by Reina Torres
“Dear Lord in Heaven, Brigid?”
Before she could answer, Carolina had her in a tight embrace.
Meeting Quinn’s bemused expression over her friend’s shoulder, Brigid manage to speak. “Now I’m glad you didn’t let me carry the other eggs, they’d be scrambled by now.”
Carolina pulled back and looked from one to the other. “You found her!”
“Rather,” Brigid tried to explain, “I found Quinn. It seems I have no future as a mountain woman. I was hopelessly lost and tumbled down into his yard, completely upheaving his life.”
Miles hadn’t quite recovered from the shock, staring at Brigid as if he wasn’t sure it was really her standing before him. “We thought with the storm and all the rain,” he began, “that we’d lost you for good.”
Brigid reached out a hand and squeezed his arm. “I was hoping you wouldn’t worry.”
“Wouldn’t worry?” Carolina’s face was starting to regain its color. “You went out to look for work and never came back.”
Miles added on to his wife’s explanation. “Every day we’ve gone out to search.”
Brigid swayed on her feet. “I’m so sorry.”
She felt a warm hand on her back. “They know, Birdie. They were just worried.”
“Of course,” Carolina pulled Brigid in for another embrace. “We’re just so relieved that you’re alive!” A moment later she turned to Quinn. “How lucky that you found each other!” She moved closer to him and stopped short. “You brought all of those for us?”
Quinn handed off the smaller stack of eggs to Miles. “Mostly, I still have some for the Clements, but we should get Brigid inside. She’s been walking since just after dawn.”
“Excuse me, Mrs. Hampton. It appears you’re out of ham.” Appleton appeared in the doorway and stared, an empty platter dangling from his fingers.
He may not have paid much attention on the street a few minutes before, but now he seemed to have no trouble seeing beyond the masculine cut of her clothing.
Perhaps it was the braid that now hung over her shoulder, or the flush that had colored her cheeks like they had a few days ago, but Appleton Winslet’s eyes were wide open when he fairly shouted. “Good God, Miss Belham, have you been with him all this time?”
She couldn’t seem to meet anyone’s eyes except for Appleton’s, and when she’d opened her mouth to speak, the only thing on her mind was the truth. Lying would have been made a mockery of the truth. “Yes.”
And there it was, the end of her chances of making Bower her home.
Chapter 10
“Yes?” Appleton said the word once, twice, but by the third time, he’d fairly shouted it into the street, and people noticed. “What were you doing with him?”
Brigid swallowed her pride and answered. She was, she knew, responsible for the mess that she was in. All that was left was to try to protect those that had protected her.
“The creek swelled from the storm, so I waited until it was safe enough to cross. I helped collect the eggs and drawing the water-”
“And this?” He leaned forward and plucked at her coat sleeve. “What happened to your clothes?”
She felt her cheeks color. “I fell in the mud, down a hill. The fabric was fine, but not very durable.” She hoped that was enough of an answer, even though she knew it wasn’t.
“And where did you get those things that you’re wearing?”
“Mr. Winslet,” Carolina had stepped in close to her side, “you will lower your voice.”
“Me?” He turned toward her, ire in his eyes. “I’m not the one who spent several days alone with her.”
Brigid winced. The gathering crowd on the street may not have heard his words, but it was only too easy to see a pointed finger and an angry face. That was enough for some. For most.
“Quinn was a perfect gentleman.” She hoped that everyone heard the conviction in her voice. “He gave me clothing to wear and boots that he made for his sister. If he hadn’t taken me in, I wouldn’t have survived.”
The cold look on Appleton’s face made her think that he might have preferred another outcome.
“I brought you here,” his voice fairly crackled with anger, “I didn’t expect you to act like a-”
“Birdie,” Quinn stepped in front of her, his fingers lifting her chin just enough for her to look at him. “Birdie, please, go inside and let Carolina take care of you.”
She didn’t want to leave, but Carolina had an iron grip on her arm and tugged her in through the front door. Brigid met Miles’s gaze and she saw him nod with an encouraging smile.
Quinn breathed a sigh of relief when Carolina took Birdie inside. She hid it well, but he felt like every cruel look on Appleton’s face and the cold stab of every word was like a physical blow to his heart and hers as well. He took a step forward and saw Appleton’s eyes widen slightly in fear.
Miles reached out as if to stop him.
“I won’t hurt him, she wouldn’t want me to.” Miles heard the message directed at him and stopped moving, but he didn’t step back. “Mr. Winslet, you will watch how you speak in front of ladies. Miss Brigid Belham is the finest woman I’ve ever known, and if I hear that you’ve said anything to the contrary, then I will have no other option than to force you to take back every word.”
“And how will you do that, Livingstone? What would you do to me?” His voice was full of bluster, tension pinching at the corners of his eyes.
“You push people around because you think you’re so much better than they are, but I’ve made my home out in the woods. Out there, I depend on my own two hands and my labor to survive. You couldn’t do the same. You don’t have the spirit of a survivor.”
“And you do? What about Brigid?”
“Don’t you say her name!” Quinn bristled at the sound of her beautiful name on this man’s cold lips. “Don’t talk about her, unless you show her the respect she deserves. Anything less, and that will be a reflection on you, not her. Remember that.”
