by Jillian Hart
Looking as lost as the shadows, she trembled once, as if she were hesitating, as if she were remembering what had almost happened this night. He saw the strength of it as her chin dropped, and she remained unbowed and unmoving. Not fleeing, after all.
“If I betrayed you, then it was for a good reason.” The house loomed above them, silent and still, blocking out a chunk of the star-strewn sky. He nudged her toward the back steps. “You will stay, Fiona. Let’s get you back inside.”
He ignored the choke of a sob catching in her throat. His grip didn’t relent, nor did the unhappiness burrowing like the cold into his chest. Although they walked side by side, a great divide separated them. One he feared could never be crossed.
“I was wrong about you.” Her voice was strained, her words tight with defeat. “You are a much more horrible man than I thought.”
“You would not be the first to say so.” He wished he knew how to shield his heart better, to turn off his feelings so that he did not care, so that nothing could hurt him. Impossible. Fiona O’Rourke had stripped him bare of armor and shields, leaving him defenseless. As he tugged her through the last of the incandescent snow and into the house’s shadow, he had to face the truth. Few things in life hurt as much as Fiona’s hatred for him.
Why the kitchen? That’s what Fiona wanted to know. This small, unhappy room symbolized everything she feared most. Her mother spent most of her life in this room.
Although the cook stove was cold, the scent of the night’s supper and the cigar smoke from Da’s card game stained the air. In the corner stood the washboard and tubs, the broom, cleaning buckets and dish basin, reminders of all the unhappy hours here doing chores. It was not the work that troubled her, but the lack of choice. That was what happened when a woman married a man who dominated her.
“Sit here.” His order could have been gruff. It should have been. Anger or something similar to it tensed the muscles in his jaw and delineated the angles of his cheekbones. His grip on her arm ought to have been bruising—she knew, for Da had hauled her into the house countless times—but it was not. He drew a chair away from the table and eased her into it. “Don’t move.”
“You’re comfortable giving orders. I suppose this is a hint of how you would treat a wife?”
“Aye.” Grim, as if fighting smoldering rage, he set her satchel on the small counter and knelt before the stove.
At least he admitted it. He could have lied to her. She straightened her spine and ignored the burn of her vertebrae against the unyielding wood. She hurt everywhere. Her head, her shoulder, her ankle, her soul.
“Here. Put this against your cheek and hold it there.” He pressed something cold into her hand. A cloth wrapped around chunks of ice from the water bucket. “I’ve never seen a woman climb a rope like that.”
“Technically I wasn’t climbing. I was going down.”
“Aye, but it was hand over hand. Same difference.” Towering over her, he looked as stalwart as a legend and twice as difficult to defeat. “Did your brother teach you that?”
“Who else?” For the life of her, she could not be nice to him.
“You two were close?” His hand curled around hers to press the ice tenderly against her cheek. Her wide eyes pinched, and he felt the answering emotion within his chest, as if her grief were his own. “I guess that’s obvious, too.”
“Johnny was the only real family I had. My folks…” She said nothing more. She didn’t have to.
“That’s not the way parents are supposed to be.” It felt as if they were the only two people on earth, for the silent night and his affections were vast. He pushed away from her. “My grandparents had the real thing. Enduring love and respect and devotion to one another that strengthened day by day. An inspiring sight to see, and a soft comfort to grow up in.”
“Surely you want to find the same thing one day.”
“Lass, I know what you are about to say.” The lamp casing creaked as it opened. “You are hoping I will break my agreement with your father and go off to find such a love.”
“Why not? You will not be happy with me, and here? There is no happiness in this home.”
“Your reasoning will not work with me.” The flare of a match caressed his stony features. “I’m not staying to find happiness.”
“I don’t understand you, McPherson.”
“Aye, this I know.” He did not turn from the stove. “You told me that if you wanted something better than your life here, you had to work for it. What would that be?”
“And I should tell you?”
