When Hortence stared at her wide-eyed, Charlotte lowered her voice, so the younger girl felt like the conversation was just for her—although any of the adults could still listen in, if they wanted to. “I’ve always wished my hair was more red than blond.” She ran a hand over her hair. “Mine’s always seemed a bit dull to me.”
Hortence stared at her in wonder. “No, Miss Ingram, it’s beautiful. I wish mine weren’t so bright. It’s all anyone notices about me.”
Charlotte smiled softly at the girl who would soon be a young woman. “If they have no sense, that’s all they’ll notice. For those who are discerning, they’ll look below the surface.” She gasped with surprise as Hortence hopped up and hugged her.
“I’m so happy you’re joining our family,” she proclaimed, as Mildred nodded her agreement. “We always need more aunts.”
Charlotte shook her head, stuttering, “I’m not really a member of the family.”
Leticia—Hortence’s mother and Alistair MacKinnon’s wife—sat on a nearby chair. “If we claim you, you’re family.” She shrugged as though it were truly that simple.
Ducking her head as she battled a deep emotion, Charlotte watched Warren enter the room with Dalton on his heels. By this time, the MacKinnon women had effectively hemmed in Charlotte on all sides, and no space was left for Dalton near her. She saw his frustration, as he wished to be closer to her, and she sent him an apologetic smile.
Taking a deep breath, she began to braid Hortence’s hair, as she waited for Warren to speak. She feared her acceptance into the MacKinnon clan would be the shortest on record, and she’d be the latest townsperson to suffer Jessamine MacKinnon’s biting wit, as she wrote about Charlotte in her newspaper.
She misbraided Hortence’s hair, whispering her apology that she had to start all over again. Hortence shrugged, as Leticia laughed. “My daughter loves to have her hair played with, and I don’t have the time I used to with two young children. She’s delighted.”
Warren cleared his throat and then clapped his hands to silence the chatter of the various groups in the room. “If I might have your attention?” He stood tall with a regal bearing, as he faced his friends, while a silence descended over the room, only broken by the babbling of infants and children. “I must impart distressing information, and I fear your anger will outweigh your goodwill toward me.” His eyes gleamed with the agony of what he feared would come. “I would say, I’m sorry, but I know that is no excuse.”
Warren cleared his throat again, interrupted from saying anything more when Cailean approached him. As the eldest MacKinnon, Cailean was the patriarch of the family, and everyone looked to him for guidance and blessings. He had found tremendous happiness in his marriage to Annabelle Evans and a delight beyond measure as a father to their daughter, Skye. “No, Warren,” Cailean said, gripping his arm. “You know we might be angry with you. We might yell and blather on, as is our way. But we’d never cast you out.” He looked out at the room, his gaze homing in on Charlotte. “We’ll not cast out anyone present tonight.” Murmurs of agreement echoed through the room at his pronouncement.
With a deep breath, Warren said, “I put Sorcha at risk. I endangered the twins.” He met Frederick’s intense stare. “I didn’t warn you.”
“Why?” Frederick asked in an irate voice. “Why, after everything?” His jaw ticked with anger.
“Shame,” he said, as he closed his eyes. He jerked as his wife, Helen, snuggled up to his side, silently supporting him as she leaned into him, her arms wrapped around his waist. “I knew more than I told you in February. I intimated it was because Charlotte was my client. And she was. But it was also because I was humiliated. Again.”
Sorcha gripped Frederick’s arm, shaking her head. “I dinna understand, Warren. Ye’ve always told the truth. Ye’ve always been straightforward. Ye ken ye’re like a brother to us all.” She waited, frowning when she saw fear in Warren’s gaze, rather than acknowledgment of her words. “Help us understand.”
He sighed, his arms wrapping around Helen as though she were a lifeline. “My family was powerful in Philadelphia. As you know, my father was never bothered by anything so unaccommodating as scruples. I fear my mother’s family was no better.” He paused, gathering his thoughts. “I had cousins, although they preferred to associate with my older brother. He was going to be the successful lawyer, carrying on the family practice.”
“As you recall, we remember your cousin, Jeremiah,” Harold Tompkins said with a wry smile. He sat on a chair, holding his wife, Irene’s, hand as he appeared completely at ease. They were Frederick’s grandparents and ran the successful Sunflower Café in town.