“Regardless of what I say or don’t, do you think she can remain in Bower? She disappears for days and returns wearing a man’s clothing, and calling him by such a familiar address. How could you think it would matter what I have to say? Anyone would look at what was plain before their eyes and come to their own conclusions. A real lady wouldn’t act that way. You should think about your own reputation, sir. What will people think about your actions?
“I’m proud of my work, not my position in the community.”
“You think you have all the answers, don’t you?”
Quinn met his gaze evenly. “Not all the answers, no, but I have a conscience and I know that you should be thankful that she found her way to me. Alone in the woods, she would have died.” He swallowed through the sudden pain that pounded through his chest. “The woods are a dangerous place, and the creek was deep enough and fast enough to kill anyone unfortunate enough to fall in. I wonder,” he struggled to keep his hands at his side and his temper in check, “at the kind of man who would rather see a woman dead just to preserve her place in society.”
“I’m not alone, you know.” Appleton’s chest puffed out and his chin lifted. “No one will be able to see her as anything more than she is.”
Quinn took another step forward. “I warned you. Hold your tongue about Brigid. You don’t deserve to talk about her, now or ever.”
For a moment, he thought that Appleton would argue. Instead, the man held up his hands in a gesture of surrender.
Quinn wondered if he could be trusted to do the right thing? That remained to be seen, but Quinn felt that he’d said his peace. He’d done what he could for the moment. Staying any longer would only add fuel to the fire, especially for all of the people who had gathered to watch the spectacle.
Turning to Miles, he moved closer and shook the other man’s hand with a strong grip. “I know that you’ll treat her well,” he explained. “I know that you’ll believe me when I say she is, and always will be, a perfect ex
ample of a lady. No one has more heart and strength than she does.”
Miles met his eyes with a careful gaze. “We know.”
Taking the pack from his back, Quinn set it down. “I’ll leave this with you. If you take the bottom two trays to the Clements, I would be grateful for your help.” He felt the words scrape from his throat. He just couldn’t stay any longer than he already had.
At Miles’s nod, Quinn took his leave.
It took every ounce of restraint in him to turn and walk away. Every step took a concentrated effort, one foot in front of the other, to keep him moving and not rushing back to knock that disapproving look from the lawyer’s face.
He couldn’t, no matter how much he wanted to. He’d already put Brigid into such a dangerous position. Folks in Bower liked to say how friendly they were, but when it came right down to it, they judged folks here like they did everywhere else.
Brigid had only stayed with him because the creek had risen, too dangerous to cross. What would the people have preferred that she do instead of waiting until it was safe? Would they rather she tried to cross and drown in the attempt, especially with that ridiculous corset and odd-looking cage that she’d worn under her skirt? She would have been dragged under and drowned.
Just the thought of her vibrant face, pale and cold, had his hands fisting at his sides and the urge to turn around and set the man straight was nearly impossible to ignore. And yet, Quinn had more to consider than his need to see the stuffed-shirt laying in the dirt and bleeding from his nose. He had to worry about Brigid’s chance to make Bower her home. Even if she couldn’t be his, he wanted her to have a real home and a community that accepted her.
Having him leave a respected member of the community crying in the dirt, would be an outright disaster.
So he just kept moving. One foot forward after another, knowing that the reason he was leaving her behind was more important to him than making himself happy.
She watched him walk away from the parlor window of Hampton House. She knew the Hamptons were waiting to speak to her, but they proved themselves truly generous and understanding people when they had shown her to the parlor and given her some time.
Brigid saw Quinn’s stilted gait and knew he was upset and fighting it. She recognized it from her first day with him, and the memory brought tears.
Tears.
She hadn't cried when Appleton had torn into her at the gate.
She hadn't cried when he'd told her she was ruined.
But, the thought of her time with Quinn had reduced her to tears. Not because the memory itself brought her pain. It wasn't because of Quinn’s once prickly temper. Her tears came from sudden and gut-twisting emptiness she felt inside.
Leaning against the wall beside the window, she watched as his long, post-stiff legs, marched him out of sight.
And then, and only then, did her knees give out, dropping her down onto the settee.
She wanted to throw open the window and call out to him, not to come back, but to wait. Wait for her.
“Brigid, dear.”
She felt Carolina’s hand on her arm and started with the sudden physical contact.
“Oh, goodness,” her words rushed through her lips. “I'm so sorry,” she breathed and tried to stand, “my clothes… the dust.”
Carolina’s hand kept a steady pressure on her shoulder. “Please, don't worry about that. How are you feeling?”
Brigid turned and met Carolina’s concerned gaze with a teary blink. “I feel… I feel…” Carolina brushed her fingertips just under Brigid's eye and Brigid hiccupped, “I feel so lost!”
A soft commotion in the hallway registered at the edge of Brigid’s thoughts. She could hear Carolina’s consoling tones and felt the strength of the other woman’s hand as it took hold of her elbow. “Come with me, Brigid. I’ll see you to your room and we’ll talk there.”
