Undaunted Love (PART TWO): Banished Saga, Book 3.5 (18 page)

“No one has to convince me of that. Hell, I’ve known that for months. I’ve known she’d be good for me since the moment I met her. I have no job to offer her. When I was foreman at the mill, I had a proper income. I had a home I could offer her. I’ve nothing now, Gabe.” He sighed, the frustration and fight leaving him, as his shoulders stooped, and he became more dejected. “I’m living off your uncle’s charity and her good graces.”

“You’ll find something again,” Ronan argued. “You’re a good foreman. They’ll want you back.”

“I’m a half-crippled ex-foreman,” Sebastian said. “Anyone’d be a fool to hire me.”

A loud knocking on the door caused Gabriel to start and turn toward it, opening it. “Yes?” He frowned quizzically at the paperboy standing in front of him, holding out a paper. “How can I help you?”

“I wasn’t sure if you’d read the paper, sir, and I know you were connected with the man.” He held out a copy of
The Daily Missoulian
.

Gabriel scanned the headlines, reaching into his pocket to extract a coin. “Thank you. Much obliged.” He nodded halfheartedly to the boy before closing the door in his face and latching it again.

“Gabe?” Sebastian asked.

“Look what we have here. Redemption!” Gabriel held the paper high, moving toward his friends so they could huddle around the paper and read it together.

***

“MR. PICKENS, I’M BACK,” I said as I climbed the stairs. I paused as I noted the books out of order and not in their rightful place in Gabriel’s bookshelves.

“Everythin’ all right out there in that big city, Missy?” he asked as he thumped out of the back room before collapsing into his chair.

“As settled as it’s going to become,” I said. “What’s going on here?”

“Oh, they’ve been spendin’ all their time arguin’ over the wordin’ for an application”—his eyes twinkled at the big word—“for a library from Carnegie himself.”

“Do you think he’ll grant us the money?” I gasped, holding my breath.

“Seein’ as this is a too-small space for the likes of the townsfolk, I think we’ll have a chance. The Prattlin’ Prisses haven’t had as much time to spend here keeping things orderly.”

“We need a full-time librarian,” I said as I set down my purse, took off my hat and gloves, and moved to the books that were out of place. “These are in the correct section, just need to be placed in order. At least it’s not as bad as when I started here,” I grumbled.

“Now, who’d be needin’ a book when all they need to do is read the newspaper or listen to one of the sisters for anything more interestin’ than you could find elsewhere?”

“Don’t you start, Mr. A.J.,” I said with an inelegant snort.

“I’d thought by now that man you’d married would’ve seen a way to help his friend.”

“He’s doing what he can,” I said. I grimaced as I heard the raised voices of the sisters as they climbed the stairs to the depository. I moved toward Mr. Pickens and faced the doorway.

“Ah, so you’ve returned. To gloat after your trip to the East,” Mrs. Vaughan said.

“Although you are as shabbily dressed as when you left,” Mrs. Bouchard sniped.

“I’d thought you’d be able to visit a decent modiste while you were in that big city,” Mrs. Vaughan said, holding her palms out at her sides as though to exemplify such in her shimmering satin dress with pearl buttons in a rich pumpkin color.

“I traveled to Boston for my father’s funeral. I had little time to worry about the latest fashion.” I clenched my hands at my side and attempted to speak in a calm tone.

“Your shame knows no bounds,” Mrs. Bouchard said. “Returning here, continuing to perpetuate the falsehood that you have a happy marriage when anyone can see it is a lie. You ruined my daughter’s chances to have a successful future because you couldn’t bear to see anyone else happy.”

“If you truly believe that, you are devoid of any compassion or goodness,” I rasped.

Mr. Pickens thumped on his cane and leaned forward as though he were going to speak. However, he was forestalled at the sound of boots running up the stairs.

I looked toward the door as Gabriel entered. He paused as he noted the sisters. “Rissa, I had to show you this.” He thrust the newspaper at me, and I gasped as I read. I held it so Mr. Pickens could read it with me. “
Dead Man Rises from the Ashes to Reunite with Family in Boston
.”

Mr. Pickens hooted with glee and thunked his cane down a few times with his pleasure. “Seems you were too busy for fashion all right, Missy!” he chortled as he looked at the picture Florence took of Cameron leaning in toward me. “What do you have to say about this, mouthy?” Mr. Pickens said, grabbing the paper from my hands and waving it toward the sisters.

I took it from him and walked toward the sisters, holding it so they could read it. Mrs. Bouchard gasped and became so pale I worried she would faint. I looked around for a chair for her to sit on, but Mr. Pickens sat in the only available chair. “Lies, all lies,” she rasped, although her voice lacked conviction.

“I saw him when I was in Boston. He relished speaking of his escape from the meddling mothers of Missoula,” I said.

“Rissa,” Gabriel said in a soft warning tone as he placed a gentle hand on my arm.

I took a deep breath, biting back further bitter words as I saw hurt and bewilderment flash across Mrs. Bouchard’s face. I reached for Gabriel’s hand, refusing to unleash the pent-up words stored within—to become like the women who had tormented me.

“You can make this right, Mrs. Bouchard,” Gabriel said. “You can speak with your husband and insist that Mr. Carlin be given his job back.”

“It’s not that simple,” she rasped. “But I’ll discuss this … turn of events with him.”

