Apathy and Vigor

by Faye Hall

  He looked her straight in the eyes. “As I’ve already told you, I didn’t kill Jacob. And all I’ve done these last few months is try to find out who could’ve lit that fire and why.”

  “It could’ve just happened. As you said last night, fires are a way of life on a station.”

  He pursed his lips. “I had people investigate after the fire. They found evidence the fire was purposely lit that night. Now I just need to find out who could’ve done such a thing.”

  Chapter 11

  Amalie rested her head against the headboard of the bed. “No one is going to speak to you about Jacob’s death after so long,” she muttered, touched that Tristen still wanted to keep trying after all this time. “Besides, I’ve tried asking around everywhere I’ve been since that day, and no one knows anything, or at least they aren’t willing to say if they do.”

  “You’ll find I can be very persuasive,” Tristen reminded her.

  “No more violence,” she ordered him. “Enough people have already died.”

  He studied her. “They have, haven’t they?” he said softly, as if deep in thought. “We have both lost so many family members since that fire.”

  She lifted her head from the headboard. “What are you trying to say?”

  “I’m saying what if all of it was planned—the fire that night, the death of our parents. What if whoever lit the fire that night didn’t intend to kill Jacob?” he asked, looking past her as if to something in the far distance. “What if Jacob’s death was a mistake, and the deaths that followed were only to try and destroy the person that was supposed to die that night?”

  She shuffled over to the side of the bed and reached for her jeans. “You’re not making any sense.”

  “It makes perfect sense,” he rebutted. “No one would benefit from Jacob’s death.”

  Pulling on her jeans, she stood to fasten them. She then picked her chemise up from the corner of the bed and pulled it over her head. Letting it slide down and cover her nakedness, she turned to face him.

  “Say your theory is right. Just who would the fire have been set for?”

  He was silent for a moment as if thinking over how to answer her. “Amanda was in the workers’ cottage and the note Jacob received said it was from me.” He raised his gaze to her then, as if finally realizing the obvious. “What if the fire was meant for me?”

  She reached for her shirt and pulled it on. “You’re being ridiculous,” she scolded him as she quickly buttoned her shirt. “That fire wasn’t set for you.”

  “Whoever lit that fire would gain so much more from my death than from Jacob’s. Maybe they thought since I was engaged to Amanda that she would make a decent lure. They wouldn’t have known that she meant far more to your brother than she did to me.”

  “And who is this mystery person you think would benefit from your death?”

  “Maybe it was someone who thought I robbed them through some business deal,” he suggested. “Or maybe it was just a person who wanted nothing more than their family’s deed papers back.”

  Hearing his words made her blood run cold. That was exactly what Bastian had sent her there for. “I’m sorry, Tristen, but I can’t stay here and listen to this,” she said as she went to turn away. “Nor did I come here to your station just to return to your bed.”

  From the corner of her eye she saw him reach for his jeans and pull them on. “Then why don’t you tell me why you’re really here?”

  She turned back to him. “You said you would give me instructions this morning about what duties you expected from me while I was in your employ.”

  “Employ?” he asked, looking very confused.

  She nodded. “You mentioned I could bring you your meals, as well as some other menial duties.”

  He grabbed his shirt and pulled it on. “You honestly can’t expect me to allow you to work for me now, not after…after—”

  She raised her brow. “You wouldn’t be the first station owner who slept with his servants.”

  He began buttoning his shirt, looking slightly irritated by her comment. “Despite what rumors you may have heard about me, I assure you I don’t sleep with those who work for me. Nor would I insist that a lady such as you be resorted to the tasks of a scullery maid.”

  She nervously gripped the sides of her trousers. “You would turn me out?”

  He glared at her, and she knew he had not appreciated her comment. “My offer to you yesterday evening still stands. You can stay here until you can find somewhere else that is safe for you.”

  “What will I do about money?”.

  “I will see that everything you could need is supplied for you,” he assured her. “While you stay under my roof, you will be kept safe and well nourished. I can even have some new dresses made for you if you’d rather not wear trousers.”

  “I’ve always preferred the comfort of jeans.”

  A whimsical smile spread across his face. “Yes, you always did.”

  When he went to turn away from her, she took a single step toward him. “You are offering me food and lodgings, even clothing, yet you will not allow me to work for you nor take anything in return?”

  His hands going in his pockets, he shuffled his feet, looking very unsure of himself. “I would like to share a meal with you occasionally,” he uttered uneasily. “I usually eat in my study by myself, but should you be willing to accompany me, we could have our evening meal in the dining room.”

  Amalie watched the tense man before her, amazed at the change in him. Once he was so sure and confident when he spoke. Now he sounded like some green youth talking to a woman for the first time, certain of rejection. She felt herself yearning to remind him of the man he had once been to her.

  She smiled slightly at the thought of spending more time with Tristen. “I would enjoy that very much, but I do not think of that as any form of payment. You are being good enough to offer me so much, even after so long, and the least I can do in return is help out where I can around the house.”