“Jeremiah,” Warren said, as he cleared his throat. “I gave up drink after his visit. And hoped I’d never see another cousin here again. That hope was unfulfilled.” He looked at Charlotte a long moment. “I heard about the arrival of a man called Orville last fall. It’s a common-enough name, but I feared it was my cousin. And it was.”
Dalton looked from Warren to Charlotte. “Orville is the name of the man who mistreated Miss Ingram?” At Warren’s nod, Dalton flushed red. “Orville Clark?”
“No, Orville Coldwell. He’s from my mother’s side.”
“You knew your family was responsible for harming her?” Dalton asked.
Warren sighed. “Yes. He was in town last fall. We met once, a most unpleasant meeting in my office. He was upset this was such a small inconsequential town, without the promise of Butte.” He ran a hand through his hair, uncaring that he set his tidy locks on end. “He was shocked that a lawyer of my talents would waste his life in such a backwater place and said my family would only ever feel shame at my lack of ambition.”
Helen murmured something, easing the sting of those words.
“Only fools believe money soothes all sorrow,” Bears said. He stood near Frederick and Dalton, as though prepared to hold them back if they lunged for the lawyer.
Warren nodded, cleared his throat. “While I collected my mail one morning in December, I happened to meet Charlotte, crying at the train station, as she babbled out her tale of woe, and I knew I needed to help her. I’d heard too many similar tales in the past with regard to my cousins in Philadelphia to ever doubt her story. I paid for her trip to Butte, giving her Orville’s address.” His gaze glowed with regret. “I sent her to hell and didn’t realize it.”
Dalton took a step toward him, held in place by Bears’s strong hold. “Did you know he was married?”
“No,” he whispered. “But when Charlotte returned here in January, bruised and battered, I knew I had to help her. For no one should have to suffer my family’s wrath alone.”
“Bruised and battered,” Dalton rasped, his gaze flying to meet Charlotte’s, but her gaze was downcast. Tears silently coursed down her cheeks. “Who hurt her? I thought she had tea.” He struggled in Bears’s hold, but the bigger man held firm.
“Yes, tea.” Warren cleared his throat. “She did have tea. That was Adella’s contribution to the debacle. Orville had another plan. A member of the household was entrusted with the task of ensuring she was not seen again.”
Hortence and Mildred gasped, their eyes huge. Leticia rose with Fidelia, ushering the girls and the younger children from the room, as they gave Warren an exasperated glare for speaking of such topics in front of the children.
Hortence held a hand to her hair as it fell out of the braid, looking to Charlotte in dismay. Her sadness evaporated when she saw the shattered look in Charlotte’s eyes. After hugging her, she followed her mama out of the room.
Dalton wrenched his arm free of Bears’s hold, weaving his way through the MacKinnons to approach Charlotte, who now sat alone, as though on an island, after the departure of Leticia and the children. He sat beside her, his hand reaching out to run softly down her arm. “You’re all right, Lottie. No one will hurt you here.” He frowned at the MacKinnons staring at them as she remained quiet and quivering beside him, as though in shock. He looked to Warren
. “What do you mean, battered and bruised? How battered? How bruised?”
Helen spoke up. “I cared for her. She was … hurt. Badly. She needed time and a safe place to recover.”
Frederick waited until he heard Leticia and Fidelia chattering with the children before he faced Warren again, cutting off what more Dalton would have asked. “Warren? What do you mean when you say Sorcha and the twins were in danger?”
Closing his eyes, perhaps praying for patience or divine intervention, Warren spoke as though the words were torn from him. “My family only cares about appearances. About the prestige of the family name. My cousin wants to be the first senator when the Territory becomes a state. He’s currying favor of the true Copper Kings, even as he tries to match their wealth with insignificant mines in Butte.” His eyes glowed with rage as he avoided looking at Charlotte. “Something like a pregnant lover out of wedlock would only lead to embarrassment and the loss of the prestige he so desires. And would cost him an election.”
