She relaxed slightly against him and returned his smile. He realized in that moment that he more than cared for her, this beautiful, dark-skinned woman with wild, coiled hair. It wasn’t just her gentle yet fiery spirit, or the way she had moved against him in the late hours of the night that had made his desire for her endless. It was the way she put others first, the way she viewed the world through a naïve yet positive lens. She mainly saw the good in people, including him, despite what she knew—and didn’t know—about him. If he were honest, he would admit that he was falling in love with his singing angel.
In a few hours, they would be boarding the steamboat and leaving for Montana, and he had only a few hours to think of his approach to Whitaker, because there was no way he could let her marry the man.
She was his now.
Logan sealed his silent declaration with a kiss, and the light touch soon turned hot and explorative until he was once again inside her, thrusting deep to meet the rise of her hips and savoring every moan that tore from her throat.
~~~
“What’s this?”
“Breakfast.”
Gracie stared down at the small red apple Logan handed her and shook her head. “No thank you. I don’t like apples.”
Logan frowned. “You have to eat something, angel. It’s going to be a long trip, and this is all I have.”
She sighed and took the fruit, not prepared to go into an entire discussion about why she loathed the particular fruit. Telling him about the time her taste for them had led to her father being whipped didn’t seem like appropriate morning conversation as they waited to board the steamboat.
The memory of her father’s pain that day, for such a silly reason, had always haunted her. Had she truly understood at four years old what it meant to be a slave, she would have never taken the apple without permission, and then her father wouldn’t have been forced to lie about taking it for her, and he would have never had his back flayed. That day, she had lost the taste for the fruit, and today, like many days prior with her students, she was reminded why.
“Why don’t you go on ahead and find us a spot to settle. I’m going to make sure all of our bags made it on the boat with us.”
Gracie didn’t expect the brief kiss Logan landed on her lips, but neither did she shy away from it. After last night—and this morning—she knew without a doubt that she couldn’t possibly marry Mr. Whitaker now. Though she didn’t want to consider the inconvenience she would place on the man—or the embarrassment to her family—a small part of her was relieved that she would not have to go forward with the arranged marriage. The consequences wouldn’t be pleasant, but she was prepared to face them.
She found a quiet spot at the head of the steamboat to wait for Logan. Her strained nerves and excitement made butterflies dance in her stomach. She still couldn’t accept how much had changed in such a short time. How much she had changed.
Giving herself to a man who wasn’t her husband had not been something she’d ever considered doing. It was the very epitome of sin, and yet she didn’t feel the level of guilt or remorse she had expected from giving in to her baser needs. Mainly her guilt stemmed from her inconveniencing a man who had spent a considerable amount of money to bring her here—and her guilt for what the end of her contract would mean for her family. She wouldn’t lie to Mr. Whitaker and enter into a sham marriage, but neither would she let her family suffer because of her mistake. She would just have to find a way to be resourceful in order to support them.
As Gracie stood at the far end of the steamboat, she realized the advantage of the isolated area. No one could see her standing there. Unless they came closer and peeked around the large cylinder, she had found herself an exceptional hiding spot. She almost thought of her newly discovered sanctuary as a plus, until she realized the one person she had no intentions of hiding from would be looking for her.
Gracie started to leave the secluded area but heard men’s voices approaching. She hesitated, waiting for the voices to pass. The last thing she wanted was to reveal her vulnerable position in such an isolated spot.
But instead of walking past, the men paused as another joined them.
“Good day, Massa Flynn.”
“Good day, James.”
Gracie was so relieved to hear Logan’s voice that it took her a moment to process his next words.
“And I’m not your master anymore. It’s just Logan now.”
“Yes, sir,” the man James said. “You needing help with something, Mr. Logan? I seen you walking all around this boat.”
“I’m looking for someone,” Logan said. “A young Negro woman in a plaid day dress. Have you seen her?”
“No, sir, can’t say I have.”
“All right. Well, you let me know if you do.”
“Yes, sir.”
Gracie slowly released her breath as she heard Logan’s strong footsteps fade away. She waited in her hidden spot, still trying to process what she’d heard. Logan had been a slave owner?
Apparently, James and his friend also waited until Logan got out of ear-shot before he spoke again.
“My, I ain’t never dream of seeing young Mass Flynn around these parts. Makes a man feel kinda funny.”
“How you mean?” his friend asked.
“I don’t know… Massa Flynn wasn’t an evil man, but it sho’ is nice to see how far the white man has fallen. Now I ain’t got to be nobody’s field nigger no more.”
The two men walked off, and Gracie remained frozen in the isolated part of the boat, trembling from her core. She couldn’t pinpoint the exact cause for her quivering, but outrage and hate—and immense sadness—tangled themselves into knots inside her.
Flynn.
All the pieces began to fit together as she repeated that name in her head. Logan Finley—no, Logan Flynn—Confederate soldier from Maryland. The coincidence was astounding, but it all made sense. She recalled his uneasiness on the train when she made mention of the name and realized he had known all along about their connected past. Why hadn’t he said anything?
