didn't want you, and neither do these men
. Naomi stumbled as the words hammered into her. Stunned, she barely held on and finished the dance. Luckily, Gent seemed pleased by her dumbfounded reaction until Bobsley cut in.

“Good evening, Miss Higgins.” Stiff formality made the young man seem awkward—though, then again, that might be due to his jerky movements and abysmal dancing. For a while, it took all of their concentration to remain upright. But soon enough, he spoke in stilted French.
“Vous n'êtes rien, mais une salope skunk-cheveux.”

You are nothing but a skunk-haired slut
. Naomi went stock-still at the denouncement, causing the well-meaning Bobsley to tromp on her foot. The mishap bought her a few moments off the makeshift dance floor, but even so the world seemed to be spinning around her.

“Pardon?”
Riordan hunkered down into the seat beside her when Bobsley left to get her something to drink. “That's a wonderful color on you, Miss Higgins. And I wanted to tell you—”

“Wait. Did my sister teach you something special in French?” At his nod, Naomi closed her eyes and braced herself for his words.

“L'homme que vous mariez vous haïra autant que notre mère.”

The man you marry will hate you as much as our mother
.

“Well.” She sucked in a sharp breath and tried to hold back the bile burning the back of her throat. “I hardly know what to say.”

“Here's your milk, Miss Higgins.” Bobsley pushed a cool glass into her hand, and Naomi gulped it down gratefully. The burning sensation receded, and she didn't feel in danger of being sick.

Until Clump joined them. Well-meaning Volker Clump led her back onto the dance floor, tromping her feet with his too-heavy tread and battering her heart with his “compliment.” His German accent clotted the French pronunciation, but Naomi heard each damning word.
“Votre nuit de noces sera encore pire que celui que vous avez volé.”

At that, Naomi mumbled an incoherent apology and excuse then rushed from the dance floor. Alone in the darkness of the night, she broke into a run. Each step pounded out her sister's final curse.

Your wedding night will be even worse than the one you stole
.

“You don't mean that.” Cora stared at him as though he'd sprung from his wheeled chair and begun a series of handstands and cartwheels.

“I do.” He wanted to reach for her hand but knew he didn't have the right. Instead he forced out the words lodging in his throat. “If you want to go and dance, I'll hold baby Dorothy for you.”

She squinted at him and laid a cool palm against his forehead. “Are you feeling all right Braden? You're not acting like yourself.”

“Good.” He decided to be blunt since he wasn't much good with words anyway. “I've been acting like a horse's rear end for months.”

“Well.” She pulled her hand away, and Braden fought the urge to snatch it back. “That's new. Since when do you admit you're wrong?”

“Since every time I try to control something, it goes wrong.” He looked at the white bundle she cradled in the crook of one arm. “She seems healthy and happy, and so do you. Motherhood agrees with you.”

“Do you think so?” A hesitant smile lifted the corners of her generous lips—the first smile she'd given him since she told the Loathly Lady legend. “I constantly worry I'm not doing it right.”