“Nell?” he whispered as he rose, clasping his hand around hers. “Please, stay. I can’t bear the thought of you being bought and paid for with as little thought for your comfort and care as a work horse at an auction.” He waited a moment before turning her and pulling her into his arms. “Let me help you.”
“I will stay, because I have nowhere else to go. And I know well enough that a woman alone would wish for a place like the Boudoir for safety. A woman alone rarely survives long without a man to protect her.” She shuddered as she tried to free herself from his embrace. When he held firm, she sighed and gave into his hold. “I refuse to marry you.”
“Then the townsfolk will believe you are my mistress,” he whispered, his warm breath against her neck causing a shiver.
She laughed. “Do you really believe I’d care?” She pushed until he released her. “And never call me Nell again. That woman doesn’t exist.” She brushed past him to walk down the hallway to her room, shutting the door with a resounding click.
He collapsed onto his chair and rubbed at his temple. The overall memories of their night together were vague at best, although he had always been filled with warring emotions when it came to Helen. Overwhelming tenderness battled with unremitting guilt, and he groaned as he was unable to remember much about those few days with clarity. He sighed. Except for their lovemaking. Those moments were as clear as crystal in his mind. After many minutes, he rose to find his bed, although he knew sleep would elude him.
Chapter 2
The next morning Warren sat at his desk in his law office. He had not seen Helen yet today, and he had left her a note on the kitchen table, along with coffee she could warm on the stove. He stared at a contract he needed to review for a client who planned to visit later in the day but was unable to focus. When he reread the same paragraph for the fifth time, he sighed and leaned away from his desk.
His gaze veered to his office door when it burst open. As he bit back a groan, he rose. “Mrs. Jameson. Always a pleasure to see you.”
“You would dare speak to me in such a manner? After you’ve defiled my daughter and made her the talk of this town?” Helen’s mother slammed the door shut behind her, rattling the glass.
“I fear you’ve been misinformed.” He bit back a smile as he knew she vied with Tobias Sutton, the owner of the original General Store—otherwise known as the Merc—for the role of town gossip. “I saved your daughter last night.”
“You brought her from one den of iniquity to another!” she screeched. “I know what you bachelor men are like. You think that, since you are unmarried, your distasteful ways can be overlooked. I refuse to allow you to abuse my daughter.”
He coughed in an attempt to stifle a chuckle. “I fear you have an overactive imagination, Mrs. Jameson. I live a quiet life. And I would never abuse Helen.”
Mrs. Jameson rested a hand on her hip and smirked at him. “I can’t believe you think I’m that naive.”
He sighed. “Think what you will, Mrs. Jameson. I’ve only ever had your daughter’s best interests at heart.”
She leaned over his desk. “If that’s the case, you would have married her years ago. You wouldn’t have made her live through the farce of being rejected by all three MacKinnon brothers.” She took a deep breath. “But then I always knew you thought you were too good for the likes of Helen. She’s too chubby, stupid and meek for a man of consequence, like the town’s lawyer.”
In an instant his mild annoyance transformed into genuine ire. “I’d thank you to never speak about her in such a way again. I don’t care if you are her mother. No one has the right to abuse her in such a manner.”
Mrs. Jameson rolled her eyes. “Helen must learn to accept the truth. You coddling her won’t help.” Mrs. Jameson smiled as she met Warren’s angry gaze. “I won’t take her back. Not now that I’m finally rid of the caring of her. She’s my greatest disappointment.”
“I’d think that would be your son, Walter,” Warren snapped. He saw Mrs. Jameson flinch and a satisfied smile spread. “Or your husband, Vincent. It’s a pity you are unable to see the good fortune you have in your remarkable daughter. Instead you continue to focus all your attention on the worthless men in your family.”
“When I want your opinion, I will ask for it,” she rasped.
He nodded. “I hope such courtesy is extended to me.” They shared an intense glare, only interrupted by the arrival of Cailean MacKinnon. Mrs. Jameson spun and stormed out of Warren’s office, nearly barreling into Cailean, who had to veer to the side to miss being crashed into.