Because he’s a coward, an angry voice burst from inside her. He hadn’t even faced her with the truth about himself.
Because he’s ashamed, a more sympathetic voice whispered. He had gone as far to change his name and move west to reinvent himself.
Gracie blew out a shuddering breath. It didn’t matter why he’d done it. The fact was that he had lied to her, and she had stupidly fallen for his every charm.
She glanced down at her hand and realized she still clutched the bright red apple. Memories of that long-ago time flooded her—the sharp snap of the whip, the shouts of pain from her father…all because she had wanted something to eat. With a small cry, she released the small fruit as if it stung her palm. It fell to the ground with a heavy thud.
A large lump formed in her throat until she thought she would suffocate from it. Her vision clouded with unshed tears as shame and regret of her naiveté rolled through her. How could she not have seen this? He played the part of an honorable, compassionate man well, but men like him were the reason people like her father bore their battle scars on their bodies and their hearts.
How could she have given herself to a man like Logan—a man who had kept people who looked like her enslaved? And like a fool, she had sacrificed her family’s security for a moment of pleasure.
That knowledge made the lump in her throat expand until it weighed down her heart like nothing else ever had.
Chapter 9
“She’s a beauty, for sure, Mr. Finley, but that’s quite an offer for a Negro woman.”
Logan hated having to negotiate for Gracie as if she were some broodmare, but he was willing to offer whatever he needed to get Robert Whitaker to release her from her contract.
And then after, he would ask her to marry him properly. If she would have him.
She had been distant since they had left Nebraska, and he imagined she was either still upset about the tongue lashing he’d given her for th
e worry she caused him when he couldn’t find her on the boat, or she was still feeling guilty about their night together in the caboose. Either way, he didn’t like that she was withdrawing from him, and he certainly didn’t want her angry at him. He hadn’t gotten a chance to tell her that he had every intention of marrying her and making an honest woman of her, but first he needed to deal with Whitaker.
“I appreciate you fulfilling the role of escort for my betrothed when Mrs. Dobson unfortunately took ill, and it should be I who should be paying you,” Robert Whitaker continued. “Unless there was something Ms. Shaw confided to you? Something I should know about our upcoming nuptials?”
Logan shook his head. “I just want her to have the chance to choose who she will marry.”
The man raised a brow and sat back in his seat. “Why? Did something unseemly occur between you and my fiancée, Mr. Finley?”
“No.” As far as Logan was concerned, there was nothing inappropriate about their lovemaking. “But I do care for her and will ask her to marry me if she will have me.”
“Well, I can see how much you care for her,” Robert said, studying him carefully. “It’s not every day a white man offers to marry a black woman. And what you’re offering couldn’t have come at a more opportune time, but I have to say, it’s still not enough.”
Logan frowned. “I did my research, Mr. Whitaker.” Which mainly consisted of calling up his memory of the conversation he had with Mrs. Dobson and asking what kind of expenses would be required to arrange such a union. “The amount I’m offering you is more than fair.”
“Perhaps. But if you factor in the travel expenses, the new wardrobe, and the generous donation I made to the church, your offer to reimburse me for my marriage contract to Ms. Shaw falls short. Considerably short.”
Logan silently cursed. He was literally offering the man everything he had and still it wasn’t enough.
“But,” Robert added, “I’m a fair man, Mr. Finley, and you seem to be a man of integrity. I will accept your offer to annul Ms. Shaw’s contract. On one condition.”
Logan tensed. “What?”
“You sign one of your own. There was an unfortunate accident in one of the mines and we lost a few good men. And with this damn cholera outbreak making its way here, I’m losing workers faster than I can replace them. I could really use a man like you.”
“For what exactly?”
“Wherever there is a shortage,” Robert said. “You agree to work for me and I will take that as the remaining payment for Ms. Shaw’s contract.”
Logan weighed his options. Staying in Montana had not been his initial plan and he wasn’t familiar with the homesteading laws in this territory. Was he really willing to put his life on hold and place himself in this man’s servitude? Did he really want Gracie that much?
“For how long?”
“Six months of servitude is all I need to satisfy the annulment.”
Six months seemed like a long time when he was eager to start making his own fortune with lands of his own. But starting that new life didn’t seem as refreshing and exciting as it once had. Not if he made it there alone…without Gracie.
Yet he couldn’t guarantee that she would want anything to do with him once he revealed the truth of his past to her. Would she still want him when she found out his family once used to own hers?
Logan inwardly flinched at the thought, remembering the moment when he had made the connection—the moment she had touched him for the first time and eased the pain in his hand.
He knew he should have said something to her sooner—should have revealed who he was, and try to convince her as to why it no longer mattered. He wasn’t the same man he had been before the war. Things were different—he was different—and he should have explained that to her.
He should have also assured her that he was no stranger to hard work, that he had often worked alongside his slaves, and had never had to beat them into submission. But then again, maybe none of that would have made a difference to her.
Hell, if he were in her place, he wouldn’t give a shit about a landowner having to work his own land either.
