Apathy and Vigor

by Faye Hall

  She glanced around the room. It was certainly nothing like what she remembered it had been. It felt strange being in there again after so long. She and Tristen met there so many times. Running her fingers along the end of the bed frame, she remembered her and Tristen making love on this very bed. Why would he have chosen this room to put her in? Did he want to torture her with memories of what they once shared?

  Lifting her hand to her face, she brushed the loose tendrils of hair back. She should never have agreed to come there. Feeling as she was now, raw emotions being dragged back to the surface, wasn’t something she was prepared for. It certainly hadn’t been part of Bastian’s plan.

  His plan. Amalie couldn’t help but think something wasn’t right about all of this. The man Bastian told her about—the monster Tristen had become—was nothing like the man who offered her a room to stay in for as long as she needed. Bastian assured her Tristen was the cold-hearted killer who murdered her brother, tossing her aside into a life of servitude. So why had he welcomed her so quickly this evening, even after it had been so many long months since they had seen each other?

  Something on the mantelpiece caught her eye. Walking toward it, her breath caught in her throat. The ledge was filled with mementoes of their relationship, from dried flowers to handkerchiefs. Stopping directly in front of the mantelpiece, she reached for a white, lace object that was now slightly covered in dust. She had given this glove to Tristen the night before Jacob died. Holding it in her hand, her fingers running over the soft fabric, memories of the times she’d shared with Tristen came flooding back to her.

  None of this made any sense. If Tristen was the monster Bastian told her about, then why had he kept all of these things, items so personal and given from the heart? Replacing the glove, her hand fell back to her side. She glanced around her at all the familiar objects, doubt filling her. How was she supposed to do what she had been sent there for feeling the way she did now?

  Walking back to the bed and her travel bag that sat upon it, she thought of the man Tristen now was. From what she had been told, he never married, nor accepted any offer of engagement. That in itself confused her. Before the fire, Tristen was one of the most sought after bachelors in the area; his tall, solid build and black hair making women swoon at the knees. Not to mention his wealth, a lure for even the most hardest of women. Still, he was alone and she couldn’t fathom why.

  When she laid eyes on him earlier that day, it was the first time she had seen him since the fire. Of course she saw his slight scarring. She’d even been told that such disfigurement traveled further down his body. Despite knowing that, and from what she had just seen, Amalie noticed immediately that Tristen was still as handsome as she remembered him to be. He was still quite solidly built, his black hair still to his collar. There was one noticeable change about him though. His eyes. His eyes had always been dark, almost like two black pools, but now…Tristen looked like he was haunted by the ghosts of his past, his sins robbing him of any joy he’d once known. Even when he looked at her, he looked pained.

  That wasn’t the man she had prepared herself to find, nor was it what she wanted to see. When Bastian sent her there, he told her she would be reunited with the bastard who murdered her brother, a cold-hearted monster who cared for nothing or no one but himself. That was the man she needed to see. She needed to hate him if she were to justify stealing from him. Looking around at the sparse interior of the room, she found herself feeling anything but disgust for Tristen.

  Walking over to the small bedside table, she opened the drawer, hoping to find something—anything—that might explain the man he had become in her absence. The drawer was bare except for several empty pill bottles. Picking one up, she lifted it to her line of sight so she could read the label. Heroin. She quickly lifted up another. Its label was the same. Opening the drawer fully, she counted at least half a dozen empty bottles.

  As if it were alight, she slammed the drawer shut and stepped back away from it. Bastian told her Tristen only pretended a relationship with her to gain control of her family’s assets. If that were the case, then why did Tristen live this way? Why were there empty pill bottles indicating some kind of drug dependency? If Tristen were as wealthy as the rumors claimed, and as monstrous as she had been told, then shouldn’t the station house be far grander? Property aside, shouldn’t Tristen be acting far more smug and contented than he appeared to be? What she had been told and what she was now witnessing were two vastly different people. Something wasn’t adding up, and she was determined to find out what.

  There was a slight knock on the door behind her, and then it opened quietly, followed by the sound of someone clearing their throat. She turned immediately to see who it might be. In the doorway stood Tristen, his dark eyes watching her.

  “What are you doing here, Amalie?” he asked, his hands on his hips, looking every bit the commanding figure he was rumored to be.

  She knew he would ask, but she didn’t think for it to be now.

  “I’m not a fool,” he continued. “I haven’t heard from you nor seen you in almost a year, yet today you turn up on my doorstep. I can’t help but wonder why.”

  Staring at him, she fought the urge to approach him. She wanted to hit him, hurt him as she had been by his desertion. The only thing stopping her from doing such a thing was the sorrowful look in his eyes. He looked as if he had already been hurt far more than she could ever imagine.

  “If you have come here to punish me for some sin you think I have done you, I assure you, I’ve already suffered enough,” he added.

  His words irritated her. Did he think he was the only one to have lost anything? Her gaze narrowed on him. “Suffered?” she asked. “What do you know about suffering? You still have your family home. You still have your businesses. I have nothing. You took everything from me.”

  “I lost as much as you that night,” he said. “Surely you must know that.”

