He walked to the window and stared out. It bothered him that he was glad Mark hadn’t arrived. He shouldn’t feel that way toward his own flesh and blood, but he and Mark had never been close. When they were young, he’d tried to develop a relationship with him, but Mark saw everything as a game—or competition. Their mother had no qualms about spoiling her younger son and showing he was her favorite. That hadn’t bothered Baron too much since his father favored him, but it seemed to have affected his brother in negative ways.
Mark saw every pretty woman as a challenge—something to be conquered. It was a wonder he ever married Abigail, but that was probably because their father threatened to cut him from his will if he refused. His father was tired of Mark’s gallivanting and besmirching the Hillborne name. Life would have been far better for his sister-in-law if he had refused—and maybe Jo, too. But there was a part of him that was glad Mark had no claim to her. He gritted his teeth at his train of thought. He needed to stay focused where Jo was concerned. She was the mother of his nephew. That was all.
He might be attracted to Jo, and he liked her, but he couldn’t—wouldn’t—lose his heart to a woman his brother had been involved with. Mark would never let him live that down. He’d always be rubbing it in his face and reminding him that he was playing second fiddle to him.
There was another train due today, but he wasn’t going to close the store again and risk losing business. If Mark was on it, he knew where the store was located and could come on his own.
He sure wished he knew if Mark was coming or not. Jo couldn’t return to the store until they knew for certain. He straightened several cans of beans then turned another can so that the label was facing forward, like his father taught him. Then he continued to the other vegetables.
Jo needed money, but she’d never stated what it was for. He suspected that she wanted to get a place of her own, maybe a small cottage in town or a room at the boardinghouse. He could hardly blame her. His permanent home had always been the Hillborne estate, but he thoroughly enjoyed times when he was working in another town and had his own place like the house Mark had built. The only thing he didn’t like about it was the cooking and cleaning, but he was too neat to let things go for long.
The door rattled. He forced a smile on his face and spun to greet his customer. His smile drooped, and he blinked his eyes to make sure of what he was seeing. “Mother? Father? What are you doing here?”
His mother’s lips quivered, and she rushed to him, falling into his arms. “Oh, Baron.”
Patting her back, he looked to his father for an explanation and noticed the lines of tension creasing his face. “Your brother is dead.”
His mother’s sobs filled the store. He didn’t know what to do other than continue to hold and pat her. He nodded toward the door. “Would you mind locking the door and flipping the sign to CLOSED? You might even draw the shade to give us some privacy.”
His father did as requested then joined them. “Maureen, get ahold of yourself.”
His mother suddenly pushed away. “How can you say that? My baby is dead!”
“Mark hasn’t been a baby for many years.”
“That hardly matters. Why aren’t you more upset?” She dabbed her nose with her lace handkerchief.
“Hysterics accomplish nothing.” His father looked at him, his expression stern.
Baron knew his father would grieve over Mark in his own way, but he wouldn’t miss all the problems his son created. “I suggest we go to the house. It’s just behind the store. You’ll be more comfortable there.”
“I told the porter to bring our luggage here.”
“If the store isn’t open, he’ll know to come to the house. I imagine you’re tired from your travels.” And the stress of losing their son, but he left that unsaid.
“I’m exhausted, but I could use a cup of tea.”
Baron strode to a shelf and snatched three boxes of tea he thought his mother would like. “Follow me, and we’ll get you situated.”
As they crossed the short distance from store to house, Baron searched his mind, trying to remember how clean—or not—the house was. But they were already on the porch, so it hardly mattered now. He opened the door, allowed his parents to enter first, and then followed and shut the door.
“This is nicer than I expected, although it could stand a good scrubbing.” His mother walked into the parlor and gazed at the furnishings.
Baron hadn’t considered before that Jo more than likely had a hand in picking them out, if not doing it solely herself. The thought warmed him and made him appreciate everything in a new way.
“There’s one bedroom downstairs, which you and Father can have. I’ll need to change the bedding and, um … tidy up a bit.”
“Don’t you have a housekeeper for that?” His father removed his hat, revealing his thick white hair. At one time, his hair had been blond, like Mark’s, but not anymore. His mother’s hair was still brunette, with becoming silver highlights. She was still a pretty woman, although she’d gained weight in the past few years.
“I haven’t lived here long enough to hire one. I mean, I guess I could have, but I didn’t feel I needed one. I’m not here much, and I often take my meals at the town’s small café. The food is quite delicious and reasonably priced.”
“Maybe you should consider it.” His father’s tone left no room for argument.
“Have a seat, and I’ll stoke up the stove and set the water on to boil.” He showed his mother the boxes of tea he’d taken from the store, and she selected one.
Once he’d seen to the task, he sat in a wingback chair near the sofa. He could hardly believe his brother was gone. “So, tell me what happened to Mark.”
His mother sniffed and lifted her handkerchief to her nose. She shook her head. His father pursed his lips and stared out the window for a moment, as if gathering strength to talk about it. Baron wondered why he didn’t feel more upset. His little brother was dead. Yes, he’d been a burr under his saddle most of his life, but he was still his kin. And Mark had died not knowing God unless he’d become a Christian since Baron last saw him. As much as he wished that were true, he doubted Mark would have yielded his life to God.
