His Forgotten Fiancée (Love Inspired Historical)

by Evelyn M. Hill

  “That’s fair,” Liza said.

  Reluctantly, Matthew said, “If I need to, I can go down to Salem after the harvest to settle this—unless Liza and her pa need me to help with other work on the claim.”

  “There’s always work on the claim.” Mr. Fitzpatrick wore a neutral expression. Matthew could not tell if the older man was in favor of him staying or not.

  When he came here, he had thought he would be leaving again as soon as he could. Now, he wasn’t sure what he would do if Liza didn’t want him to stay. She needed him to help with the harvest and to ward off Mr. Brown. And he needed her. If he had to leave, it would feel as if he were leaving part of himself behind.

  Dawson said, “I have to follow this up. You haven’t gotten your memory back. There might be folk out there looking for you. I have to do what I can to help. It’s my job.” Matthew reluctantly acknowledged a touch of grudging admiration for the man. He might be an oaf, but he was an oaf with a sense of duty.

  As Dawson rode back over the ridge alone, Liza looked at Matthew and her father, lounging in the doorway. “It could be an honest mistake,” she allowed.

  “Or he just wants to get me away from here. He doesn’t like me hanging around here with you.”

  Mr. Fitzpatrick banged his crutch against the stump to get their attention. “Before you two get settled into arguing, go wash up. We can discuss this sitting down. My legs aren’t getting any better standing here all this time.”

  Liza cast Matthew one quick look before she turned away to follow her father into the cabin. She was upset, though trying to hide it. He should have told her about the miner, found some way to let her know that he was free without making her feel obligated to renew their engagement. He had to find a way to put things right. Maybe he was too late, again, but he had to try.

  Over lunch, Liza went back to the discussion. “I think Frank is honestly trying to help you. He might argue, but he fights his battles out in the open. If he has a problem with you, he’ll let you know it.”

  Matthew couldn’t work up any interest in the salmon on his plate. Casually, he scraped the fish into his handkerchief and put it on the floor, where Elijah took care of it speedily.

  “No wonder he doesn’t want my scraps,” Liza murmured.

  Matthew ignored that, going back to the original point. “Do you think Mr. Brown is behind this? I wonder if he’s been putting pressure on Doc Graham, as well. The doctor was acting strangely the other day when he came by.”

  “When we were in town, I saw him—Mr. Brown, I mean—talking to Doc Graham. Whatever he was saying left the doc mighty pale.”

  “So Mr. Brown put pressure on the doctor to get me off the property, then he planted a rumor that sent that benighted oaf—I mean, that ignorant lout, er, I beg your pardon, that fine upstanding lawman—up here to force me out. Is that it?”

  Liza nodded. “It’s the way he works. The man is like a crab. He never comes at anything head on.”

  Mr. Fitzpatrick had been listening to their discussion in silence, but now he broke in. “That doesn’t make sense. All Mr. Brown wants is to please Barclay Hughes. And Hughes wouldn’t stoop to using someone to get you off the claim. He’s got a code, and he sticks to it.”

  “Perhaps if Mr. Brown is trying to chase me off, it’s personal.”

  “If he is trying to do something—which I doubt—then all you need do is prove it. Hughes will put a stop to it.”

  “But how to prove it, that’s the thing.” Liza got up and began to clear the table.

  Matthew rose to his feet. “Let me help you.”

  “Both of you, out.” Mr. Fitzpatrick scowled at them both. “I’m not so feeble that I can’t handle a few plates. Be off with you.”

  As soon as they were outside, Liza turned to Matthew. “Why didn’t you tell me about meeting that miner?”

  Matthew had spent years being trained in the art of persuasion, first in the classroom and then in the courtroom, until he could sway a whole jury to his way of thinking. Yet here, faced with this woman who had once promised to share the rest of his life, he could not find the right words. He spread his hands out, then fell back on the simplest explanation. “Until I can tell you why I left, then the rest of my past isn’t important to you. Or so I thought.”

