Strong and Stubborn (32 page)

Corning shook his head. “There's a catch to every contract.”

“What a catch.” Gent twirled his beloved top hat on the tip of his finger. “To trade the respect of your peers for the bride of your dreams or maintain one's stature and live with a monster.”

“It takes a strong man to choose his bride for her own sake and not for what other people will think.” Naomi's cheeks glowed, and she'd half risen from her seat in a rare display of irritation.

“So tell us,” Braden intervened. “What did Gawain choose?”

“He chose to listen.” Cora spread her arms and looked around the circle. “Gawain remembered the answer to the impossible question and honored his bride with the thing women want most. He told the lovely maiden he couldn't make the decision for her.”

The answer was so obvious it could have smacked him in the head, and Braden still hadn't recognized it until Cora finished. His only consolation lay in the fact that the other men hadn't realized it either. Maybe that's why only a legendary knight figured it out.

“The Lovely Lady smiled and told him that, in return for listening to her answer and giving her a choice, the spell was entirely broken. Lovely she would remain for all the hours of the day and night, and none would ever see the Loathly Lady again.”

I
t can't be her
. Naomi staggered, guilt pressing her lungs toward her spine and shame making her want to hide. She watched in disbelief as a very elegant lady daintily disembarked down the train's folding steps. Naomi watched a very familiar face turn toward her, and suddenly it was too late to pretend this wasn't happening. Too late to seek sanctuary in the workshop and pray that the visitors were just passing through and might miss her entirely.

An enigmatic smile tilted the corners of her lips as Charlotte spotted her sister for the first time in five years. That smile pounded in Naomi's heart with the force of a battering ram.
She hates me. I know she does. But she's smiling. Maybe there's a small chance we can rebuild a relationship, that blood is thicker than betrayal and the years have softened Charlotte toward forgiveness
.

She needed to move, but that terrible mix of fear and hope kept her rooted in place in the shadow of the diner. Because her sister hadn't come alone. No. There, smoothly taking Charlotte's arm and oblivious to Naomi, stood the man who'd torn them apart.
Harry
.

Oh no
. Her chest pinched, making it difficult to breathe. Five years had passed, but her first glimpse of them brought her right back to the most horrifying moment of her life. The terrible truth Naomi privately mourned and desperately kept hidden from everyone.
Lord … Oh Lord … why have You brought this upon me?
Naomi desperately sought reassurance.
Why now, when I'm so close to choosing a husband? I know things aren't going as well as I'd hoped, and I spend far too much time thinking about Michael, but still
—A sudden thought grabbed hold of her with iron claws.
Is this why You brought them? Not to restore the last member of my family but only to remind me of the heartache of choosing a man who isn't meant for me?

She thought she might be sick, right there in front of her estranged sister and the man who'd ruined her life.
How uncivilized
. Then there was no time left to be sick because now Harry caught sight of her and began steering Charlotte over. Naomi could only watch as the Blinmans descended on her like some dark dream.

Perhaps they're going to denounce me. What am I going to do?

Smile. Or at least, Naomi tried to smile. She nudged her mouth into some semblance of a welcome. Then she took a step forward as though on her way to give the congenial greeting propriety demanded. A single step toward doom. It was all her wobbly knees could manage.

“Mimi!” Charlotte launched herself into a crushing embrace.

What on earth is going on?
Naomi's mind whirled. Why was the sister who'd shunned her for half a decade now enacting this overblown reunion? Why did this embrace not feel forced and grasping, when Naomi longed for the day Charlotte would accept her?

Mimi
. Naomi's nose wrinkled. She'd forgotten the way Charlotte always insisted on using the pet name Naomi disliked most but still threw herself into a tizzy if anyone dared to call her Lottie.
Funny, the things you forget
, she mused.
Almost as strange as the way one's brain stops working properly just when one needs it most
.

“How
have
you been?” Charlotte disentangled herself at last, still smiling. “It's been positively
ages
since I've seen you.”

Wait. What?
Why did that make it sound as though Naomi abandoned her? Her precarious smile slipped, and Naomi tried to tack it back on, too saddened by the realization that her hopes were for naught. Not that she blamed Charlotte for forbidding so much as letters—her sister had every right to cut Naomi from her life after what happened—but why enact such a grand performance here and now?

Unless … unless she kept her promise and never told Harry what happened
. The fine hairs on the nape of her neck prickled.
Unless she somehow hid the fact that we haven't so much as written each other, and Charlotte is trying to make sure he never knows about it
.

“Since the wedding.” How had she failed to notice how nasally Harry's voice sounded? “Yes, that's it. Such a long time since you left to help your cousins, and now we find you all the way out here!” Astonishment underscored this last, bringing the dawning realization that Harry—and perhaps Charlotte, too—hadn't known Naomi was here.

What a muddle. But at least she could take comfort in the knowledge that they hadn't tracked her down intending to ruin her. Charlotte's affection might be staged, but that was preferable to hostility. Her presence threatened more than Naomi now. If Charlotte started stripping away Naomi's veneer of respectability, Lacey, Cora, and Evie's reputations became vulnerable by association.

“What brings you to Hope Falls?” she blurted out once she could finally speak. It sounded too harsh. Unwelcoming. Accusing, even. Naomi dredged up some enthusiasm. “Such a surprise to see you both!”

“Naomi?” Lacey detached from Evie's side, where they'd both been gawking at the spectacle, and fluttered over to join them. She looked from Charlotte to Naomi, recognition flaring in her blue eyes. “I didn't realize we were expecting guests this afternoon.”

“We weren't.” Naomi knew she sounded less than gracious, but she refused to be blamed for another unannounced arrival. “I mean, I wasn't. And I don't think they expected to find me here either.”