But if Logan didn’t take this opportunity to free her from this commitment to Whitaker, he would never get the chance to ask Gracie to be his.
“All right, but on another condition,” Logan said, not entirely oblivious to his own negotiating power over the man’s apparent desperation. “I get three days off a week and I get to set my schedule.”
Robert was silent for a moment. “That’s quite a proposition, Mr. Finley, but I accept.”
~~~
Gracie couldn’t believe she was free from her marriage contract with Robert Whitaker.
She’d been prepared to offer whatever excuse she needed to break their contract, with a promise to repay the money he’d already spent on her. But thanks to Logan, there was no need. He had gotten her out of this contract and she was now free.
But she wasn’t. Not really.
What was it Logan wanted in return for paying her contract?
They hadn’t spoken since they had arrived in Montana. She had kept her distance, still not fully recovered from what she had learned about him. He, in turn, had given her space.
Gracie now sat on the narrow bed of her rented room above the town’s only tavern. It had been the only place she could afford after the sale of some of her expensive dresses to some of the working women at the neighboring brothel. That money, however, wouldn’t be enough for her to survive on.
Mr. Whitaker had been gracious enough to offer her lodging in his large home, and she had offered to work around his home in exchange, but he had politely declined. “I wouldn’t feel right charging you for lodging, Ms. Shaw,” he had said. “And unfortunately, I’m not in the position to pay you wages. You are, of course, welcomed to stay here as long as you need until you can make other arrangements.”
Gracie, however, hadn’t felt right about accepting his offer for free lodging. And a part of her didn’t want to depend on the man she had once been contracted to marry. It was a relief to see that Mr. Whitaker wasn’t a cruel or vindictive man. He would have probably even made a fine husband.
Just not for her.
She wasn’t the proper Christian woman she had led herself to believe. She had willingly given herself to another man who was not her husband—a man who had kept others in bondage and had killed in support of the harsh system of slavery—and she would have to live with that.
Gracie blinked away the tears she refused to shed for him. She couldn’t be sure if her heartache was due to his lies, or the fact that she still wanted him despite them.
Regardless of why, she didn’t have time to indulge in her sorrow or give him another thought. She needed to figure out what she was going to do next in this foreign town. One thing she was certain she needed and that was work.
A knock came at her door, but before she could call out to the person, the door was pushed open. With a loud gasp, Gracie jumped off the bed.
“Logan?”
“Gracie, why isn’t your door locked?” He walked into the small room and shut the door behind him. He stopped in front of her, his eyes probing. “What are you doing here? I’ve been searching all over for you. Why did you leave Whitaker’s place?”
Gracie shook her head, torn between raging at him for not being the man she had believed him to be, and cursing him for making it hard for her to hate him because of it. Had their night together in Nebraska meant anything to him, or had he taken her out of some warped sense of superiority?
“You lied to me.” She hadn’t meant to blurt out the words, but they came out and she couldn’t pull them back. It didn’t matter why. What mattered was that he hadn’t, and she had done the unthinkable…
She had fallen in love with him.
Her heart twisted at the realization, and she turned away from him, her stomach knotting. She wouldn’t deny how she felt any longer. But that didn’t mean she could forgive him or overlook the
kind of man he really was.
“I’m sorry if you think I went behind your back, Gracie. I probably should have told you about my talk with Whitaker, but I didn’t want you to worry if he turned out to be difficult about it. Luckily, he was reasonable about everything, and we finalized our deal today.”
Gracie turned to face him again, trying to control the conflicting emotions coursing through her. “Logan, I don’t care about Mr. Whitaker or the contract. I want to know why you lied to me about who you were and the fact that you were a slave owner.”
His face turned hard. “Who told you that?”
“Does it matter? It’s true, isn’t it? You owned the Flynn plantation in Maryland.”
“Yes.” The quiet admission hung between them and her heart sank further. “But I never harmed or mistreated my slaves, Gracie.”
“That’s doesn’t change anything.” Then she blurted out the question that had plagued her since they’d left Nebraska. “You knew about me before we… Why did you take my—”
“I didn’t take anything,” he bit out. “Last I recall, you wanted me as much as I wanted you. Now that it’s done, I want to make it right.” He reached for her, but she moved back. The muscles in his jaw flexed, but he didn’t grab for her again. “Damn it, Gracie, don’t look at me like that. I didn’t take advantage of you.”
“No, you didn’t, but you tricked me into falling—into believing you were an honest man.”
“I am.” He ran his hand through his hair in frustration. “Or I’m trying to be if you let me.”
“How?”
“Marry me.”
Gracie stared at him, stunned by the casual declaration. Did he think she could just forgive who he was, or what he’d done? That she could profess before God to willingly become his wife? She had already dishonored all that her family had sacrificed for her by giving herself to him. She wouldn’t do it again by legally binding herself to him.
“No.”
“Why not?”
Gracie winced at the frustration in his voice. “Because I don’t know you.”
“You didn’t know Whitaker and that didn’t stop you.”
The Brightest Day: A Juneteenth Historical Romance Anthology Page 8