Cailean raised his eyebrows and then frowned when Warren failed to smile. “What was that all about?”
Warren waved to the vacant chair across from him before sitting. His swivel chair creaked with his movements, and he shook his head. “That tornado was a harbinger of ill will.”
“I’ve never known her to bring goodwill. The woman thrives on strife and mischief.” Cailean watched as his close friend seemed to become more despondent with each passing moment. “What happened last night? All I got out of Ewan when he dropped by the livery was that you’d paid a fortune for Helen.”
Warren rose and motioned for Cailean to follow him. He locked the door to his public office and walked through a small side hallway that led outside. He locked the back door and walked the short distance to his nearby home. After glancing around and ascertaining that Helen was nowhere to be seen, he led Cailean into his private office toward the back of the house. “The town can survive without a lawyer for a few hours.”
“They survived for days when you aided Alistair last summer,” Cailean muttered. “What’s the matter, Warren? I’ve never seen you this out of sorts.” He paused as though recalling a distant memory. “Except for that time when you learned of your father’s death.”
Warren settled into his chair and exchanged a long look with his friend. “Does your astuteness ever annoy Annabelle?” Cailean shrugged, and Warren rested his palms on his stomach. “That’s when it all began. That’s when Helen began to hate me.”
“Why?” Cailean whispered.
“Do you remember how much I drank after I received the news?” Warren asked with a raised eyebrow.
“So much that even the doc and that fancy cousin of yours who arrived at the same time as that telegram were worried you’d drink yourself to death,” Cailean muttered. “I’d never seen a man drink like you did. Which is saying something as I was on good terms with drink back then.”
Warren grunted. “You weren’t the only one to try to stop my foolishness. Helen did too. We were friends then.”
Cailean waited many moments as Warren seemed lost in thought. “And now you are more than friends?”
Warren chuckled. “Now she hates me, but I saved her from the Boudoir and possibly worse. Now she is content to be seen as my mistress, if not my wife.”
Cailean gaped at his friend and made a face as though attempting to whistle. However, he was so shocked, he couldn’t obtain enough air to blow through his lips to make such a sound. “How … You can’t … I thought …” He paused a moment. “Even with her attempts to harm my brothers’ relationships, we couldn’t countenance you dishonoring her in such a way.”
Another mirthless chuckle emerged. “I wish to marry her. She refuses. Thus, whether it’s true or not, the townsfolk will consider her my mistress. Merely because she lives here without a chaperone.” He glared at his friend. “And if you suggest she move in with you to protect her honor, we will come to blows.”
Frowning over his friend’s last words, Cailean said, “I don’t understand. I’d think you’d want her to move to a place where she’d recover her standing in town.”
“I know it makes no sense, but, if she leaves now, I have little hope that she’ll ever return.”
Cailean silenced his argument when he heard the agony in his friend’s voice. “Oh, ’tis like that then.” His Scottish accent thickened with his emotions. “Ye want her. Ye most likely love her, and ye’re afraid ye�
�ll never get the chance again.”
“God save me from married friends,” Warren muttered but did not deny what Cailean said.
“You know we’ll help you any way we can, Warren.” Cailean sighed as he shook his head. “I hope you aren’t making the mistake of your life.”
Warren looked at his friend. “I’ve already done that. Now I have to repair our relationship to heal the hurts of the past.”
Helen poked her head into the living space. She sighed, and her shoulders stooped with relief to find it empty. After hiding in her room for the majority of the morning, she was starving. The small kitchen was to the side of the parlor and filled with light. The stove was lit, and she added wood, heating the room rapidly.
She found Warren’s note, informing her of food in the warming oven and coffee on the stove. No mention was made of when he would be home and if he expected her to prepare a meal. She pulled out a plate of eggs and sausage from the oven, and found a day-old biscuit. She sat with another sigh and began to eat.
Helen ignored a rapping on the back door and continued to eat her late breakfast. She frowned when the door opened, and then her mother entered. She met her mother’s fierce glare.
