Strong and Stubborn (33 page)

“I've got nothing to add to that.” Granger cracked his jaw. “For as many questions as he asks, they're all about the sawmill plans, logging, or supply routes. Thing is, he might be avoiding the topic of the mines because he thinks I won't know anything. We made it pretty clear I came on board to run the sawmill, not before.”

“We also made it clear that I helped survey the property, recommended the geologists, and helped start the mines.” Dunstan put down the paper. “But he hasn't said a word to me either. He's either very optimistic about the new venture and reluctant to bring up past failures, or Corning is trying hard to seem disinterested.”

“We can't condemn a man for his lack of conversation.” Braden swung his feet over the side of the bed, ready to get into his chair and greet his guests. “Maybe we can do better with Blinman. Even if he plays close to the vest, maybe his wife will let something slip.”

Dunstan grinned. “Either way, I won't worry about Evie's ruffled feathers. Lacey's more than a match for any snooty miss.”

“I'm not worried about either of them,” Braden admitted. “It's Naomi. I can't remember hearing her mention her sister—not one single time in the five years she's lived with us. Naomi isn't a part of her sister's life, and there's got to be a good reason.”

Y
ou stole my wedding night.” Charlotte turned on Naomi a moment after Harry closed the door. Just long enough so he wouldn't hear.

At least Naomi hoped he hadn't heard. She hoped no one heard, that no one would
ever
hear. Because if she couldn't make it untrue, at the very least she needed to keep it her and Charlotte's secret. The thing of it was, Charlotte didn't seem very inclined to keep it a secret anymore. That fear, more than the old guilt and shame, is what kept Naomi silent beneath her sister's scathing scrutiny.

“You slept with my
husband
,” Charlotte hissed, almost exactly the same way she had on that awful morning five years before. She seemed to think the word
husband
held particular pain for Naomi, and once upon a time she'd been right. Today she probably noticed that it lacked the same impact, so she tried again. “
My
husband.”

And even though Naomi knew this was all her fault, knew the shame of her sin and the aching regret for the destruction it caused … she surprised herself. How often had she dreamed of a reunion with her sister? So many times imagining that she'd be overcome with guilt again, offering profuse apologies that just might be accepted this time … but anger steadily overpowered regret.

Lord, what right have I to be angry? After what I've done, I don't deserve to grieve the loss of my innocence or still ache over the reminder that Harry betrayed me with my own sister. Not when I betrayed us all ten times worse. I know I'm in the wrong. I
know
it
.

But still a tiny, stubborn kernel of her heart raged at Charlotte's callous egotism. That she'd intentionally stolen the man Naomi once loved, just to get pretty dresses and a more respected name in society. She hated the way Charlotte saw Harry as nothing more than a belonging to dangle in front of Naomi's nose, the trophy that forever proclaimed her ability to upstage her older sister.

Because in Charlotte's mind, Naomi hadn't betrayed a sacred moral vow or even their bond as sisters. No. For Charlotte, the cardinal trespass had been Naomi's assumption of her position—for daring to touch what
belonged
to her. Harry was just a possession.

“Is that why you came?” Naomi folded her hands in front of her then decided that made her look too much like a penitent child. She wouldn't grovel for a forgiveness her sister would never offer. Not anymore at least. Charlotte didn't know it—and Naomi knew her sister well enough to accept that it wouldn't make a difference even if she did—but ruining Naomi meant ruining Lacey, Cora, and Evie. Their connection to a fallen woman, coupled with their unconventional choices, made all three sitting targets for slander.

Naomi could no longer wallow in a bog of despair, refusing to defend herself against a crime she'd never intended to commit. Now was the time to challenge Charlotte—let her know Naomi had grown too strong to be destroyed by catty comments, snide reminders, or even outright threats. Now wasn't the time for self-flagellation—now was the time to protect Hope Falls and throw her sister off-balance.

“You tagged along to keep an eye on Harry?” She used his nickname to goad Charlotte. Sure enough, her sister's eyes narrowed, but Naomi continued. “To keep an eye on me? Make sure I didn't catch your husband's eye and tempt him into an illicit affair?”

“Don't make me laugh.” Charlotte jerked at a knot in her hat ribbons, freed herself, then flung the overblown creation atop the bed. “You possess the charm and grace of a moldering turnip. Do you think I don't know the measures you've resorted to, trying to snare a husband? Everyone knows you couldn't catch a man of your own.”

Naomi sucked in a breath. Charlotte wouldn't
inadvertently
destroy the other women of the town by destroying Naomi. No. Her sister
knew
about the infamous advertisement. She knew the depth of the destruction she'd cause if she alienated the only men who might overlook Naomi's past in favor of the future they could create. As much as Naomi hated to admit it, her sister was right.
I can't catch a man
. But lagging behind the bitter reminder came indignation.
Who's Charlotte to say anything, after she stole Harry from me?

“I might not have caught a husband,” Naomi's fingernails dug into her palms, “but at least I can say I didn't steal one either.”

“No, you didn't.” Charlotte skimmed her hand along the footboard, examined her fingertips, and rubbed them together as though trying to remove nonexistent dust. “But not for lack of trying. How very lowering it must be, to have failed like that. Tell me. What is it like, trying so hard for so little recognition?”

Naomi bit her lip, the taunt jabbing a tiny, tender spot of what used to be her pride. The fact that Harry never realized he'd bedded the wrong sister still hurt. Naomi might not remember that night, but she'd been a novice when it came to hard liquor. Naomi hadn't known better than to follow two fingers of aged whiskey with a few glasses of wine and several champagne toasts. Naomi hadn't known she'd become such an embarrassment that her sister had to drag her from the ballroom and back to the family wing. Most of all, she never would have imagined that she'd wake up in the wrong bed. If Naomi had known any of that, she would've taken the tumbler from her mother's hand and smashed it against the wall!

