Strong and Stubborn (37 page)

Cora cuddled the baby close, tears slipping down her cheeks in a nonstop stream that told of a deep friendship Braden's fiancée had established with the now-dead mother. She looked in sore need of comforting, and Braden promised himself he'd go to her.
After
.

For now he waited as everyone filed away from the grave site, waving Granger away when it looked as though his friend might try to wheel him off. People probably thought the long, difficult rise up the uneven path wore him out, but he was staying because he chose to. Because the weight of his own guilt, shame, and grief pressed hard against his chest, demanding release before he could leave.

I should have come sooner
. When he was finally alone, Braden pulled out a bandana and quietly—because sound carried through these mountains, even if no one could see him—shed his own tears. He wept for each wooden cross marking the ridge, for each man who'd died in the mines he'd cut deep into the neighboring mountain. His chest heaved with sorrow at the knowledge that several of the plots held nothing more than names, their owners never found.
Lost forever
.

Why, God? Why let this happen? Why let them die?
Braden's heart cried its own lament.
Why didn't You let me die with them and save another in my place? They didn't deserve their fates, and I didn't deserve Your grace, even if I didn't cause the collapse
.

When the tears slowed, Braden looked over the ridge. Below, a sparkling stream wound through the lush forest. In a land of such abundance, the loss of life seemed senseless and wasteful. He rolled over the uneven dirt, brushing his fingers over every wooden cross and praying for the souls they represented. He knew each name, could envision each face, and for the first time since the tragedy, this didn't haunt him. Finally, Braden saw the blessing in his knowledge.

If I hadn't insisted on personally hiring every worker, meeting every man, who would mourn them this way?
Braden came to the end of the row, his tears slowing to a stop as resolve replaced sorrow.
More important, who would hold their murderer accountable?

“Her?” Nose flat against the window, Luke jabbed his stubby little finger against the glass each time he caught sight of a woman. “No, she's too blond, and you said Miss Higgins has black hair, so maybe … Her? Or maybe that one—no, that one's got to be too old. How ‘bout her—no, she has a baby already so she must be a Missus not a Miss.”

So far he'd pointed at Miss Lyman, the elusive Mrs. McCreedy, and the younger Miss Thompson who happened to be holding Mrs. Nash's newborn. Mike didn't spot Mrs. Nash herself and assumed she must still be recuperating—or maybe just taking a little afternoon rest.

“No, none of those.” He pried his son away from the window and smoothed down the bangs tufting up at all angles. “Now calm down. You'll see the workshop and meet Miss Higgins in just a little bit, and it's nothing to get overexcited about in the meantime. Got it?”

“Why not?” Luke blinked, tilted his head to the side, and stated, “You are, and I know why. It's ‘cuz you like Miss Higgins.”

“Well,” Mike hedged, wondering how on earth his ten-year-old boy figured that one out so quickly. “I know you'll like her, too.”

Luke's grin grew wider. “Just not in the same way you do, Dad.”

This needed to be nipped in the bud before his son mentioned this to someone else—especially if that someone else turned out to be Naomi. He had enough obstacles without his son adding to them. Mike crossed his arms. “What makes you think something like that?”

“Aw, come on! I'm not some little kid anymore.” His son raked a hand through his hair, sending shocks springing up at random intervals across his head. “You catch yourself, but you almost say her first name—right? It starts with an N. And when you talk about her, you smile with your eyes the way you used to. It's
obvious
!”

Mike held up his hand to stop his son's litany. Luke's voice had risen with every reason, and the now-stopped train couldn't mask it. Besides, the obvious thing was that Luke was right—he wasn't a little kid. After dealing with the death of his mother, losing his home to grasping grandparents, and evading dangerous thugs, Luke started the transition from boy to young man.
And an observant one
.

“What's obvious to you might not be so easily seen by others.”
I hope
. Mike smoothed Luke's hair again. “So keep it down.”

“Then you admit it?” He clamped a hand atop his head as though trying to plaster his hair in place. “That I'm right this time?”

“I'll tell you this.” Mike leaned down as he whispered, waiting for Luke to shuffle a step closer. Then he added, “I admit nothing!”

“Aw, Dad. It's not something to be embarrassed about.” Luke gave him a good-natured cuff on the arm. “You found a woman
with her own workshop
. I'd be more worried if you
didn't
like her!”

And with that bit of irrefutable logic, his ten-year-old son turned Mike's difficult decision into a forgone conclusion. Luke, who'd never met Naomi, held no doubts about how special she was. So why should he, who'd spent so many hours enjoying her company, waste another minute trying to argue away his deepening attraction?

“Got your rucksack?” Mike asked, shouldering his bulging bag.

“Yep.” Luke narrowly missed slugging him in the head as he swung the sack over his shoulder and darted out into the aisle. He didn't slow his pace until he'd gotten through the car, down the steps, and off the train altogether. Then he stopped to gawk at the town around them, effectively boxing his father on the steel steps.

“Scoot over, son.” Mike resisted the urge to nudge the back of his son's knees with the tip of his boot. The gesture might lessen Luke's newfound dignity as he greeted Hope Falls for the first time. Mike scanned the group, his gaze hitching on Naomi's smile and staying there. In that moment, it felt like he'd come home again.

“What”—Luke's tone mixed trepidation and wonder—“is
that
?”

So much for dignity
. Mike grinned as his son inched to the side and gaped at the group of people now crowding around the engine. Or, more specifically, at the massive, brindled wolfhound circling them.

“Dunstan!” He called the hunter over, knowing Decoy would follow his master. Meanwhile, Mike clapped a hand on Luke's shoulder so he'd know not to be frightened of the approaching beast. “I need to make introductions, but your dog's stealing my son's attention.”