“He wants me dead,” Charlotte said. “As I believe Adella does too. Once I refused to give them my baby, allowing them to act as though they were the parents and the perfect political family, I was of no use to them. I worried he’d come to the ranch. Or one of his henchmen. That he’d harm one of you.” Her voice broke, as she looked at Sorcha, holding Mairi, and Irene, holding little Harold.
“You are precious,” Dalton rasped, his hold on Charlotte tightening. “You had every right to worry about your own safety, Lottie.”
“Orville sent me an inquiry a few months ago,” Warren stated, “asking if I’d heard from Charlotte. He must mistrust me, and the curt answer I sent back, for he sent Adella to investigate. I knew her from Philadelphia. She’s like Orville, as ambitious and as unfettered by anything nearing a moral code. She’s been here close to two weeks.”
“Why not tell me?” Frederick asked. He shook his head as his grandfather attempted to soothe him with a calm word. “No. I am a father. A husband. I have men who look to me for guidance. I am their boss.” His jaw twitched with barely suppressed rage. “How could you have left us open to an adversary we didn’t even know about?”
Warren held up a hand and shrugged. “I’m sorry, Fred. I … thought I’d escaped them. I never imagined the lure of riches in a hill in Montana would induce them to leave Philadelphia. And that they would then harm the family I adore.”
Sorcha strode to Frederick, thrusting Mairi into her husband’s arms. She understood that, if Frederick were holding his daughter, he’d be unable to fight Warren. “Ye let us down, Warren.”
He flinched as though she had struck him. “I know. I betrayed you.”
Holding her hands on her hips, she shook her head. “Nae, I didna say that. Ye did no’ say ye betrayed me or my family in yer tale. Ye let me down. I’ve relied on yer friendship. On ye lookin’ out for me an’ those I love.” She sighed as she pushed forward, wrapping her arms around him, as Helen stepped aside to allow them to have a moment together. “Who’s been lookin’ out for ye, ye dear man?”
“Sorcha,” he gasped, holding her close a moment.
She pushed back. “It doesna mean I’m no’ angry with ye. Ye should have told us what was occurrin’ from the beginnin’.” She spun to stare at Charlotte to include her in her pronouncement. “But I understand fear, an’ I ken it doesna make ye rational.” She looked at her husband. “Aye, Frederick?”
He sighed, kissing his daughter’s head. “Aye, love.”
Warren shook his head, a dazed look in his gaze. “Does this mean I’m still your friend?” he asked the room in general.
“Nae,” Cailean said, his accent thickened, as it always was when he was affected by deep emotions. “Nae, Warren, ye’re family, as ye always have been.”
Warren closed his eyes, one arm wrapped around Helen again. After taking another deep breath, he looked to Frederick and then Dalton. “Charlotte would have been safer on the ranch.”
“You want her to hide forever?” Dalton asked. “No, lawyer. That’s not a life, and she deserves more than that.”
“Well said,” Harold called out. Young Hortence ran into the room, momentarily distracting Harold by whispering into his ear. Rising, he followed her to the kitchen, Irene on his heels.
Ewan, the youngest MacKinnon brother, spoke up. “Aye, that’s true, but I doubt Warren’s cousins are comfortable outside of what they consider civilization.” He smiled. “The ranch would seem wild to them.”
Warren nodded. “Yes, although they can ride horses.” He shrugged self-deprecatingly. “Although never as well as a cowboy.”
Ewan focused on Dalton, sitting beside Charlotte. “Why did ye truly come to town?”
Charlotte squeezed Dalton’s hand. “To marry. We want the preacher’s blessing.”
Ewan’s wife, Jessamine, smiled as though she had just been handed the keys to a bank safe. “Ah, you do know how to make a reporter happy.” She beamed at them, as she held her daughter, Aileana, against her chest.
“A preacher’s blessing won’t bring you any more clarity,” Bears said.
Charlotte frowned at his cryptic words. “I want to marry Dalton. I want …” She shrugged, as Bears continued to stare at her with a wise understanding that unnerved her. She fidgeted on the settee, only calming when Dalton whispered in her ear.
Frederick looked to Warren. “Come,” he said in his authoritative manner. “Let’s eat Belle’s cake, and then we can determine what we should do.” He shared a meaningful glance with the men in the room, before motioning everyone back into the kitchen.