His father blew out a loud sigh. “Your brother got involved with a married woman, and her husband didn’t take kindly to the idea. He went after Mark and gunned him down at the train depot.” His chin trembled, but he stiffened it. “Word was sent to us, but he was dead before I arrived.”
His mother moaned and leaned her head on his father’s arm. “Oh … my poor son.”
“Shh … Maureen.” He shifted his shoulder, and she sat up. “If he hadn’t been consorting with a married woman, he’d still be alive. I should have trained him better.” He jumped up and strode to the window, hands on his hips.
“It’s a sad day. Where is Abigail?” Baron wanted to comfort his mother, but he knew his father wouldn’t like him coddling her. Still, he reached over and patted her hand.
She smiled and moved hers to squeeze his. He straightened before his father turned around. Wilfred Marquis Hillborne II was a hard businessman and had little place for excuses or compassion. He’d ruled the roost of the Hillborne home with an iron fist, or so he thought.
“Abigail has returned to her parents’ home. I doubt she will return to ours, now that—” His mother’s voice broke, and she dabbed her eyes with her lacy handkerchief.
Baron’s heart ached for her. He had learned the mercantile business well, but it was his mother who illustrated the softer side of life. Where his father was organized and strict, his mother was frivolous and carefree, most of the time.
“Our family name is ruined.” She shook her head. “Whatever will we do?”
His father spun around. “No, it is not, and I won’t have you thinking it is. Mark isn’t the first young man to get caught cavorting with a married woman. Give it a little time and things will quiet down. It won’t be long before something else takes its place in the news.”
“But what about the funeral?” she asked.
“There won’t be one.”
His mother gasped. “You can’t be serious, Marq.”
“I am. I gave the mortician permission to go ahead and bury Mark in the family plot. When we return, we’ll have our own private time to remember him.”
Baron rose and went into the kitchen to check on the water. Hearing his mother call his father Marq always bothered him. For some reason, still unknown to him, she’d talked her husband out of naming him, their only son at the time, after his father. Most of the time he never thought about it, but obviously it still bothered him. He should have been the one to carry on his father’s name, not the younger son. Instead, he bore the name of European nobility—the lowest degree of royalty, at that. Ah well, there was no sense dwelling on that touchy topic.
Pushing aside his troubling thoughts, he prepared the tea, added some cookies to a plate, and set it on a tray, which he carried to the parlor. The silence and his parents’ stiff posture indicated they weren’t talking to one another.
Baron thought of Mark. He should have done more to try to reach him—to get him to see the error of his ways. He should have hauled Mark to church when he started going, even though his brother didn’t want to attend. If only he and Mark had been closer.
His father laid his head back, staring up at the ceiling. The man hurt on the inside and rarely showed any emotion, but Baron didn’t doubt his pain. Though Father was often strict and grumpy, Baron never doubted his love, unlike Mark.
He handed a saucer and cup to each parent then took his seat again. “How long do you plan to stay in Guthrie?”
His mother waved her hankie in front of her face. “Until the scandal dies down, of course.”
Baron’s heart bucked. If they stayed, how could Jo work? He couldn’t very well go out to visit and leave his parents alone on Sunday. How long would it be before he could see her and Jamie again?
And how was he going to keep them a secret from his parents?
Chapter 16
Jo hung a diaper on the line and stared at the hill she crossed each day she went to town. “Why hasn’t Baron sent me word? I’m dying to know whether Mark showed up or not.”
Lara removed the wooden pins from her mouth. “I imagine, if Mark did arrive, it would be hard for Baron to get away for any length of time.”
Jo grabbed another clean diaper and sighed. “I suppose that does make sense. Still, he should be able to send me a note.”
“Be patient. You know he will when he can.”
“If only it didn’t rain so much on Sunday and Gabe had been able to go to church. He could have talked with Baron there.”
“Well, it did, so there’s no point in moaning about it.” Lara pinned a pair of socks to the line.
“You don’t suppose Gabe could spare Luke long enough for him to ride into town and find out, do you?”
Lara stepped out from behind the diapers on the line and lifted one brow. “I doubt it.”
“Well, it was worth a try.”
Lara chuckled. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from you.”
The teasing tone of her sister’s voice took the sting from her comment. “I’ve been thinking, now that the ground has dried, I might ride to town and see if I can find out anything.”
Lara pinned another diaper to the line. “Only if you want to run the risk of Mark seeing you. He’s not likely to stay in the store, you know. What if he saw you riding down the street?”
“I hadn’t thought of that, but this waiting is driving me loco. And I need to be working.”
“Can I ask you why? You must have a good reason that you need the money since you’re willing to be gone from Jamie for so long.”
Because horrible men are after me. Because a man probably wants to kill me. What could she say to pacify her sister? “We can’t stay here forever, you know.”
“It’s fine with me if you do.”
Lara had always been generous and kind. “I know, but one day you’ll need the room, and I’m sure Gabe doesn’t appreciate having three extra mouths to feed.”