“Decoy, right?” Far from being frightened, Luke moved forward. He glanced at Dunstan. “Dad said a big dog helped save some people trapped in a mine, but I didn't realize he meant one
this
big!”

“He comes in handy.” Dunstan's reply might have sounded cool, but the corners of his mouth quirked as though holding back a smile. He snapped his fingers, made a motion, and the wolfhound promptly lowered his hindquarters and sat. The movement didn't make him any smaller, but the show of obedience reassured Luke—and Mike, if the truth be told. Somehow he'd forgotten just how large Decoy was.

“Can I pet him?” Luke's hand twitched, belying the effort it took to ask permission instead of reach for the gray-black fur.

“Let him sniff the back of your hand first,” Dunstan instructed. “Dogs are like horses that way—like to get a sense of you before they let you touch them. It's kind of like a handshake.”

“Yeah?” Luke beamed as Decoy gave his hand a thorough snuffle.

“Now you can pet him. See how his ears went back? That means he's relaxed. Just remember, if they went flat against his skull, that means to get back.” Dunstan kept up a steady stream of instruction, though it was easy to see Decoy loved being scratched behind the ears. No one could see the way his tongue lolled out as anything but bliss.

“Well, now that Decoy's approved of you, you're officially welcome in Hope Falls.” Miss Lyman stood on Dunstan's other side. “I'm Miss Lyman—the other person stuck in the mines until Decoy led my friends and your dad to come dig us out of there. It seems your father has a knack for showing up in the middle of difficult days.”

M
ichael has a knack for showing up when he's needed
. Naomi drank in the sight of him, from the unruly hair she wanted to run her fingers through to the smile lines drawing attention to his deep brown eyes and the broad shoulders she'd cried on the first day they met. Had it really been just under a month since he came to Hope Falls? It felt as if she'd known him a lifetime and missed him for half that.

“And who, pray tell, is
that
?” Charlotte twirled her parasol, gaze fixed on Michael as though committing his features to memory.

“Mr. Strode.” Naomi's hackles went up at her sister's appreciative murmur and discreet ogling. Discreet ogling still counted as ogling. Charlotte had no business going goggly-eyed over the way Michael stood there, silhouetted by the late afternoon sun.

“Your carpenter?” Charlotte practically purred. “Now I begin to see the appeal of staying shut up in that sawdust-strewn room.”

“The Hope Falls carpenter,” Naomi corrected, unwilling to let Charlotte see that she hated making the distinction.
Not mine
.

“My, my. How very precise you're being.” Her sister gave her a knowing glance. “It looks as though Lacey is finished explaining about Mrs. Nash, and the boy's wandering off to walk with that massive mutt. Isn't it the perfect time for you to introduce us?”

“Of course—why don't you get Harold while I fetch Mr. Strode?” Naomi knew full well that Charlotte hadn't included her husband in that “us,” but she seized the opportunity to give her sister a subtle reminder. The fact that it also allowed her to approach Michael alone, if only for a scant moment, added another reward.

“Welcome back.” She swept toward him, moving as quickly as possible to greet him before her sister intruded. Naomi wanted to give him a hug or at least clasp hands, but couldn't. She knew better than to single Michael out with such attention in front of her suitors, to say nothing of giving Charlotte such ammunition.

“Thank you. I should have realized the whole town didn't turn up to greet us.” He kept the words light, but his gaze held hers, strong and steady. “It's never easy saying good-bye to a friend, and I know you'd become fond of Mrs. Nash. I'm sorry for your loss.”

“Loss is never easy.” Charlotte swept into the conversation, positioning herself as close to Michael as possible. “Of course, the arrival of an old friend and the promise of new acquaintances means life continues. The reminder makes any loss somewhat more bearable.”

Michael looked poleaxed, but Naomi couldn't tell whether he was overwhelmed by her sister's charms or caught off guard by her boldness in inserting herself into their private conversation. Additionally, it looked as though Charlotte's ambiguous statement had perplexed even Michael's ability to puzzle things together.

At best, Charlotte was saying that Michael and Luke would ease the grief Hope Falls felt at losing Arla. Possibly she meant that she herself along with Michael might provide the distraction and entertainment needed to lighten the dreary day. But the worst interpretation of all seemed most likely: Charlotte had insinuated that she—who'd never exchanged so much as a word with the deceased—needed comfort and expected to find it in Michael, her new friend.

Not that Naomi could call attention to the inappropriateness of Charlotte's conversation. Her sister would claim the best of intentions, casting Naomi as petty and petulant.
Am I being petty? Is it really Charlotte's words that I find objectionable, or am I looking for offense because she barged in to Michael's homecoming?

“I didn't realize your sister planned to visit.” Michael's comment was part question, part answer. At least it explained why he'd looked vaguely confused and definitely at a loss. Michael hadn't been trying to puzzle through Charlotte's meaning at all—he'd been busy looking for her connection to Naomi. And he'd found it.

“Nor did I, but she and her husband arrived the day after you left. Apparently Mr. Blinman was one of the previous investors Braden decided to invite.” Naomi noticed Charlotte hadn't bothered to fetch Harold for introductions. “Mrs. Charlotte Blinman decided to join him on the journey. As you guessed, she is my sister.”

“
Younger
sister, though I'm certain you would have guessed that, too.” She peeped from beneath her fanned lashes, pretending shyness but obviously expecting his swift and admiring agreement.

Naomi fought a sudden urge to step on her sister's toes. Wasn't it enough that Harry chose Charlotte for her youth and supposedly better ability to bear little Blinmans? Did Charlotte have to trot out their age difference to make her seem spinsterish to Michael?