“Oh no.” Harry patted Charlotte's hand. “We knew. It's the reason my wife insisted on coming along, wanting to see Naomi.”

“You knew?” Naomi's heart, which only just resumed regular beats, plummeted. The sensation was so physically uncomfortable, she rather suspected that her next step would end with a sickly
squish
.

“How intriguing.” Lacey tilted her head as though puzzled. “Surely you're Cousin Charlotte? The resemblance to Naomi is absolutely uncanny. But didn't you send notice of your arrival?”

“Wanted it to be a surprise,” Harry chortled. “Charlotte ran across your brother's invitation, and when I told her I wanted to see this sawmill venture for myself, she refused to stay behind.”

“I wouldn't hear of it.” Charlotte tittered like a parakeet.

“Oh, I'll just bet you wouldn't.” Lacey's sickly sweet tone didn't fool Naomi, who remembered her cousin's outrage when she'd learned that Harry had originally courted Naomi then switched.

No, Lacey
. Naomi gave her cousin a pleading look and a swift shake of her head.
Don't antagonize Charlotte or rile her temper!

“So many adventures to be had in such a wild place as this!” Charlotte tightened her grip on Harry's arm and gave Naomi a pointed look. “Why should I let my husband and my sister have all the fun?”

She might as well have kicked Naomi in the stomach. The air whooshed from her lungs, and she had to take a step back to keep from keeling over. And Charlotte knew it, too. Her sister's grin became positively feline, and Naomi suddenly knew, without a doubt, that her sister was toying with her. Even worse, she
enjoyed
it.

As the danger grew clearer, Naomi's guilt faded beneath panic. She'd probably been waiting for this chance since Naomi ruined her wedding. With Mama gone, Charlotte could finally take her revenge.

“Vengeance belongs to the Lord, but He encourages us to seek justice,” Granger reminded Braden when he spotted the new arrivals.

Since Granger came back from his trip to Baltimore, having seen his brother's murderer tried, found guilty, and slated for execution, Granger had mellowed. Or maybe that was Evie's influence. Either way, Braden didn't appreciate his friend's well-meaning reminder that
finding
the saboteur didn't end things, because Braden couldn't mete out the murderer's punishment.

For some unfathomable reason, letting the court decide to hang the criminal counted as justice. To Braden's way of thinking, justice should be more along the lines of breaking a few bones before leaving him enclosed in a cold, pitch-black cave to die slowly—the same sentence his greed handed down to Braden's miners.

Luckily, Braden could shove that aside for further contemplation
after
he caught the criminal. More urgent matters demanded his immediate attention—for instance, the newly arrived suspect who'd just strolled past Braden's window. “Harry Blinman?”

“Say again?” Dunstan craned his neck to look around the paper he'd been perusing. Half curled beneath his master's chair, Decoy raised his head from his paws and cocked his ears. “Harry who?”

“Forget Harry Whoever-he-is.” Granger crossed over to the window for a better look at a mysterious woman in violet. “Who's that?” From his tone of voice, Granger was more wary than impressed.

Braden let out an exasperated snort. “If you stop blocking the window so I can get a better look, I might be able to tell you.”

By now Dunstan took the opposite side, bracketing the window and making it even more difficult to see anything. If Granger sounded wary, Dunstan sounded downright suspicious. “Fancy dame.”

“Dame?” Braden snickered. “Never thought I'd hear that word coming from you to describe a lady. She must be Blinman's wife, though why any man would bring his wife here, I can't even imagine.”

“I don't use it to describe ladies.” Dunstan abandoned the window and returned to his paper. “And the one all decked out in purple might look like Miss Higgins, but she's a rotten egg.”

“Looks like Naomi?” Braden took another look. Without Dunstan blocking part of the window, he caught the resemblance he'd missed. He fell back with a groan. “Lacey's going to have my head. How could I forget that Blinman married Naomi's sister? That's Cousin Charlotte—and I've never met her, but Dunstan just might be right.”

“How did you know?” Granger squinted over to where the purple lady stood, watching porters remove her luggage from the train. “That she's a rotten egg, I mean. You can hardly see her face.”

“Way she carries herself.” Dunstan strolled back to his spot, careful not to block the view this time. “See how it's not just good posture? Her chin's forward, nose up, eyes narrowed. She holds her arms stiff and straight when she directs the porters—keeping as much distance as possible. Very hoity-toity. Thinks too much of herself, too little of others, with just enough charm to hide it from the ‘important' people.” He nodded as Harry Blinman reached his wife's side. The woman visibly softened. “See? She rounds her shoulders toward him, making him feel bigger and stronger—building him up. For him, she's all big eyes and pretty smiles. Pure manipulation. That woman's a cobra disguised as a kitten, coiled and ready to strike.”

“I don't know how you do that.” Braden stared, seeing everything Dunstan described and agreeing with his assessment. “If someone asked, I'd say she was just directing the workers and then welcoming her husband to her side. Never would have noticed.”

“The shift is too big.” Granger rubbed the back of his neck. “She's the kind to ruffle feathers, and Evie's too much a mother hen to let it happen. If I were you, Braden, I'd make the most of my time with Blinman because, like as not, it's going to be cut short.”

“I would say Harold Blinman is the last man I would've expected to have drop in, but Corning takes that honor. Remind me to thank Lawson for fielding all his questions about the mill design—and for taking him off our hands for a few hours.” Braden rubbed his temple. “An entire week, and I've found nothing to indicate his involvement in the mine collapse. The most suspicious thing about the man is the sheer fact that he toddled out from behind his desk and came here.”