Strong and Stubborn (27 page)

This, at least, was true. Although he'd manfully refused to indulge in tears when he heard of his mother's death, Luke shed a few when they visited the workshop for the final time. Mike understood—Leticia didn't involve herself in Luke's upbringing, preferring to leave the difficult task of parenting to a coterie of nursemaids, nannies, and tutors. Although not altogether indifferent, she'd been absent more often than not. Far more often.

But the workshop … that had been a constant in his son's life long before Luke spoke. Mike started sneaking his son into his sanctuary while the nursemaid napped and continued the visits more openly after Luke could walk. In the workshop, he'd read fables to his son, and when Luke began to write, they'd traced letters then words in layers of sawdust. While Mike worked, Luke kept himself busy, happily playing with the trains, spinning tops, and building blocks Mike gave him—toys Mike fashioned in the early days of his marriage, when he still hoped to build a real family.

Naomi seemed subdued. “You must have loved her very much. It would have been hard to stay in a place that held so many memories.”

“It was hard to leave,” he admitted. When he'd locked the door for the final time, Mike almost cried along with his son. Leaving behind the workshop meant leaving the place where they'd both been happiest, without knowing when or where they'd find a new sanctuary. Mike could only thank God that he'd found Hope Falls and pray for patience until he could bring Luke home to build new memories.

“It's never easy to leave what we know.” A hint of hardness crept into the set of her jaw but quickly vanished as she whispered, “But sometimes it's the only choice you have left.”

Mike gladly took the chance to turn the conversation around. If things went well, he might be able to answer the questions plaguing him about that ad. “It couldn't have been easy for you either.”

“No, it wa—” She stopped, the unnatural pause and her widened eyes telling that she'd been about to agree with him but didn't want him to know it. Naomi cleared her throat. “It was much easier than you might think—certainly easier than staying behind.”

“Why?” Mike knew better than to pry, but his inability to solve the puzzle that was Naomi Higgins goaded his conversation.

Naomi looked astonished at his brazen question but still deigned to answer him. “You might not understand, Michael. You left your home because a family member died. I left because we found out that Braden survived the cave-in. Lacey and Cora were going to find him whether Evie and I came with them or not.”

The sadness behind her words tore at him, and Mike could have kicked himself for being an insensitive boor. Apologizing was the only thing to do. “I'm sorry. I didn't realize the Lymans were your only family. Did you lose your parents at a very young age?”

“My father died two days before I was born. They say I share his coloring.” Absently, she reached up and traced the streak of white brightening her hair. “My mother passed away two years ago.”

“My condolences for your loss.” Mike was glad to know he hadn't trampled over a fresh tragedy, but he also knew that the loss of a beloved mother never lost its sting. “My mother traded this world for heaven shortly after Luke was born. At the time, I thought she'd held on so long just to see her grandson. It gave me comfort to know I'd been able to give her that final joy.” More than any medicine paid for by the Bainbridge largess, Mike believed that his mother's delight in seeing her grandson gave peace to her final months.

For that, and for Luke himself, he couldn't bring himself to regret the bargain he'd struck. But he knew all to well that was an undeserved blessing. Mike ached at the thought Naomi might make the same mistake he had. Would a decade with her hired husband leave her with all the regrets and none of the satisfaction a marriage should hold? She deserved more—why could she not see it? Did she feel that her lack of family left her so alone, she had no choice but to marry the first man who'd be an asset to Hope Falls?

“A child is a joy unlike any other, and even better since no two are alike.” She smiled, but her eyes swam with sorrow. “Your wife must have grieved to be unable to give Luke a brother or sister.”

“Luke is enough.” Mike heard his own fierceness and softened his tone. “God saw fit to bless me with one wonderful son, and I never wanted him or his mother to think he wasn't enough.”

Not having any more children was one of the few things he and Leticia had actually seen eye to eye on. Despite Mike's dogged determination to honor their wedding vows, Leticia returned to her faithless ways almost as soon as she'd healed from giving birth.

Mike married her knowing it meant accepting another man's child as his son, but he'd felt no bitterness about it. The deed was done before he'd ever met the woman. Somehow he knew he wouldn't be able to accept the same situation with the same equanimity after they'd wed. Perhaps it wasn't logical or fair, but he was honest about it. For her part, Leticia refused to endure the pain again or ruin her figure.

“Of course! I didn't mean to imply that your son was in any way lacking. My thoughts were more that siblings add a new dimension to a child's life… .” Naomi trailed off, lost in consternation.

“I didn't take offense.” He saw she didn't believe him and searched for a way to smooth things over. “Do you have a sibling?”

“A sister.” If she'd seemed sorrowful at the mention of her mother's passing, now Naomi looked lost in the Bog of Despair from
Pilgrim's Progress
. Blinking rapidly, she croaked out, “Married.”

She seemed so distraught at the thought of her sister's marriage, Mike wondered at the cause. Perhaps she disapproved of her brother-in-law and felt concern for her sibling. Or maybe theirs was a happy marriage, and Naomi battled envy. Either way, the comparison between her sister and herself could only cause pain.

He hated to see her suffer, but more than that, Mike hated his own inability to do anything about it.

W
hat are we supposed to do?” Cora hissed at Braden, trying to keep her voice low enough that the stranger loitering in the hallway wouldn't hear. “And who, exactly, is this Mr. Clyde Corning? You didn't discuss inviting him, and now all of a sudden
he's here
!”

This last statement smacked of the obvious, but Cora wanted to get the true urgency of the situation through Braden's thick skull. Because the man looked completely unperturbed by the fact that they had no accommodations for the “honored” guest he'd sprung on them.

