Strong and Stubborn (43 page)

“That's my fault, Cora.” His smile faded so she could see his seriousness. “I should have told you what a wonderful job you do, taking care of people. You have a comforting touch, encouraging smile, and just enough starch to keep things interesting.”

“Oh.” She blinked then ducked her head and fussed with the baby's wrappings. “That's … well, that's the nicest thing you've said to me since I came to Hope Falls. Which isn't saying much, Braden.”

He bowed his head. “I know. I have a lot to make up for.”

“Well, it would have been a very nice thing to say anywhere,” she relented, still focused on the baby. “But why would you try to make up for your behavior? You were grieving the loss of your men, dealing with a lot of pain, and trying to protect all of us.”

“And failing to treat you like a grown woman fully able to make her own decisions.” Braden stated it outright. “If I have any chance of convincing you to reestablish our engagement, I'll need to prove that I realize what a treasure you are. No matter my struggles, I shouldn't have stopped cherishing the amazing woman God brought into my life. Cora, I'm sorry for the way I acted. I just hope you'll let me make it up to you someday.”

Confusion flitted across her features. “Then why did you offer to hold Dorothy so I could dance with someone else?”

“Because I'm giving you the one thing every woman wants.” He reached up and clasped her hand in his, unable to keep from touching her. “I'm respecting your choice—whatever it may be.”

After all, respecting was a far cry from accepting, should she make the wrong decision.

She stayed quiet for a long time but didn't pull her hand away. Braden clung to it and the hope that she'd see the change God had been working in him since the day of the cave-in. He had a long way to go still, but he figured Cora already knew that. He'd taken a bad turn and gone a long way down it. Getting back to the place where they'd been before meant a return journey.

“You listened.” She squeezed his hand, but Braden didn't think she realized she'd done it until he squeezed back. “Why now? What changed?”

“I'm done chasing things I can't change at the expense of the people I'm supposed to cherish.” His voice sounded croaky, but at least he forced the words through. “You were right. I should have called this thing off. Naomi looks like she's about to burst into tears, the men are circling her like jackals, and I haven't gotten a single clue from Corning or Blinman about the mine collapse.”

Her brows slammed together. “Don't blame yourself for not finding the saboteur.” Her whisper sounded a bit hissy. “Just like you need to stop blaming yourself for the accident.”

“I have.” Something like peace swelled in his chest. Cora still cared—he could build on that. “But I do blame myself for losing you. I want to win you back, Cora-mine.”

A ghost of the gamine grin she used to wear flashed across her face. “I won't stop you from trying.”

“Good because someday not too far off I intend to get out of this wheelchair.” Braden grinned. “It's the only way I can get back down on one knee.”

A fleeting smile, the shimmer of tears, and Cora's expression grew shuttered. “Before you start thinking you'll reestablish our engagement someday, you need to know that I've discussed Dorothy's situation with Mr. Lawson. At length.”

No!
Braden couldn't speak, could only scream a silent denial. After all they'd been through, he couldn't have lost her to Lawson!

“I turned down his generous proposal, but he agreed it would be in Dorothy's best interests if we honored Arla's last request. As of today, Dorothy is mine. I plan to raise her as my daughter, Braden.”

He reached out and tucked back the blanket obscuring the newborn's face. Dorothy wrinkled her nose and let out an agitated gurgle, flailing one tiny fist before settling back into sleep. “She's beautiful. Any man would be blessed by the pair of you.”

Cora smiled again. “Did you have anyone particular in mind?”

Not thinking, Naomi's steps carried her along the familiar path to the workshop. She flung open the door, strode inside, and grabbed her apron as she always did. Then she realized what she was doing. Her legs shaky, she barely made it to the chair before the sobs slammed together in the back of her throat, cutting off her air.

Charlotte found her bent over, clutching the apron like a lifeline and gasping for breath. The tears streaming down her face made her sister look hazy, as if rubbed by a zealous eraser. “What do you want?” Naomi choked on tears and bone-deep pain.

Charlotte sneezed. “To apologize.” Another sneeze. “What I did was awful, petty, and cruel, and I can't tell you how sorry I am, Mimi.”

“I hate that nickname,” she protested thickly. Somehow it symbolized the way Charlotte always disregarded her feelings. That made it something important. “Don't call me Mimi, and don't give me your apologies when you don't mean them. I understand that you hate me, and I understand why. Leave it at that and leave me be, Charlotte.”

“No! You don't understand. How could you? I've been jealous of you my whole life. You got to stay home while they shipped me to another continent,” Charlotte burst out. “Then when France became the home of my heart, they dragged me back to the States so I could see my big sister marry some well-to-do man from a distinguished family. I stole Harry because I wanted to prove that I could make Mama proud, too—that I was just as good as you are. But look how that worked.”

“I'm not apologizing again,” Naomi snapped, trying to hold on to her anger. She couldn't handle or help her sister's old hurts, but they seeped toward her heart. Didn't Naomi know how it felt to be sent far away? To feel second best to her sister? She'd never realized Charlotte experienced some of those same feelings.

Another sneeze and Charlotte squeezed her hand. “I'm not asking you to. I'm talking about how I failed. Harry married me so I could bear him an heir—and I haven't. One miscarriage, and no more.”

Naomi's wall crumpled at the forlorn grief in her sister's voice. She reached out to stroke Charlotte's black hair, an awkward attempt to comfort the sister who'd become such a stranger to her. “That's not your fault. You're not a failure—Harry seems happy.”

Charlotte said something but lost it to another round of sneezes. When she caught her breath, she said, “Can we go outside? It's a warm night—we can go for a little walk in the woods where no one will interrupt us. I'm not ready to rejoin the dance.”