  Liza was silent. “I see,” she finally said.

  He had blundered. He could see that as plainly as if she had shouted the words at him. He wanted to reach out and cradle her face in his hands, give her comfort. He wanted it so badly that he could almost taste it. He knew the feel of her hair, the warmth of her skin against his palms. He longed to put his arm around her waist, draw her close to him and lean her head against his shoulder. He wasn’t sure how he was able to describe how this would feel, but he could, with exact precision. He did not dare tell her, however. Not yet. Not until he was sure of how she felt about him. If she no longer wanted him, he would have to accept that. But he had to settle this, one way or another.

  “Are you angry with me?”

  She turned away, heading back to the cabin. Over her shoulder, she said, “Don’t be foolish. You can do what you like.”

  He caught her arm. “Wait.” She wrenched her arm free, and he held both hands up. “I’m sorry. But wait, please. You are angry, clearly. Why can’t you just tell me so straight out?” She would never be able to forgive and move on while she was holding on to all this anger and resentment from hurts she had received in the past. He lowered his voice. “Come to the barn with me. I don’t want to talk here.”

  She was still red faced and flushed, but she nodded. “So Pa won’t hear.”

  She followed him down the hill. He waited until they reached the barn door before he turned to her. “I know you’re angry with me for not telling you about that miner. You have a right to be upset with me, and maybe with your pa, as well. But you need to let it go. It festers, anger, if you keep feeding it. It burns you more than the other person. Haven’t you been hurt enough?”

  “You mean like when you left me on the trail?”

  That stung, as she had no doubt meant it to. “Perhaps I wanted to provide for you,” he muttered.

  “Like my father, leaving me so he could build a new future for us.”

  He hadn’t realized before just how badly she had been hurt. Not just by him, but by her father when he had left her to build a new home on his own.

  The hurt and anger had festered until it had grown into a barrier between her and anyone who might hurt her again. He ached for the pain he had caused her, by actions he could not explain and did not remember taking. But one thing he was sure of—she had to tear down this wall if she was ever going to move forward with her life. It was safe to live behind barriers, but it was also sterile, stifling. She would never be able to settle down with anyone if she was not willing to risk pain.

  Gently, he turned her to face him. He slid his finger under her chin, lifting it so he could look into her eyes. “You are very angry.”

  She stiffened, taking a step back. She bent her head, turning away to avoid his gaze. “I am fine. I survived.”

  “By burying your anger so deep you thought you’d never have to deal with it again. That doesn’t work. You have to face it and overcome it, with me and with your father.”

  “I love Pa.”

  “That doesn’t seem to be stopping you from being angry at him at the same time. You need to let the resentment go.”

  She twisted around to face him. “Are you talking about yourself? Or are you trying to tell me something else?”

  “I wasn’t the only person you loved who left without saying goodbye,” he said gently.

  She blinked rapidly, several times. “All I know is that if it means you have to live apart from people who love you, then it’s not worth it.”

  “Don’t cry.”

  “I’m not crying.” She
blinked again, as if willing the tears away. “I never cry.”

  He lifted his hand to touch her face, but then he stopped. If you cry, I’ll have to take you in my arms, and it’s too soon for that. You’re not ready.

  Liza said, “If people want to leave, there’s nothing I can do to stop them. Everyone has to rely on themselves.”

  “It is understandable to be so angry,” Matthew said gently.

  She folded her arms. “While I appreciate your concern, there is nothing to worry about. I am fine.” She wasn’t even trying to make her tone convincing, and her attitude was as welcoming as a stone wall.

  “No, you’re not.” His voice lowered, soft as the breeze that rustled the oak leaves behind the cabin.

  The only thing he could see to do was help her to face this truth. It would not be comfortable for either of them. He might lose her altogether if he pushed too hard.

  Her face was flushed pink. Thankfully, she was no longer blinking away tears. Now she just looked plain mad. That was better. He could handle her being angry. Probably.

  “You keep saying that you’re leaving. This is not your concern.”