  “You bastard! How dare you stand there and claim—”

  Just then footsteps were heard behind him, heavy on the floorboards. “Fire!” they heard one of the station hands yell. “Fire!”

  Tristen immediately turned his attention away from her. “What has happened, Robert?” he asked the gasping man hunched over just outside of the door.

  She walked toward the two men, her gaze settling on the scared worker struggling to catch his breath.

  “The hay shed is on fire,” Robert exclaimed. “The flames are heading toward the house!”

  Tristen left at a run, the weary worker close on his heels. Amalie followed them, as if being drawn outside by the drama of it all. Her footsteps stopped on the dirt meters from the rear door. Before her, the fire was quickly engulfing the small building, the flames licking higher and higher into the sky. Seeing Tristen talking with a group of men, she forced herself to cautiously step toward them to see what was happening.

  “How the hell did this happen?” Tristen demanded of his men.

  Robert promptly directed the other workers to the buckets of water. “We need to get this fire out now, or else the whole station will be little more than a pile of ashes.”

  Tristen grabbed at his shirt, stopping his retreat. “I want to know how this happened!” he yelled.

  Robert pulled away. “Only way is if someone lit it,” he explained. “There could be no other way.”

  Tristen let him go then. Amalie watched for a few moments until he joined his men. Fear filled her as she saw him reach for a hessian bag, and drenching it in the water barrel, he began to attack the flames as they directed themselves toward the house.

  “Watch out!” Robert yelled as the creaks of the collapsing shed echoed through the night sky.

  Still Tristen didn’t move, instead he continued fighting against the flames, looking almost desperate in his actions.

  “Tristen!” she yelled as shrapnel from the falling building flew toward him.

  She watched helplessly as Robert ran toward Tristen, dragging him t
o safety just as the burning pieces of wood landed where he’d once stood. Quickly getting to his feet, he turned instantly to face her.

  “God dammit, Amalie, it’s too dangerous for you out here,” he yelled at her, running toward her. Stopping in front of her, he grabbed her elbow. “I’ll take you back to the house.”

  She pulled back from him as if he were alight. She couldn’t go through this again. The last time there was a fire, she lost everything. “Get away from me!” she screamed, turning and running back toward the house. She couldn’t stay there.

  He caught up to her just as she reached the stairs that led up to her room. Feeling his hand on her arm, she turned immediately and pushed him away, her fists firm on his chest as she pounded him.

  “You need to calm yourself,” he instructed her. “The fire is almost out, so there is nothing left to fear.”

  She stepped back from him, her tear-filled eyes looking directly at him. “There is you,” she blurted out.

  He let her go then. “Even now, you still blame me for the fire that killed Jacob and Amanda?”

  Lifting her hand to her cheek, she wiped away the tear that escaped. “I lost everything that night, and all anyone can tell me is that it was your fault. Given that you never came to tell me otherwise, maybe the rumors are right after all.”

  She turned away from him and ran up the stairs to her room, her tears consuming her. This wasn’t why she had come there. It certainly wasn’t why Bastian sent her here. She was supposed to be looking for deed papers and romancing them from under Tristen’s nose. She wasn’t going to achieve that if she allowed her sorrow-driven confusion to take control every time she saw a fire.

  Being out there tonight though, watching the flames getting closer and closer to Tristen until his life was under threat, brought everything back to her. It was just like that night almost a year ago when she heard screams coming from outside, and she ran with Carter from her father’s house to see the workers’ cottage in flames—the same cottage she was to have met Tristen in that night.

  She ran into her room, slamming the door behind her and locking it. Running toward the bed, she threw herself down on it, her tears flowing freely. She should never have agreed to come there. Pulling the pillow to her, she buried her face in it. She had so many reasons to hate Tristen, to blame him for abandoning her. Tonight though, seeing his life under threat yet again by fire, she found herself feeling another emotion. Though she felt a fool, she admitted that as she watched Tristen fighting the fire with his men, what she feared most was losing him.

  Chapter 10

  Tristen stood in the house, the smoke from the yard drifting inside. His heart broke as he watched Amalie running away from him, her last words to him ringing in his ears.

  When he’d heard her scream his name, seemingly frozen where she stood, he assumed the sight of the fire brought back memories of the night Jacob died. He went to her, intending to calm her, needing to assure her he wouldn’t let anything happen to her. When she pulled away from him, the look of stark fear in her eyes as she looked back at him, it was like a stab in his heart. After everything they had shared with each other over the years, how could she believe that it was him who killed Jacob?

  “Sir, we’ve managed to take control of the fire, but I fear the hay shed is completely lost,” he heard Robert say from behind him.

  Tristen didn’t respond. He couldn’t. The way he felt now, watching as Amalie fled from him in fear, he would have been contented to watch everything around him burn to the ground.

  “Sir? Did you hear me?” Robert asked. “We’ve lost all our stock feed.”

  Still Tristen remained silent. He knew Robert was waiting for instructions, at the very least reassurance that they would rebuild and restock. But he couldn’t give his employee the hope he was so desperate for when he had lost all hope himself. Having Amalie turn away from him yet again left him feeling completely gutted. He had no desire to repair anything that had been damaged this evening—not now or ever. All he wanted to do was disappear from the world around him.