“Neither am I.” Naomi stood, still clutching her apron. It gave her hands something to do, a simple comfort she desperately needed. They walked side by side, slowly at first, both of them loathe to draw attention to themselves. When they reached the woods and Charlotte stopped sneezing, she started to walk more quickly.

“What's the hurry?” Naomi hurried after her sister, pulling up short when Charlotte stepped up a series of small rocks to look over the edge of a steep drop. Darkness blanketed the area, and the recent rains probably meant slippery moss scattered around those boulders. She hung back.

“Aren't you coming?” Charlotte turned around and beckoned.

“No. Why don't you come back down here?” Naomi suggested. “As I recall, it's a very long drop from up there. One of us might slip.”

“Well that's fine.” Her sister gave a sharp laugh and pulled something out of her pocket. Moonlight glinted off the barrel of the pistol she pointed toward Naomi. “Since one of us is supposed to.”

I
t wasn't supposed to be like this
. Mike glared at each man who spoke to Naomi, reserving a special intensity for the ones who danced with her. The lucky ones who could put their hand on her waist and smile into her eyes while they swayed to the music.

Although, in all fairness, Naomi didn't seem as graceful as usual. Her movements seemed abrupt, jerky, and downright clumsy at times as she tripped over her partners' feet. Mike felt something akin to satisfaction at the idea she was as unsettled as he was.

“Shouldn't you be asking Naomi to dance, Dad?” Luke's anxious query made him look down. “Because you know lots of other guys are, and you don't have much time left to convince her to choose us.”

Us
. Mike's jaw clenched at his son's innocent comment. Luke already saw the three of them becoming a family. Mike wanted the same. But none of that did any good if Naomi didn't choose them.

“She looks kinda upset.” Concern crinkled Luke's brow as they watched Naomi jump back from Clump and rush away from the dance area. He pushed up his sleeves. “All right, Dad. Now's your chance. You go follow her, and I'll take care of the guy who made her cry.”

Mike caught his son by the back of the collar before the boy could go do something foolish. “You don't know what happened. Promise me you'll leave Clump alone. Trust me, he's a good guy.” When he wasn't trying to steal Naomi for himself at least.

“Okay. So long as you go get her.” Luke pointed toward the workshop. “She went that-a-way, so you better get a move on!”

His son's eagerness made Mike want to cry and punch something all at once. It was his fault. He'd raised Luke's hopes along with his own. And, unless God intervened sometime tonight, both of them would suffer major disappointment before the sun rose again.

Mike approached the workshop in time to see a set of skirts disappearing around the corner. For a moment he hesitated. Naomi obviously wanted to be left alone—but it looked like she might be headed for the woods. The memory of the stuffed cougar she persisted in decorating stuck out in his mind. The forest was too dangerous to let her go wandering around unprotected. Especially at night.

Quietly, Mike crept around the side of the shop and headed for the woods. In the distance he could make out two figures. While relieved Naomi wasn't alone, the idea of leaving two women to wander the woods by themselves made him uneasy. He decided he wouldn't intrude—just shadow them close enough to keep Naomi in sight, far enough to give her privacy. She probably needed to talk through her choice.

The farther the women went into the woods, the closer Mike followed. Otherwise too much cover separated him. He'd be of no use if he had to scramble through thickets and bound over boulders. When the women reached a clearing—the edge of a cliff face really, Mike stayed behind in the shadow of the woods. The wind carried their conversation to him, and Mike realized Naomi's companion was her sister. He'd just started to wonder if he shouldn't leave them to talk things out when Mrs. Blinman pulled the pistol from her pocket.

Mike started forward but realized his presence might startle the woman into shooting. Even if he didn't startle her, the knowledge that there was a witness might provoke her to violence. Desperately he scanned the area for closer cover and found none. The trees where he stood provided the nearest foliage, and the closest rocks were situated on the cliff edge behind the women. For now he had no choice but to stay concealed and wait things out.

“What are you doing?” Naomi stared at the weapon, eyes glued to the one threat Mike never suspected—a danger he couldn't reach her in time to prevent. “When did you start carrying a gun, Charlotte?”

“Since the day I boarded the train for Hope Falls. The mountains are a dangerous place for anyone,” Mrs. Blinman singsonged and cocked the pistol. “But they're particularly threatening to me. Harry never suspected why our cousin invited him and the other investors ‘to inspect the sawmill,' but I suspected. Braden found out the collapse wasn't an accident, didn't he?”

Still hidden, Mike bit back a groan. He'd been so focused on getting Luke home, he hadn't bothered to question Braden's blasé explanation about those special invitations of his. Now that Mrs. Blinman said something, it made perfect sense. Had Braden Lyman been sitting beside him, Mike would have been tempted to do violence.

“It was you who sabotaged the mines?” Naomi sounded flabbergasted. “Why would you bother arranging a cave-in?”

“Money, you flea-brain.” She gave a bone-chilling laugh.

“But you don't need it. You have Harry and a house and fine clothes—anything you want.” Naomi twisted some fabric in her hands.

“Not anything,” her sister snapped. “Harry won't take me home. After all I went through to marry him and get that honeymoon in France, I couldn't convince him to stay there. He forced me to come back to America, no matter how much I begged to go back home.”

“I don't see how the mine collapse would change that.” Naomi slid forward, the shift so slight Mike might have imagined it.

“Of course you don't see. You never did see what was right in front of your face.” Another cackle. “I took Owens as my lover. When the mine struck gold, I convinced him to manufacture a false cave-in so we could buy the other investors out for next to nothing. Then he'd go back in with a new crew, reap the riches, and we'd be off!”