  You are my concern. But he hesitated, and she went on without waiting for a response. She flung her arms wide, indicating the claim. “I love this claim. This is everything I always wanted, and he went out and got it for me. How can I tell him that he did the right thing in the wrong way? He didn’t want me to come out here and work with him to prove up this claim. He wanted to do all the work himself and then hand it over to me.” She took a step closer to Matthew. He could see the tears glistening in her eyes. “But what I needed, when my mother died, was him. I will never get those years back, and no claim, not even this one, will be able to give me them. Should I tell him that? It won’t change anything, but it will hurt him.”

  “I know,” he whispered. “Believe me, I know.”

  “And then you did the same thing. You left me to go off and make a fortune—for me. I cannot tell you how tired I am of men who tell me that they love me only to leave me alone for my own good. You are all fools.”

  She whirled around, skirts flaring in an arc, and went back up the path to the cabin, where she shut the door behind her with such force that it was almost a slam. Matthew bent his head and closed his eyes tight. Now what was he going to do?

  “Well, you made a proper mess of that.”

  He hadn’t heard Mr. Fitzpatrick coming down the path. “Where are your crutches?”

  “I can get by without them for a while.”

  Matthew raised his eyebrows. “Why haven’t you told Liza your legs are healing?”

  “If she knew my legs were well enough to walk around some, she’d start to wonder why I was letting you do all the harvesting in my place.”

  “You want me to stay? This is a change from the man who wanted me off the claim as soon as I showed up.”

  “I want Liza to figure out what she wants with you.” Mr. Fitzpatrick propped himself against the barn and folded his arms. “She needed to spend time with you to do that. I thought she had made up her mind. Judging by the way she just stormed off, I’m not so sure. She looks a mite upset.”

  There was a clod of dirt lying on the ground next to the water trough. Matthew wanted to kick it so hard that it sailed across the yard to the paddock. He shoved his fists into his pockets instead. Giving in to his anger would not help Liza. “She’s furious with me.”

  “Yep.”

  Matthew looked at him. “Aren’t you going to give me a lecture on what a horrible person I am to have treated her so badly?”

  “Nope.”

  “That’s a surprise. You’ve hardly made a secret of how you feel about me.”

  “I don’t mind you,” Mr. Fitzpatrick said tranquilly. “Don’t ’specially fancy you, either, but that’s not my place to say. It’s hers. And up until an hour or so ago, I’d have said that she was right fond of you.”

  “She’s too angry to admit that she’s angry.” Matthew scowled at the other man. “That makes absolutely no sense.”

  “Aye, she gets like that sometimes. Like her mother, she is. Now, my Katy was a fine lady, love of my life, but she was proud. Didn’t want to admit to messy things like being mad.”

  “She’s angry with you, too.” For a man who had spent weeks glaring and snapping at him, Mr. Fitzpatrick was strangely calm now. What was it about the Fitzpatricks today? Were they all determined to drive him mad?

  Mr. Fitzpatrick nodded. “Aye, she is.”

  “Doesn’t that bother you?”

  The other man shrugged. “She’ll come round to telling me one of these days. I’ll wait. Women need to take their time with these things.”

  “Very wise,” Matthew said sourly. He was in no mood for philosophy. “But what am I to do in the meantime?”

  “Ah, that’s the very question I was going to ask you. Seems to me that you have some deciding to do.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Mr. Fitzpatrick shook his head, muttering something under his breath. He shuffled his way over to a stump and perched himself on it with a sigh. “This is going to take longer than I thought. You struck me as a man with some kind of a brain, but you’re doing a fine impersonation of a sheep at the moment. I can’t abide sheep. I mean, what are your intentions toward my daughter?”

  Matthew said simply, “I want to help her. I’m not looking to court her.” Not yet, anyway. “I cannot even remember winning her hand when we first met. I do know this—she needs me now, and I am not going to walk away from her again.”