  “That is your choice, but it isn’t my expectation,” he told her. “I’m just happy to have you back in my life again.”

  She ached to go to him then, confessing the truth behind her being there. He was being so welcoming to her, and all she was doing was deceiving him. This wasn’t what she wanted—it was never what she wanted with him.

  “Tristen, I need to tell you—”

  Just then there was a knock at the door. “Excuse me, sir,” a man’s voice called through the closed door. “We need you in the paddock immediately.”

  His gaze held hers, and she could feel herself drowning in his eyes. “I have to go.”

  She nodded. Her confession would have to wait.

  Walking past her, he stopped at the door, his hand resting on the handle. “Can I come and see you when I return?” he asked softly, so much so she barely heard him.

  “I would like that, Tristen,” she muttered, struggling to remind herself that this wasn’t why she had come there.

  Before she could even think to call him back to her, demanding that he listen to the truth about why she was there, he opened the door and left the room.

  “Bollocks!” she cursed under her breath as she watched him shut the door behind him.

  What was she doing? This wasn’t what she had been sent there for. She had been given strict instructions to come into the house and find property papers stolen by the heartless man who lived there. But Tristen wasn’t heartless. He was a broken man, desperate to be believed innocent for the death of his best friend.

  Walking around his room, she eyed the sparse contents carefully, hoping to find some proof of the hardened man she had been told Tristen now was. There was nothing of the kind. The few things that lay on the mantelpiece were sentimental gifts from his parents or her. Certainly nothing of extreme value to anyone other than Tristen himself. Definitely not things you would expect to find in the house of a man rumored to have willingly caused so much pain to the townspeople all for prof
it.

  There was something else. Every time she tried to touch his scars, he pulled her hand away. Why? Surely after so long they no longer hurt. Did he think she would be repulsed by his disfigurement? Her feelings couldn’t have been further away from that assumption, and that scared her. She hadn’t prepared herself to still have such strong feelings for Tristen after so long, especially not after all the horrible things Bastian told her about him. But being there with him now, having felt him touch her naked skin, Amalie found herself willing to forgive him nearly anything all for a moment of his affections.

  Leaving his room, she struggled to control her raging emotions. She couldn’t allow herself to lose her heart to this man again, at least not until she knew the whole truth about his involvement in the fire that killed Jacob. Right now, all she had was his word. As she walked from the room and toward the servants’ area, Tristen’s words came back to her. What if he was right about the fire that killed her brother? What if it had in fact been intended for Tristen instead? She needed to know if there were any others who might have this opinion, or better yet, proof of such a thing.

  As she turned the corner to enter the servants’ working area, her head was lowered, deep in thought about the contradicting details she had been told by Tristen and Bastian. It wasn’t until she collided with another person that she quickly looked up, her gaze settling upon a familiar face.

  “Carter,” she said, a smile spreading across her lips as she hugged him fondly. “What the devil are you doing here? Surely you aren’t here to see Tristen.”

  Holding her away from him, he returned her smile, his gaze traveling over her. “I’d rather he doesn’t find me here actually. I’ve just come to visit a friend of mine who works here,” he muttered.

  “A friend?” She giggled. “I bet she is.”

  He bowed his head, his cheeks blushing, and she knew her assumption was right.

  “You always did have a weakness for the ladies.”

  His hand went to her face, his fingers lightly brushing her cheek. “I could never lure you into my bed though, Amalie.”

  Lifting her hand to his, she pulled it away, their fingers lacing. “My heart already belonged to another.”

  “Is that why you’re here now?” Carter asked. “Have you finally come back to rekindle your relationship with Tristen?”

  As she gazed back at her longtime friend, Amalie knew she had to tell him the truth. They had been through too much together for her to lie to him now. Carter had stood by her side when no one else did, and she had no doubt that he would keep her secret now as he had done before.

  She shook her head slowly in reply to his question. “I came here to find out who killed my brother. I was also sent here to retrieve some deed papers that once belonged to my family. Apparently, Tristen has them. I was told he stole them, but he claims he bought them before my father died.”

  Pulling her with him, Carter guided them out of the back of the house and into the small surrounding garden. “I know nothing of any papers,” he told her. “I did hear a few rumors about the fire that killed Jacob and Amanda though. Some people saw a man running from the building moments before the flames were seen. Some gave the same description as the man we saw, with fair hair, while others claim his hair was darker. I’ve even heard rumors saying it was Tristen who lit the fire to punish my sister for having an affair with Jacob.”

  “Do you believe that?” she asked, needing to know his opinion.

  Carter shook his head. “Tristen never loved Amanda, certainly not enough to kill her for infidelity. And what about Jacob? Those two had been friends for years. It makes no sense that he would try to kill him.”

  “Tristen pleads his innocence in Jacob’s death,” Amalie said. “He claims he tried to save both my brother and Amanda, but the building started to collapse on him before he could. He thinks the fire wasn’t meant for my brother, but for him instead.”