“Why not? I’m curious.” A cup rattled in a saucer as his gait whispered near. He leaned close, bringing with him the scent of winter snow and hay and the musty wool of the old coat he wore.
Not the same one he’d arrived in. He had been telling the truth. She spotted a small tear in the collar seam and a patch on the elbow. The ironware clinked against the tabletop, and the warm scents of honey and chamomile curled against her nose.
“That will warm you.” He brushed a lock of hair from her forehead, his touch as gentle as a blessing, his kindness unmistakable. “You need another bit of ice for that bump.”
“I don’t need your pity, McPherson.”
“It’s not my pity you have.”
She did not want his kindness, either. She wanted to hate him. She wished she could see him as the enemy he was. Taking her money as handily as he wanted to take her freedom. And yet, as she listened to him breaking more ice in the water bucket, and the glasslike tinkle as he gathered it into a dish towel, strangely tender emotions glowed within her like banked embers. With any luck, her affection for the man would turn to ash and darkness.
“When I was a little girl sent to my room without any supper, I would close my eyes and dream. Not of storybooks and romance, like I know my friends did, but of the house I would have when I was grown.” She didn’t know why, but the truth swept out of her. Ian, as if he saw and heard only her, came toward her with an intense focus that both frightened and calmed her.
“I suppose this was a fancy house?” He grabbed an empty chair by the rung and hauled it over, facing her. “Did your grandmother tell you of McPherson Manor, then?”
“My future home was not a fine place, but simple with four walls and plenty of windows to let in cheerful sunshine.” She took a sip of the steaming brew, savoring the sweet, liquid comfort. It warmed her and she went on. “It was a place with flowers surrounding it, so that when the wind blew, the whole house smelled like lilacs and roses. It was a place where I was and always would be safe. There was no strap hanging from a nail on the wall.”
“And you were in this house alone?” He laid the ice against her temple. “So you could not be hurt?”
How did he know? She blinked hard, for the ice stung, but something secret and deep within her smarted more. “I would have to work hard and save my earnings to afford my own place.”
“You hope to find work sewing?”
“Why not? Miss Sims has promised I can use her for a reference. She is pleased with my work. And before you say it, such work might be hard to find right off. I would be happy to do laundry in a hotel or wash dishes in a busy kitchen. I know I can find a job.”
“It is winter, and few are hiring this time of year. Did you consider that?”
“You’re still not going to let me go?”
“Not on my life.”
“You said you would help me.”
“And so I am.”
You’re imagining tenderness in his words, she told herself, knowing it could not be true. And she did not want it to be. Look at the proof of his character as he opened her satchel, removed her money stash and stuffed it into his coat pocket. Warm when he could be cold; mellow when he could be commanding.
“Is there anything more I can do for you tonight?” he asked, as if he cared about her answer.
What she wanted, he would not give her. Exhaustion crept into her like a heavy fog; the numbness of the evening wa
s wearing off. Her head throbbed. Her cheek pounded. Every muscle she owned felt strained and sore. “No, there’s nothing I want from you.”
“Then up you go.” He carried her satchel to the base of the ladder. He waited in silence while she gripped the rungs in her cold hands, realizing she still wore her mittens and coat. She didn’t want to spend the few moments it would take to remove them in Ian’s presence, so she climbed into the cold attic and darkness. The moonlight had vanished: perhaps clouds were moving in.
“I’ll see you in the morning, pretty girl.” He tossed her satchel into her hands, and something about the man pulled at the deepest places within her. As if it were her soul that longed after him, wishing for what could not be.
As his uneven gait padded softly through the house, she heard a muted grunt of pain. The kitchen door creaked closed, leaving her alone. She wanted to hate him, but she could not.
Chapter Eleven
“Fiona? Yoo-hoo.”
“That must be some daydream.”
“About Lorenzo, no doubt. She’s smiled the whole time I’ve been talking about him.”