  Mr. Fitzpatrick’s shoulders relaxed slightly. That was a good sign. “I am not your enemy,” Matthew said. “We both want her to be happy. If I stay, she might learn how to forgive me. The last thing I want to do is hurt Liza.”

  “You hurt her before.”

  Matthew’s throat ached, tight with suppressed emotion that he could not express, would not express. “I seem to have hurt her again,” he said evenly. “Apparently, I have a gift for it. Let me see if I can talk to Liza, get her to trust me again. Give me time.”

  The silence seemed to stretch between them for an eternity. Matthew was conscious of the wind that sprang up, blowing cold down from the hills, the feel of the solid ground under his feet, the pounding of his heart, as if he had risked his whole fortune on striking gold from one unpromising vein. What he would do if her pa refused him, he didn’t know. She would always be torn between the two of them if he couldn’t forge an alliance with the man.

  He tried again. “If I stay here, I can fend off importunate advances from unmarried men such as the sheriff. Or Mr. Brown.”

  Mr. Fitzpatrick snorted. “I stopped him bothering her before. I can do it again. That boy comes sniffing around her, I’ll tan his hide.” He looked at Matthew. “That the best reason you have for staying?”

  Matthew started to feel as if he were getting his footing in this uncertain conversation. Mr. Fitzpatrick was just another jury. He wanted to be persuaded. “It might help to lessen some pressure to marry off your daughter if I stayed.”

  “Or it will stop her from moving on in her life. She’s already wasted a year waiting for you to come back to her. You mean for her to spend more time just waiting? Or will you let her get over you and move on?”

  If he wanted what was best for Liza, then he should let her go? Even that irritating sheriff would probably make her a better husband than a man who had to be told his own name. But that was her choice to make. He would not presume to make it for her.

  “Or you could just finish up the harvest and go on down to Portland to work at the lumber mills there.” The man was giving him an escape, Matthew realized. He did not have to risk laying out his heart to Liza and having her reject him. He could play it safe, go on with his life. And if he took that route, he would always wonder if she might have said yes.

>   He shook his head. “I want to stay here. I won’t let her down again.” The words were out of his mouth before he had time to think. They felt natural. He wanted to stay, not just because Liza needed him, but because he needed her. He wanted the chance to spend his life with her, not just the space of a summer.

  Mr. Fitzpatrick heaved himself to his feet with a grunt. “You might try telling her that. You’re asking her to do all the trusting.”

  “I’ll talk to her,” Matthew said. “Assuming she is willing to talk to me.”

  * * *

  Up in the loft, Liza grabbed her Bible before heading back down the ladder. As she stepped outside, she could hear Matthew’s and Pa’s voices, low, down by the barn. She slipped around the corner of the cabin and went off in the opposite direction, up to her refuge, that island of trees on the ridge above the creek. She needed to get away from everyone, get things clear in her own head. She felt pressed upon by everyone’s expectations: Pa, Mr. Brown, Frank...now Matthew, as well. She needed to find some peace inside herself.

  For once, she was the one doing the leaving. There was a certain degree of satisfaction in that. Though of course Matthew was planning to do some leaving of his own. Again. Otherwise, he surely would have told her about the miner before he was forced to do so.

  Her feet found the way, swift and sure, up to the little clearing at the top of the ridge. Long afternoon rays slanted through the trees. She settled down at the base of an immense cedar and opened her Bible to 1 Corinthians. A letter served as a bookmark at the beginning of the thirteenth chapter. Slowly, she unfolded the stiff paper, a page torn from a diary. Matthew’s letter to her, a hastily scribbled note before he had left with his new friends for California. She had read the letter so many times, she could recite the words by heart.

  Which was fortunate, because there was no way she could read the letter with her eyes blurred with tears. She clenched her eyes shut. She refused to cry. She had not cried since—when? When Matthew left? No, before that. The day she had woken up to find that her father had gone off to the Oregon Territory to build a new life for them—without her. She had vowed that she would not give in to tears again, and she had kept that vow. She was stronger now. She could cope with being left again.