“Of course I’d find you in the kitchen, eating. That’s all you seem to be good at.” Her mother glared at her daughter. A triumphant smile spread as Helen flushed and dropped her fork.
“Why are you here, Mother?” Helen swiped her hands on a cloth napkin and then hid them under the table.
“When my daughter makes a mockery of me, taking refuge at the one place in town that should be burned to the ground, rather than remaining in my house, do you imagine I will stay quiet?” Mrs. Jameson’s cold, low words were worse than any of her shrieks. “Did you believe I’d send Walter to save you from the brothel? Did you think I valued you that much?”
Helen blinked away tears as she met her mother’s scorn. “Of course not. I knew you were serious when you advised me that I was no longer welcome in your home. That I was a parasite you no longer wished to feed. That I was your life’s greatest disappointment.”
Her mother nodded. “And you are. You always will be.” She looked around the small space. “I thought the rich lawyer could do better than these small rooms. But then he had the money to buy you, so he must not be so badly off.” Her gaze became calculating. “Perhaps you aren’t such a disappointment after all.”
Helen froze. “He’s nothing to me. Nothing to you.” She failed to hide a tremor at her mother’s laugh.
“He’ll be your husband. He’s too honorable to have you remain here unwed for long. And after what it’s rumored he paid for you, he’ll be eager to bed you.” She ran an assessing gaze over her daughter. “Although I can’t imagine why.”
“I think you should leave,” Helen whispered, her voice thickened with tears and years’ worth of pent-up frustration.
“When you wed, I expect to be given my due consideration as your mother. I’m owed that.”
“I owe you nothing,” Helen snapped and then gasped as her head jerked to the side from her mother’s forceful slap.
“You owe me everything. And don’t you ever forget it.” Her mother left and slammed the door behind her.
Helen held a hand to her cheek as she allowed the tears to fall. She ignored her breakfast and rose, stumbling before she caught her balance, to return to her room.
Annabelle stood in her bakery kitchen and arched her back. Leena Ericson cast her partner a worried glance, nudging a stool in her direction as she rolled out pastry. After a glare at the stool, Annabelle sat on it with a grateful groan. She heard Leticia chatting with a customer, her soft voice lilting and full of quiet joy.
Leena had recently begun working with Annabelle at the bakery. The townsfolk were accustoming themselves to Leena and her baking, which pleased Annabelle as Leena would be the sole baker for at least a month after Annabelle’s baby was born. Leena was engaged to marry Karl Johansen but currently lived on the outskirts of town with her brother, Nathanial, who co-owned and operated the only sawmill in the area with his best friend, Karl.
A clatter at the sink caused Annabelle to jump, and she frowned at her sister. “Fidelia, what’s the matter?” she asked as she rubbed at her belly and then her back.
Fidelia stood with her arms elbow deep in dishwater as she scrubbed pans and baking instruments. Her chestnut brown hair was pulled back in a tight knot, and the demure dress covered her generous curves. “I see no reason why I should be here.”
Annabelle took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of her nose. “We’ve had this argument before, Dee. You aren’t going to while away your days hidden at the house. You can help me, and I appreciate the help.”
“If I had realized I’d be no better than an unpaid servant when I was forced from the Boudoir …” Fidelia muttered.
Annabelle pushed herself off the stool and approached her sister. She kept her back to Leena and her voice low to keep their conversation private. “You have been given another chance. I had hoped you wouldn’t squander it.”
Fidelia glared at her. “I hate that you believe I should be indebted to you.”
Annabelle reared back as though her sister had struck her. “I don’t. For it’s not to me you are indebted. It’s to Ewan. He won you in that card game and had the decency to see you as your own person. He never saw you as a possession, unlike many in this town.”
The elder sister flushed and looked into the sink. “I don’t know what you want of me, Anna.”
Annabelle stroked a hand over Fidelia’s shoulders, pausing when Fidelia froze. “I hope that you’ll come to see yourself as part of the family.” She stepped away as Leticia entered the back room from the storefront. “How are things today, Lettie?”