Lorenzo? Fiona frowned, pulled herself out of her thoughts. The cold night—last night—frothy with snow and moonlight vanished from her mind, and she was sitting in the warmth of Lila’s pretty parlor filled with sunshine, as she did every Friday afternoon. She poked her needle through the seam of the dress she was basting. Ian might have taken her savings, but she intended to keep earning. Her amused friends were staring at her. Scarlet’s grin stretched ear to ear, and Lila covered her hand with her mouth to keep from laughing out loud.
“He does cause a girl to dream, doesn’t he?” Kate was busy sighing in agreement. “I don’t blame Fee a bit.”
“Neither do I.” Always faithful, Earlee looked up from threading her needle. “Now that her engagement is broken, why shouldn’t she start to consider the possibilities?”
Goodness, was that what they thought? That she was daydreaming about Lorenzo courting her? Heat stained her cheeks. What did she say? If she denied it, then it would only make them disbelieve her more. And in truth, she had been thinking about a man. Ian—to be precise. But she had not been smiling. She was nearly sure of it.
“Look, she’s blushing. It’s cute,” Kate cooed, going back to her embroidery work. “Fiona’s first crush.”
“It had to happen sometime,” Lila said as she studied her hem work. “It may as well be Lorenzo. Every girl in school has gone sweet on him at one time or another.”
“He is a perfect tenor.” Scarlet looked enraptured; having missed paying attention to the story of church caroling practice, this was news to Fiona.
“Plus, he is perfect.” Lila sighed airily in agreement.
“Lorenzo and Fiona would make a good couple, don’t you think?” Trouble twinkled in Earlee’s eyes. “I know you don’t want to marry, Fee, but that could change, now that you have a choice.”
“Uh, there’s really something I need to tell you all.” Really, she had to stop them before they began planning her and Lorenzo’s wedding. Honestly. She rolled her eyes at the thought. “He came back.”
“The Kentucky guy?” Lila put down her needle. “He came back for you and you didn’t tell us?”
“You didn’t say one word. All day at school? All day long?” Scarlet chimed in.
“You could have told us, Fee,” Kate added gently.
Why, exactly, was her face feeling hotter? She had to be blushing furiously because her nose was as red as a berry. This was why she’d been afraid to say anything. Even her closest friends would misunderstand the situation and see in Ian’s return something that could never be. Why did he have to come back? Why did he have to decide their broken-down farm was so important to him? He should have simply kept going east, back to wherever he belonged. That’s what he should have done.
And, if he hadn’t, then what terrible thing would have happened? She wouldn’t have been able to fight off Da’s friend for much longer, although she would have tried her hardest. Ian had saved her from unspeakable things. She felt a needle prick through her thimble, and the sharp sting reminded her of where she was. Maybe she ought to pay better attention to her sewing.
“I understand, some things are too personal to say out loud.” Earlee knotted her thread with care. “Ian must be a very special man.”
Special? Her tongue tied, and she realized she might as well tell the whole truth. How Ian had taken her savings and forced her to stay. How confusing his kindness to her was, how nice his protection. This morning, all the barn work had been done by the time she’d come downstairs. Her parents hadn’t scolded her once as she helped with the kitchen chores. She stared down at her work, at the luxurious velveteen fabric Miss Sims had entrusted her with, and realized her stitches were crooked. How had that happened? She hadn’t stitched so badly since she was six years old.
“But private or not, we’re your friends,” Lila pointed out lovingly.
“Your best friends,” Kate emphasized.
“You’re obligated to tell us.” Scarlet leaned forward, eager for the real story.
“We care about you, Fee,” Earlee sympathized. “I’m sure you will tell us when you’re ready.”
“I just might never be ready to talk about him.” She couldn’t even say his name. Her vision blurred—with fury or confusion, she didn’t know which—as she took her needle and began ripping out her stitches.
“She’s blushing harder,” Lila reported.
“How romantic.” Kate’s voice was pure glee. “Look at her, ready to deny it. But it is romantic.”