She could see the curious stares of the other guests and heard the soft admonishment of Mr. Hampton as he called the others out onto the porch to enjoy the fresh air, but Brigid didn't hear much of the half-dozen pairs of feet moving across the entry as Carolina led her upstairs.
Upstairs in her room, Brigid was comforted by the familiar presence of her trunk at the foot of the bed. She stood before it for a long moment as Carolina bustled around the room.
When Carolina set a wet cloth in her hand, Brigid dutifully lifted it to her face without any urging from her friend. “Thank you,” she mumbled as she wiped the dust from her cheek, “I wondered if you left my trunk, or if you’d set it aside and given my room away.”
Brigid nearly dropped the cloth as her hand started to shake.
Carolina took it from her and lifted the square to the other side of her face. “We were so worried about you. When you didn't come back from your walk, we thought you'd gone to see Mr. Winslet. We were hoping that he'd come to his senses and apologized for his rash judgment.” Folding the square, she dabbed at the corner of Brigid's eye. “When the storm began and you didn't come back, Miles went to Mr. Winslet’s office with a coat for you to walk home in. When he heard that you hadn't been there, he was so very worried.”
“Oh, I'm sorry if you two worried over me. It seems as though I can't do anything right.”
Carolina tsked at her and plunged the cloth into the basin before pulling it from the water and twisting it in her hands. “Don't be unkind to yourself, Brigid.”
A soft laugh burst from Brigid’s lips. “But it's true.” She swallowed at the lump growing in her throat. “After I was turned away at the mining office, I went for a walk and ended up caught in the storm. I'd been upset and pacing about, and I'd turned myself around and around, and by the time I realized that the storm had set in instead of just washing through, I was hopelessly lost in the dark.”
“Then how did you get to Livingstone’s home?”
Brigid couldn't help the twinge at the bridge of her nose at the mention of his name, as she quickly explained how she'd ended up covered in mud at his feet. She could only hope that Carolina had missed the reaction.
“What's that?”
Nope, no such luck.
Carolina dabbed the cloth over Brigid’s nose. “You made a face. Did I say something wrong?”
Brigid shook her head. A small smile tugged the ends of her mouth up. “He doesn’t like his name much.”
Carolina sighed. “It is quite a ponderous name for him, but I suppose his parents thought they were honoring a hero and not saddling their son with a cumbersome name.”
Brigid looked down at her hands, and saw the fading blisters on her palms. “I call him Quinn.”
There was a long pause after her words and she worried that she'd shocked Carolina, or even worse, that she had shocked the good woman by her use of such an informal name between them.
When she managed to sum up the courage to look at Carolina she was shocked to find a smile twisting up one corner of her lips.
“Well,” Carolina began, “you were there for a few days. I can imagine that calling him Mr. Quinn would have seemed very odd indeed.” Taking Brigid’s hand in hers, she gave it a warm squeeze. “And he called you, Brigid, I'm sure. When someone is kind enough to offer you shelter from a storm. It would be impolite to insist on preserving society’s rules in their purest form. And Brigid is a lovely name.”
“Actually…” Brigid was trying to keep silent. She fought down the words that welled up inside her, but the dam broke when the words slipped clear of the lump in her throat. “He called me Birdie.”
Carolina held Brigid's hand as she poured out the story of her time at Quinn’s homestead and later Carolina held Brigid when she cried.
Chapter 11
Quinn sat on the edge of the porch, the heels of his knee-high boots ground into the dirt. The yard was quiet.
Too quiet.
Since he’d returned home, there had been a noticeable lack of energy around the homestead. The burro sulked at the far end of the pasture, scratching his nose on on
e side of the fence and kicking at the posts with his hind legs from time to time. The dull thuds of sound barely stirred the chickens in their coop attached to the side of the barn. Down and the ladies scuffed through the dirt, half-heartedly picking at the scraps and bits of bugs who were unlucky enough to find themselves in their feathered line of vision.
Shaking his head, Quinn leaned his shoulder against the porch post and tried to ignore the slow crawl of the sun filtering through the treetops surrounding his house.
His house.
His lonely, quiet, house.
It was all Birdie’s fault.
She’d stumbled into his life, rolled right down the hill at his feet, and stirred up all kinds of trouble.
He was happy out here by himself. He had his books. He had his animals. He had enough to get by and some to save for the future.
And yet, as he leaned closer, scratching his cheek on the post, he knew why he was sitting there, staring at the languid silence of the yard with his jaw clenched and aching.
This life.
His life.
It wasn’t enough.
Not anymore.
Not since Birdie had barged in and shaken it all up.
The image of her standing on the doorstep at Hampton House, her stubborn chin lifted up into the air, her lips pressed into a quivering line wouldn’t leave his mind. Her pain was suffocating to him.
He’d hurt her. Cut her to the quick. He’d seen the sharp pang of pain in her eyes and he’d wanted to go back and tell her-
To tell her-
What would he have told her?
Reaching down, he picked at a long stem of yarrow from the thatch of wildflowers that she’d begged him not to dig up. Lifting the flower up he stared at the tuft of white blossoms and listened as if he could hear her voice in his ear. “Alpine Yarrow. Achillea alpi…”