Leticia swiped at a loose tendril of blond hair, tucking it behind her ear, and began to arrange on a tray the small apple cakes Leena had just frosted. “Steady, although this is our customary midmorning lull. They’ll be back soon enough.” She swiped her fingers, sticky with the sugar glaze, on her apron and studied Fidelia. After a moment, Leticia asked, “Fidelia, why didn’t you tell any of us about the auction?”
Fidelia turned, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. “I did. I told Alistair.” She watched as Annabelle and Leticia shared a glance and then glared at her. “When we discussed it earlier this month, Alistair said he would be the brother to speak with Warren of such an occurrence if it came to pass. Thus, when I learned it was to happen, I thought he should know.”
Annabelle nodded. “I remember talking about it after Ewan and Jessamine married.” Her cheeks flushed as she battled frustration. “Don’t you think we’d want to know too?”
Fidelia shrugged and turned back to the sink as Sorcha burst into the back room. She was the youngest MacKinnon, with a talent for spinning wool and sewing and the only unmarried MacKinnon in Bear Grass Springs. “Have ye heard?” she gasped, her red-brown hair in a loose knot and her blue eyes lit with incredulity. “Have ye heard about Helen?” She stomped her foot in frustration when her family looked at her, nonplussed. “The first real news in months an’ ye already ken it!”
“Fidelia warned Alistair who warned Warren,” Annabelle said, with a flick of her wrist in her sister’s direction. “We learned all about it last night from Irene. She would have enjoyed welcoming you for supper.”
Sorcha waved away her sister-in-law’s subtle criticism. “I was busy knittin’ and spinnin’ yarn.”
Annabelle watched as Leena worked expertly in the kitchen, for once content to be a spectator. Turning back to Sorcha, Annabelle asked, “Will you have enough yarn for the remodel?” Annabelle smiled as Sorcha seemed to vibrate with excitement.
“Aye, I’ll have plenty. An’ plenty stored up for when ye sell out.” She glared at Fidelia as she snorted at the sink. “I ken I make a good product, and plenty will be willin’ to pay for it.”
Annabelle sent a calculating look at her sister. “Yes, I know you do. Just as Fidelia’s
fine needlework won her accolades. I’ll be delighted to sell both here at the store.” She watched as her sister stilled, her hands dunked in the soapy water and yet unmoving.
Fidelia looked over her shoulder and stared at her sister, her blue eyes lit with a mixture of fear and hope. “You want to sell my needlework?”
Annabelle’s eyes gleamed with pride and promise as she met her sister’s gaze. “Yes. I know you won’t have as much to sell in the beginning because you won’t have a stockpile like Sorcha, but that will only make what you do offer more valuable in its scarcity.”
Leticia laughed, breaking the emotional tension in the room. “Soon you will have to expand, Annabelle. Between the baking of two such talented women as yourself and Leena, plus the sewing skills of Fidelia and Sorcha, there won’t be room for all that is to be sold here.” She tilted her head to the space on the other side of Annabelle’s small room that she used as an office. “I’ve heard a new tenant will be sought soon for next door. Perhaps you should look into obtaining that lease as well. That way, the bakery would be larger, and all the embroidery, knitting and wool would be showcased.”
“I’m not sure I’m in a place to expand yet,” Annabelle said as she flashed a grateful smile in Leticia’s direction. “However, if all continues to go well after the baby’s birth, it would be something to consider.” Annabelle watched as Fidelia focused on the dishes again. After a moment Annabelle rose to prepare a cake for the hotel.
That evening Warren sat in his home office, reading letters from friends and family in the East. He fought an instinctual stiffening when the door opened. “Hello, Helen. How was your day?” He frowned when she stood in the shadows. “You are as welcome in my private office as in any other part of my house. Come in.” He rose, holding his hand out to her.
She shook her head, remaining in the doorway and in the shadows. “I … Pardon me for interrupting.” She cleared her throat as he remained silent, waiting for her to speak. “I wanted to know what you expected of me.”
Montana Renegade Page 3