  Walking toward the stairs, the burned down shed and confused workers forgotten, Tristen hurried up to his study and the bottle of whiskey that waited for him there. Stepping inside the room, he slammed the door shut behind him, then walked over to the desk and sat down. He reached for the single bottle that sat on the drinks tray and opened it, drinking directly from the bottle. As he gulped down the liquid, he wished for the pained emotions consuming his heart to disappear.

  Opening the desk drawers, he frantically searched for pill bottles that might still be there. Nothing. “Damn it!” he yelled, slamming the drawer shut.

  Douglas had found all of his stashes and taken everything. There was no more heroin and only a few bottles of whiskey in the entire house, strict orders from his lawyer that he wasn’t to be supplied with any more at any time. Though it wasn’t the pain killer he craved for, the alcohol in this bottle would have to satisfy him. He drank from the bottle again, pouring the harsh liquor down his throat, wishing, not for the first time, that it had been he who died that night instead of Jacob.

  * * * *

  Waking just after daybreak the following morning, Tristen lifted his head and looked around. He was still at his desk, an empty bottle of whiskey in front of him. As he rubbed his hands over his face, he forced himself to remember how he had gotten into this position last night.

  The lingering smell of smoke alarming him, he quickly stood and turned to look out the window. He immediately noticed the crumbled pile of rumble where the hay shed used to stand. The fire. Memories of last night’s arson returned to him, as did Amalie’s reaction to him.

  He would have to deal with both matters this morning, but first he needed to wash. His clothes still smelled of the charred wood from last night. As he walked to his room to bathe and change, he thought over what he would tell his workers and how he should instruct them as to what they would feed the cattle until they could restock their supply of hay. It would be a rough few weeks, but he was certain they would be back in full action shortly, his recent profits guaranteeing new feed could be brought in from elsewhere, and supplies bought immediately to begin building a new shed.

  As he undressed, he admitted that the fire from last night was not what was plaguing his mind the most. He had lived on a station his whole life, and he knew that fires and similar disasters were just part of the day-to-day lifestyle. His biggest problem right now was Amalie and what he should do with her.

  Pouring the cold water over himself, he painfully accepted that as happy as he was to be reunited with his lost love, she didn’t feel the same way. Given her obvious fear of him that was displayed last night, she shouldn’t be forced to stay there at the station with him. He couldn’t just turn her out though. If she really did need to earn a wage to pay her way, he would contact Douglas and see if he could arrange employment for her on one of his other properties where she could feel safer. It would pain him sending her away, but it was better than forcing her to stay there with him, receiving her fear-filled look each and every day.

  When he finished washing the last of the soap from his body, he reached for a towel to pat himself dry. He would deal with Amalie first before going to help the men clear away the ashes and ruin from last night. As he pulled on his jeans, he realized he may well need some physical labor to help deal with the pain of yet again losing the woman he loved. Still, he had to do what was needed. There was no other choice. Fastening his pants, he sighed heavily. This wasn’t how he wanted his reunion with Amalie to go.

  Just then he heard a soft knock on the door behind him and it opening. He spun around instantly to see who dared to enter without his permission. He expected to find one of the few servants still working for him, but instead he saw Amalie standing before him, wearing a cotton work shirt, a pair of jeans hugging her hips.

  “Why are you here?” he asked. He felt so very vulnerable standing there half-naked, his disfigured body on open dis
play for her to see every ugliness.

  “I need to apologize for my behavior last night,” she muttered in a strained voice, her hands fidgeting with each other. “It was just seeing the fire…seeing you standing there as the shed was about to collapse on you...” Lifting her hand to her cheek, she wiped away the wet track from the single tear that had fallen. “It was just like the night Jacob was killed and you were injured. The thought of going through that loss again… I couldn’t bear it.”

  Reaching for his shirt, he slid his arms into the sleeves, the item of clothing hanging loosely on him. “This is a cattle station, Amalie. Fires are a part of our life here. If you can’t handle that—if you can’t handle living with me—then I will have to find you employment elsewhere. I have other stations that I can put you up at where you will feel much more comfortable.”

  “Please, Tristen,” she begged. “You can’t send me away. I didn’t mean what I said last night. I was just scared. I want to stay here with you. I need to.”

  Her plea should’ve warmed his heart, but instead it angered him. “Bullshit!” he cursed. “I’m not so foolish to actually believe you want to stay here with me. I knew you were scared of the fire. Given what you’ve been through, who wouldn’t be? When I tried to comfort you though, you pulled away from me, accusing me of being the monster who murdered your brother.”

  Tears welled in her eyes. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “Yes, you did. So my question to you is if I detest you so much, if you really think me responsible for what happened to Jacob, why the hell did you come here? Are you here after so long to punish me for the crime you believe I committed?”

  “I told you I needed work,” she uttered shakily, averting her gaze away from him.

  “You expect me to believe that even though you haven’t spoken to me in almost a year, that now, in your apparent time of need, I’m the only person you had to turn to?”