“It’s like something out of a novel.” Scarlet set down her hoop. “Grandparents who were friends make a solemn vow their grandchildren one day will marry. When hero and heroine meet, they take a fancy to one another and live happily ever after.”
“You’re like a fairy tale, Fee.” Kate sighed. “Earlee could pen a story about you.”
“It would be a story with a joyful ending,” Earlee agreed. “With love triumphant.”
“It is an arranged marriage. Trust me, there is nothing romantic about that.” The thread snapped. Fiona glared at the frayed edges and realized she’d been using far too much force. It was all Ian’s fault, because she had been thinking about him. Now she was talking about him. How had he come to dominate her life so fast and thoroughly?
“Lila?” Mrs. Lawson, Lila’s stepmother, rapped her knuckles lightly against the open parlor door. “It’s four o’clock. Kate’s father and Fiona’s beau are outside waiting to take them home.”
“My what?” She couldn’t believe her ears. Mrs. Lawson smiled decorously as if nothing could possibly be wrong.
“Your beau.” Scarlet winked. “Who would have thought you would be the first of us to have a young man walk you home?”
“No one is more surprised than me.” She tucked her needle into the remnants of the seam and folded her work neatly, but she didn’t stand up to shrug into her wraps with the same speed as everyone else. She was in no hurry for the pleasant hour to end. Not only had this been the best time of her whole week, but Ian was outside waiting for her. Already wanting control of her, no doubt.
“Next week is our Christmas party,” Lila reminded everyone as they clambered down the staircase. “Can everybody stay longer for supper?”
“I can, but then I live two streets over.” Scarlet pushed ahead, leading the way past the back door to the mercantile to the alley entrance instead. “Kate, you have the farthest to come.”
“It depends on the weather.” Kate paused in the vestibule to pull on her hood. “If there’s no blizzard, then yes. I’m sure Pa will let me. What about you, Earlee?”
“I’ll just make a meal ahead. I know Beatrice will warm it in the oven and get the food on the table for everyone.” Earlee wrapped her muffler around her neck. “Will your pa let you come this time, Fee? You can’t miss our last party.”
“Da is awfully mad at me.” She tugged at her muffl
er. “I don’t know if I will be able to come.”
Everyone fell silent. What was there to say? Her friends knew well her father’s disposition. Scarlet opened the door and led the way into the brisk air. The magenta blaze of the sinking sun turned the typical small town into a breathless wonderland, like a picture in a children’s Christmas book. The snow in the alley gleamed like a rare opal. The violet light dusted the store buildings and the man waiting by a single horse-drawn sled. Sure, there were others in the alley, but all she noticed was the tall, stalwart shadow, radiating integrity so substantial it could be felt and seen in the ethereal light.
“Who is that?” Lila breathed.
“Is it him?” Scarlet whispered.
Ian. Something strange was happening to her. Her throat had closed up, and it was as if she had forgotten how to breathe. She stammered, unable to say yes or no.
“That’s your betrothed?” Kate’s jaw dropped.
“He’s the one you were supposed to marry? He’s the one you were dreading all this time?” Earlee’s whisper was a hush of astonishment. “He’s utterly well—”
“Handsome. Incredible. Manly,” Scarlet finished as if in awe. “No wonder you are letting him court you. That is a man a girl can dream on.”
“I didn’t think any fellow could be cuter than Lorenzo, but I was wrong,” Lila agreed.
“I’m so glad he came back for you.” Earlee squeezed Fiona’s hand. “How romantic.”
“Utterly,” Kate agreed.
Lila sighed as if too overcome to speak.
Could anyone have better friends? They were happy for her, thinking the boy she’d dreaded meeting all these years might actually be a once-in-a-lifetime kind of man. From their perspective, she knew that’s how Ian looked with those granite-cut shoulders and striking good looks. But he ambled closer, the tap of his cane easy and his reserved smile friendly, and there was no time to tell her friends the truth. That this was no romantic match, and Ian had not returned because of his affections for her. She felt like a miserable fraud.