“Speechless, are you?” Charlotte sank down onto the mattress. “Well, I can't blame you for feeling mortified. If you can't be successful in stealing a man, you should at
least
be memorable.”

And that was the crux of the matter. If Harry knew what he'd done, Naomi wouldn't have been able to leave quietly. But a small part of her hadn't forgiven him for not remembering the night he took what only belonged to her husband. Harry had no excuse. He drank with his friends. Often. He knew better than to overindulge and should have abstained on the eve of his wedding, if for no other reason than to respect his new bride. Instead he'd gotten caught up in revelry, taken too many celebratory sips, and lost his head.

Charlotte flapped her hand. “Now go away. You've made me tired, and I need rest because, unlike you,
I
always make an impression!”

Naomi left without another word, too needled to trust herself to speak, too confused by the sudden storm of emotions. She'd tried so hard not to think about Harry, and now the maelstrom hit. She found herself thinking she could almost
—almost
—have understood if he'd only realized his mistake when it was too late to undo the damage. After all, hadn't Jacob done the same with Leah and Rachel? But Harry didn't realize he'd made any mistake. He'd stumbled back to his own chambers, never noticing he'd bedded the wrong sister.

And while his ignorance saved her reputation from certain destruction … it rankled. An insult upon injury. The man who'd taken her virginity
didn't even recognize her
. Harry took her pride when he chose Charlotte, then he stole Naomi's innocence. How could it not hurt? Despite their history, Harry never bothered to notice the real Naomi. Not the woman she was, and not the woman she wasn't.

Was she the woman for him? The question flitted around Mike's mind, swooping in and mixing with his excitement over fetching Luke.
Is Naomi Higgins the woman I should marry? The right mother for Luke?

Decency dictated that he mourn his wife for at least a year, but widowers with children were often given greater latitude—especially out West, where a man worked sunup to sundown and nannies were all but a foreign phrase. Even if some sticklers balked at a short mourning, no one here knew how long he'd been a widower.

Nor did they know Mike hadn't really lost a wife—how could he lose what he never really had? A wife was supposed to be a helpmeet, a mother to their children, faithful to her husband. Leticia, God rest her soul, fulfilled none of these, and although Mike regretted the way she lived her life and mourned his inability to reach her, he didn't grieve for her as a husband for his mate.

Still, he never imagined he'd be contemplating marriage to another woman so soon. If things were different, he'd have time to court Naomi properly. Time to introduce her to Luke and cultivate the respect and affection sure to blossom between them. Mike didn't doubt Naomi would love Luke—but his son would be more reticent. A new town, a new home, and a new workshop were a lot of big changes to take in all at once. It might already be too much, too soon.

But if he waited to woo Naomi, he would be too late. Even now, during the few days he'd spend away from Hope Falls, the loggers were closing in.
By the time I get back
, he couldn't help the bitter thought,
they'll have constructed an entire tree around that cougar
.

For now he could only keep doing what he'd been doing—praying. Mike prayed for wisdom, he prayed for guidance, and most of all he prayed that the woman he wanted just might happen to want him back and that it was God's plan to bring them together in time to swipe her from the lumberjacks. If not, surely He would have brought Mike to Hope Falls after she was safely married? Or at least not let Mike's thoughts continually drift toward her changeable green eyes.

Mike rubbed his hand along his jaw, resisting the urge to scratch the itchy growth. He'd intentionally gone without shaving for two days before leaving Hope Falls, and after four days his full-fledged beard provided something of a disguise. He prayed it wouldn't be necessary, that the threat of the Bainbridges' selfishness no longer chased his son, but Mike came prepared.

He rested in the assurance that his sister never sent their coded warning. Given the telegram situation in Hope Falls, he might have missed such a message. But Paula knew to send a written letter—addressed to the fictitious Miss Nouveau—as an additional precaution. If they'd been tracked down, there was every chance that her messages might be monitored. Mike had been surreptitiously riffling through the post ever since Granger and the women had cleaned out Draxley's office. No telegram, no letter, no trouble.

And no taking chances with his son's future at stake. As the train eased into the station, all steam and straining steel, Mike tugged his hat brim a shade lower. He grabbed the burlap sack he was using in lieu of a satchel—the better to look like a random deliveryman, if necessary—and moved in an ambling shuffle completely at odds with the urgent need to reach his son.
I was gone too long
.

He felt it with a bone-deep conviction, even though Mike never expected to be back so soon. He'd even warned Luke that it might take the rest of the summer to find a new home for the two of them. Mike realized he'd started to speed up, spurred by the thought of surprising his son. He slowed by degrees, no sudden stops or any abrupt shift in stride. Nothing to draw the attention of passersby.

The nonchalant pace took an agonizingly long time to traverse the few short blocks to his sister's house. As Mike turned the corner, he very obviously checked the street sign and squinted at the structures as though not entirely sure where he was headed. By the time he shuffled up the steps and knocked on the door, Mike felt he'd given a credible performance. It was all he could do to keep his head down so he could hide his grin.
Luke will be so happy
.

The door cracked open. Paula looked out, pale and suspicious, before she ushered him inside. She sagged against the closed door as though to brace against intruders. Her eyes, wide and troubled, made Mike's heart pound long before she confessed, “Luke's not here.”