“Gabe doesn’t care as long as I’m happy, and having you and Sarah and Jamie here makes me ecstatic. Grandpa has even been livelier since you arrived.”
“You’re too kind. One of these days someone is going to take advantage of your generosity.”
“God has been good to Gabe and me and blessed us so much. How can I not share all that I have?”
“Just be careful. There are people who love preying on others.”
Lara frowned. “You speak like you know what you’re talking about. Has someone done something to you?”
Jo huffed a sarcastic laugh. “Look at what Mark did. Isn’t that enough?” And if not, there was always Badger—or rather, Pete Worley, as he’d called himself when she first met him. Once again, she’d been charmed by a snake of a man and poisoned by his bite—a poison that had touched every part of her life except for Jamie. Jamie was the one unblemished thing in her life.
She needed to change the subject before she confessed her horrible past to her sister. “Sarah seems to be doing well in her studies.”
Lara lifted one eyebrow again, as if indicating she knew Jo had changed the subject. “Yes, she’s a delight and such a smart girl. She’s so sharp. I’m surprised she hasn’t taught herself to read before now. She’s almost caught up with Michael.”
“She sure likes to learn. Back at the bord—boardinghouse she was always quiet.” Sweat trickled down Jo’s temple. She’d almost said bordello. “That’s the last of the diapers. I’m going to empty the wash water.”
With the laundry basket on her hip, she scurried toward the house. She had to be more careful. Lara might not throw a stink if she learned where Jo had been, though she’d certainly be disappointed, but Gabe would probably toss her out of the house. But then, he’d once been a gambler, so maybe he’d be more understanding than she thought.
“Well, howdy, Punkin.”
Jo glanced up to see Grandpa sitting on the back porch. She smiled and waved. He’d aged a lot in the years she’d been gone, but she was glad he was still living. He pretty much raised her, at least until Lara was old enough to take over the task. Why had she resented them so much? The reasons had faded away so that she could barely remember.
She set the basket by the door and took the rocker next to Grandpa. “What are you whittling?”
“I thought I’d make your little Jamie a set of animals like Gabe and I made for Lara’s boy.”
“That’s so sweet of you, but he can play with Michael’s. You don’t have to make a whole new set.”
He shrugged and kept on working. “I don’t expect that you’ll stick around here forever.”
She tried not to squirm. Had he overheard her talk with Lara the other day? “What makes you say that?”
“You may have been gone a long while, but I know you.” He flashed an ornery grin. “You won’t be content to stay here at Lara’s place for too long. I reckon you still have itchy feet.”
He knew her better than she’d thought. “If things were different, I might stay, at least for a while.”
“What things?”
She’d done it again—said more than she meant to. “I have Jamie now and Sarah. They deserve their own home.”
“It’ll be mighty hard to raise two young’uns while working enough hours to make the money you’ll need. Where’s that husband of yours?”
“Jo! Jamie needs you.” Sarah’s call from an upstairs window as well as Jamie’s sudden wails were exactly the excuses she needed.
Jo jumped up. “Sorry, Grandpa. Gotta run.”
“Don’t think I don’t know you’re runnin’ away again,” he mumbled as she hurried into the house.
Later that afternoon, Baron walked his father around the store, explaining the changes he’d made.
Marq nodded. “I like what you’ve done here. You seem to be focused on the specific needs o
f this town, which will result in more sales.”
“That and the fact that we can offer items at a lower price on most things, since you buy so many at one time to supply all of our stores.”
“So, are you turning a big enough profit that we should consider keeping the place? Or should we sell it?”
Baron’s thoughts instantly shot to Jo. She needed the work, and he wasn’t ready to cut his ties with her and Jamie. But he could hardly tell his father that. “We’re doing well enough. It was a slow start, but people are realizing our prices are better than other general stores and are venturing in and buying more.”
“Good.” His father stroked his chin. “The front of the building could do with a fresh coat of paint.”
“I know, but I’ve been concentrating on getting the inside straightened and restocked. I’ve been planning on painting the facade one evening, but I seem to always be working late on something else.”
“Hire someone to do that work. You don’t have to do it all, son.”
Baron stared at his father. The man had changed. Six months ago, he would have told him to paint it himself in order to make sure it was done right and to save money. Had Mark’s sudden death been the catalyst that caused the change, or was it just age and growing wisdom?
Footsteps echoed on the boardwalk.
“I think I’ll go check on your mother. She’s taking your brother’s death hard.”
Baron patted his father’s shoulder. “It wouldn’t hurt you to rest a bit, too. You’ve worked hard your whole life. Take time to grieve the loss of your son.”
His father’s gaze jerked to his, and after a moment, he nodded. “You’re getting wise in your old age. Now, if only you could settle down and find a wife.”
Baron turned away, his lips tight. That was the father he knew. The one always poking and prodding for more, although the topic of a wife usually came up when he talked with his mother.
The bell rang, and a tall man dressed in a blue plaid shirt and what Baron thought were probably black pants strode in. He pushed a slouch hat that Baron recognized as a model from several years ago off his forehead and squinted as his eyes adjusted to the dimmer lighting inside.
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