Charlotte clung to Dalton a moment. “Are you mad at me?” she whispered.
“No, love, not at you,” he whispered, as he kissed her cheek. “Warren’s cousin better never show his face here.” He rose, holding out his hand to escort her into the kitchen.
After a moment’s hesitation, Charlotte placed her hand in his. She wanted to ask so much more. Wanted to say so much more. But she knew too many people loitered about, and she wanted privacy for her conversation with Dalton. She was uncertain how she’d find a quiet moment with this bustling family ever present.
* * *
That night Charlotte tossed and turned in her bed in Cailean’s house. Although the bed was more comfortable than any she’d ever slept in, she could not settle. Her mind played the evening’s discussion over and over again, and she resented that she hadn’t had a chance to speak with Dalton alone. He had departed with the other men to talk with Warren, leaving her in silent misery with the MacKinnon women. Although they were supportive, she had needed Dalton’s reassurance. Now that he knew the truth, would he marry her?
A soft tap on her door had her sitting up. “Yes?”
Annabelle poked her head inside. “Are you well? I wanted to see if you needed anything before I head to bed.” She frowned as she saw the tangled bedclothes. “You’re more unsettled now than when you listened to Warren speaking.” Leaving the door ajar, she entered the guest room and perched on the side of the bed.
Charlotte attempted to paste on a serene expression, but her eyes revealed her torment. When Annabelle remained quiet, a knowing look in her gaze, any of Charlotte’s false serenity evaporated. Her shoulders curled forward, and she hit the mattress with a fist. “I couldn’t speak with him. I need to speak with him if I’m to have any chance of sleeping.”
“Warren?” Annabelle asked.
“No, Dalton,” Charlotte cried out in a near plaintive wail. “He seemed supportive while Warren spoke, but then he disappeared. What must he think of me?”
“I don’t understand,” Annabelle whispered, gripping her hand that remained fisted on the mattress. When Charlotte remained quiet, Annabelle rose. “Give me a few minutes,” she murmured, as she left the room.
Charlotte sighed, flopping to her back on the bed. “I’ve even scared Anna away,” she whispered, rolling to her side and burying her face in a pillow. She’d learned long ago how to sob without making any noise, and she l
et her tears flow quietly, her shaking shoulders the only sign of her distress.
A soft hand caressed her upper back, and Charlotte shifted in the bed to look over her shoulder. “Dalton,” she whispered. “I never thought they’d let you in here.”
“Only for a short time,” Annabelle said, as she poked her head into the room. “As far as the townsfolk know, Dalton’s having a drink with Cailean in the sitting room.” Annabelle smiled at the distressed couple. “Call out if you need anything, Charlotte. And, Dalton, I’ll send Cailean in if you’re here too long. You need to spend the night in the back room at the bakery, or there will be talk.”
Cailean poked his head in over his wife’s and studied the couple. “We could always say he fell asleep on the sitting room floor.” He grunted as Annabelle elbowed him in his side. “You’ll have a better sleep here. Otherwise, if you’re spending the night at the bakery, Belle shows up at daybreak to start baking.” He tugged Annabelle out of the doorway, winking at them, as he murmured the decision was theirs.
“I don’t understand,” Charlotte whispered.
“He’s giving us the choice, if we want to spend the night together or if we want to wait until our marriage.” He frowned as he saw her stiffen. “I wouldn’t do anything more than hold you, Lottie. I’d never compromise you. It would be like the night we spent on the ranch, when everyone was away.”
She flushed and lowered her lashes. “I don’t know why I continually worry. It’s not as though I have a reputation to protect.”
He made a grunt of disagreement. “Aye, you do. As my wife. As the mother of my children.” He raised her hand to kiss it. “Don’t let the past taint what we will have, love.”
She rested on her side, gazing deeply into his troubled eyes. “Do you still dream of that future with me? Even after all Warren revealed?”
Dalton frowned, his hand rising to cup her cheek. “How can you doubt?” he whispered. “When I heard that you’d returned bruised and battered—” He swallowed. “Why didn’t you tell me, Lottie?”
Healing Montana Love: Bear Grass Springs, Book Eleven Page 10