  “Tristen has made a lot of enemies over the years, so it is certainly possible,” Carter agreed. “I will ask around through a few of my contacts that might know something and get back to you as soon as I can.”

  She smiled with gratitude. “You have always been a good friend to me.”

  Lifting her hand to his lips, he kissed the back of it. “And I shall continue to be until you no longer have need of me.”

  He let her hand drop from his. “I must be going,” he uttered. “It would be best if Tristen didn’t see me here. I don’t think he would take kindly to finding me with you, even after so many months.”

  She knew full well his point had merit. Tristen had always been slightly jealous of the men she had been asked to entertain at her father’s request. She couldn’t be certain that had changed. Waving goodbye to Carter as he mounted his horse, she turned away from him, her gaze concentrated on the ground before her as she started to walk back to the house.

  “A friend of yours, Amalie?” she heard Tristen ask.

  Glancing up instantly, she walked past him and into the house. This wasn’t a conversation she wanted to have right now, especially if Tristen had identified the man she’d been with as Carter. “Of a kind, yes,” she replied as she stepped quickly toward the stairs that led to her room.

  “A friend you just happened to once be almost engaged to,” he rebutted, following her.

  She stopped upon hearing his words, knowing then for certain that he knew it was Carter. “It’s not what you think, Tristen. He was merely wondering why I was here, and he offered to help me locate some information.”

  “Wondering?” he asked. “Why? Because you are now back in my bed instead of his?”

  She walked away from him and up the stairs, ignoring his goading remark. She wasn’t in the mood to permit this man’s sympathies and allow him to act as if he were some second choice in her life. She came there to find her brother’s murderer, not listen to the jealous rantings of a self-pitying man.

  * * * *

  Tristen caught up to Amalie at the top of the steps. Noticing the concerned looks by the few servants whose attention had been drawn by their raised voices, he pulled Amalie into her room. No sooner did he shut the door behind them than she pulled herself free from his hold.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she asked. “I’m not some piece of property for you to drag around at your will.”

  He knew she wasn’t, but he needed to remind her that it was his bed she had willingly come to this morning. He couldn’t deny the jealousy that stirred in him when he walked across the yard toward the house and saw Amalie with Carter. It was a feeling he didn’t welcome, and one no woman ever created in him...except for Amalie.

  Now that she was back in his life—had come back to his bed—he didn’t want to risk losing her again, especially not to another man. When he saw her with Carter, doubt began to fill him about Amalie. She deserved so much better than to be saddled with a scarred, disfigured man such as he. A woman like her was entitled to have a lover that was both handsome and successful. A man like Carter Dix. Remembering the way Amalie let Carter touch her, he couldn’t help but be reminded of the relationship that had once been between these two about a year ago.

  “You still seem very familiar with Carter,” he remarked. “Familiar enough to allow him to touch you.”

  “You’re being ridiculous, Tristen. All he did was kiss the back of my hand. Stop acting like some jealous lover who has just caught his bed companion with another man’s hands up her skirts.”

  But that was exactly what he felt like right now. Having seen her with another man, the pair familiar enough for Carter to kiss her hand as he left, Tristen felt a new kind of sadness. It was an emotion that consumed him so much more than any other had. In his mind, Amalie was going to push him aside for a more attractive suitor and she had every reason to.

  “I will not permit you to carry on your affairs under my roof,” he stated, needing to give her an ultimatum.

  Walking toward him, she slapped him hard across
the cheek. “You bastard! How dare you assume me to be welcoming to any man who shows the slightest interest in me?”

  He reached up, grabbing the wrist of her assaulting hand. “I dare because I remember how easily you cast me aside, instantly forgetting the many times we’d shared a bed the moment my face was scarred and my body mutilated.”

  She struggled against him, trying to pull her arm free from his firm hold. “You are speaking nonsense. Other than the desire my father had for me to marry Carter, there has never been anything more than friendship between him and me.”

  He still held her firmly, his brow raised. “You looked awfully happy to see a man you claim to be little more than your friend.”

  Finally, she succeeded in pulling herself free. “I owe Carter more than someone like you will ever be able to understand!” she shouted at him, her frustration with him obviously mounting.

  “Owe him what?” he asked, studying her. “What is it you claim this man did for you that no other ever has? Did he manage to give you even more than I did during our short affair?” Even as he asked his questions, he dreaded what her answer might be.

  “Carter came to check on me after my brother’s death,” she told him, struggling to hold back her tears. “No one else came. Only him. He understood what I lost that day.”

  Her words pained him greatly. “I came to see you, Amalie,” he assured her in a soft, yet stern voice. “When I was healed enough to leave my bed, I came to see you every day, but each time I was turned away. Finally I was told that if I were to ever go back to your father’s estate to see you, I would be shot on sight.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “I never said that.”

  “Yet that’s what I was told. I assumed you couldn’t bear the sight of me,” he said, his hand coming up to trace the scars on his cheek. His hand dropped back to his side. “That was when I started writing to you. I gave my lawyer a letter every Friday to deliver to you. Every letter I wrote you was returned to me a few days later unopened.”