“Corning's a potential investor, and I didn't know he was coming.” He sounded less unconcerned than tired, and suddenly it occurred to Cora that Braden might have already worn himself out.

He'd made a habit of finding the most difficult inclines to practice rolling himself up and down several times. But this didn't satisfy Braden, who seemed bound and determined to build up his strength. The few times he'd tipped over had been due to trying to control his descent down an incline while going
backward
.

As if that weren't enough, Braden didn't even get into the chair until Doc put him through so-called physiotherapy every morning. Even the doctor himself admitted that it was a new field of medicine—pioneered by Swedish gymnasts of all things! Even though the techniques were finding widespread use for rehabilitating wounded soldiers, the process remained both inexact and exhausting.

Now that she took the time to look, she saw the telltale tightening of the corners of his mouth—the ones that said he was in pain but determined not to let her know. His color, while much improved from a week's worth of outdoor sessions, looked pale. Cora chastised herself for not noticing sooner. After all, she knew that he'd already gone through his personal gauntlet by late afternoon.

Keeping track of his schedule helped her know how to evade him. Otherwise she never would have managed to avoid him for an entire week while she floundered from one sort of feeling to another. Cornering Cora seemed to be Braden's only goal—aside from his almost maniacal determination to regain his strength. It didn't matter how many times people told him he didn't need to rush, he—

He knew better
. The realization whisked away Cora's guilt over misinterpreting Braden's fatigue as disinterest.
Braden hasn't been pushing himself so hard simply to recover—he's been getting ready!

“Oh, you knew he was coming.” Cora jabbed a finger at him, stopping just shy of his nose and making his eyes cross for a second. “Mr. Corning says you invited him, and you've been working yourself into a lather readying yourself!”

“Erm.” Braden uncrossed his eyes and slid his gaze over her shoulder, toward the closed door. “He didn't respond to the invitation. I didn't know if anyone was coming, much less when.”

“What do you mean, ‘anyone'?” Suspicious, Cora peered at him, but Braden kept his gaze firmly fixed on some spot behind her. He only refused to meet her gaze when he had something to hide. “Just how many people did you invite without consulting everyone else?”

Briefly Braden's temper flared to life, giving him the energy to push himself into a sitting position. “Now isn't the time to discuss it, Cora! Right now you need to escort Mr. Corning in here and go find Dunstan and Granger so they can join us. While the men talk, you women can bustle around and get something ready for him.”

“While
the men
talk?” She gritted her teeth to keep from shrieking at the obstinate fool. “You don't run Hope Falls, Braden.
We women
do. Dunstan and Granger answer to Lacey and Evie, and we will not be treated as housekeepers while you hold court in here!”

“Stop making things so difficult!” he snapped at her.

Cora arched a brow and left the room—closing the door behind her so Braden couldn't hear what she said to Mr. Corning. As far as she was concerned, he deserved to be shut out of things for a while.

“Mr. Corning.” She nudged the corners of her lips into what she hoped passed for a gracious smile. “I've informed Mr. Lyman of your arrival, and he is anxious to greet you. He'll need a few moments, so I'll escort you to the house where you can freshen up a bit.”

Within five minutes she'd directed the doctor to ready Braden's chair, stopped by the mercantile with Mr. Corning to pick up Lacey and ask Dunstan to find Mr. Granger, and shooed their unexpected guest into the kitchen to wash up. As expected, Dunstan found Granger in the kitchen, which made Evie go fetch Naomi, so Cora had just long enough to apprise everyone gathered in the parlor of the situation. It didn't take long since she knew precious little. She finished before Mr. Corning emerged from the kitchen.

By the time Braden rolled in, it was good he brought his own seat. Disgruntled women monopolized the parlor—and the conversation.

Braden could hardly get a word in edgewise. He sat there fuming while the women sent him scowls and cozied up to Corning. Corning!

Of all the strategic invitations he'd sent, no one showed the good grace to respond. But Clyde Corning, who Braden only included because it might raise the saboteur's suspicions if only some of the previous investors were invited, landed right on his doorstep.

“Cautious Clyde,” as he'd been nicknamed in college, made a tidy living on the stock market by selecting only the safest shares. Corning's reputation for careful investing convinced others to back Miracle Mining when geological surveys and Braden's own powers of persuasion failed. Every businessman in Charleston knew there was no better bet than a venture already backed by Cautious Clyde Corning.

A more methodical man couldn't be found. He shied away from all but the slightest risks. So what in blue blazes brought him across the country without so much as a question asked or research piled into every nook and cranny of his meticulous, massive desk?

Dunstan kept looking from Corning to Braden, as though trying to decide what made this man a suspect. Judging by Granger's furrowed brow, his attempts to solve the same puzzle were failing. The only signal Braden could give was a short shake of his head. It wasn't as though he could outright announce that Corning didn't count as a suspect and Braden never expected him to show up.

“A pleasure to meet each of you.” Corning awkwardly addressed the female population in the room and rubbed his chin. “I apologize that I didn't have the time to shave and present myself properly.”

“We don't rest on formality,” came Naomi's understatement.

“Do you know, Mr. Corning, that I believe a beard would look well on you?” Trust Lacey to try and hide the man's weak chin. His sister waged a constant war to help people look their best. So far Naomi was the only person who'd held out against Lacey's guidance.

Cautious Clyde went ruddy at the comment, thoughtfully fingering the sparse stubble along his jaw. “I've considered it.”