“And then you can inform the townspeople that you were misled by Cameron,” I said. “And stop blaming Amelia, Sebastian and me for all your misfortunes.”

“Come, sister,” Mrs. Vaughan said, grasping Mrs. Bouchard’s elbow. They turned and descended the stairs.

I moved over to a stack of books and lifted them aside to clear my stool. I collapsed onto it and gripped Gabriel’s hand. “I can’t believe it will now turn out well for Sebastian.”

“There’s no guarantee, Rissa,” Gabriel said.

“If they don’t give that man, who was injured tryin’ to save another man’s life, his rightful job back, the townsfolk’ll have plenty to say. We’ve spent enough time listenin’ to the wrong done to ol’ mouthy. Now she can eat a little crumble pie.”

“I think you mean
humble
pie,” Gabriel murmured as he fought a chuckle.

“Darn straight,” he said as he thunked his cane. “Well done, Missy. Although you looked a bit friendly with that rascal.” He raised his eyebrows at me as he stared at the photo of Cameron leaning in toward me.

“How’d you know it was me?” I asked.

“’Cause you were the only one able to get that man to admit to what he did. Always seemed to puff up like a rooster ’round you.” He sighed. “Good riddance.”

“I agree, old man,” Gabriel said. “Although I wouldn’t be too quick to believe he’ll never return. If they find reason to suspect he harmed that man from Front Street, they might put a warrant out for his arrest.”

I groaned. “I just want him out of our lives.”

“If he’s convicted of murder, he will be,” Mr. A.J. said with an ominous stomp of his boot.

***

“AMELIA,” SEBASTIAN WHISPERED as he entered the living area. The lights were turned down, and a soft glow lit the room. She sat on the settee, her feet curled underneath her, darning on her lap, her head to one side as she slept.

He knelt beside the settee, reached forward and caressed her hand, his hand lingering over hers. His thumb traced a pattern over knuckles as he watched her sleep.

“Liam,” Amelia murmured, her eyes flickering open with a warm, expectant glow.

“No, not Liam,” Sebastian whispered, releasing her hand. He moved to rise but stilled when she traced his jaw with her fingers.

“Sebastian,” she breathed. “I’ve been so worried about you.”

“I’m fine, ma’am. No need to concern yourself for me.”

She sat forward on one elbow, her darning falling to the floor as she came fully awake. She gripped his shoulder for a moment, noting the tension within. “Talk to me,” she urged.

“Forgive me, Amelia. I came in and saw you asleep. I meant no disrespect when I touched your hand.”

“Why are you upset with me?” Her brow furrowed as she tried to recall what had happened in her half-awake state. “Did I call you Liam?” At his terse nod, she sighed and stroked Sebastian’s long hair. “Forgive me. Liam used to wake me by stroking my hand. No one’s done that since … since he died.”

“There’s nothing to forgive. I’m a fool for being jealous of a dead man,” Sebastian said with barely veiled rancor.

“You’ve no need to be jealous of him, Sebastian. He’s dead. He’s never coming back. I’ve begun to learn the importance of living in the here and now.” She stroked his cheek and studied him. “What is it? What news do you have?”

“They have Cameron in custody. They’ve charged him with the murder of Tommy and with stealing the money.” His eyes flashed with triumph.

“Oh, thank heavens!” Amelia sat up and threw herself in his arms. He clasped her tightly to him, cradling her head with one of his big hands. She leaned away after a moment and sat on the edge of the settee. “This means you’ll get your job back.”

“As you can imagine, the Bouchards are embarrassed and want to make amends for their accusations against me. However, they’ve already hired another man, a capable man. I don’t feel right taking his job away from him.”

“That’s not right either, Sebastian. They fired you under false pretenses, accusing you of theft and destroying your reputation, when you acted honorably. With more bravery than most in such a situation. How dare they not insist you have your job returned to you?” An irate flush highlighted her cheeks.

“Amelia, what would you have me do? Turn out a man, who did nothing wrong except accept a job from Mr. Bouchard? That doesn’t seem fair to me.”

“What does that mean? What will you do?” Amelia paled, balling her hands in her lap.

“I’m taking a post at one of his sawmills outside of Missoula.”

“You’re leaving Missoula?” Amelia whispered. “Leaving …”

“Yes,” Sebastian rasped. “It’s the only way, Amelia. I’ll have a good position. Build this new sawmill up almost from the very beginning.”

“I see. We’ll be sorry to see you go. But I understand a man’s ambition,” Amelia said as she rose. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I should check on the children and go to bed.” She’d lowered her head, preventing Sebastian from seeing her eyes.

“Amelia.” Sebastian gripped her arm, preventing her from sliding past him. “Look at me. Please.”

“If you please, sir, there are things I must still do this evening.” Her voice shook as she stared resolutely at the floor.

Sebastian held one of her arms but used his other hand to tilt up her chin. Her shattered gaze met his. “Amelia, love, I’m going away—”

“And you’ll never return to me. Yes, I understand. Please let me go. I thank you for your kind friendship to my children. They will miss you.”

“Will you miss me?” Sebastian asked, his brow furrowed with confusion as he studied her shaking form.

“As I would any friend.” Her defiant tone sparked his temper.

“Oh, really? As you would any friend?” His irate gaze clashed with her resolute one. He swooped forward, his lips claiming hers in a passionate kiss. His hand traced along her cheek, then into her pinned hair, scattering pins as he kneaded her scalp. Her long hair began to tumble free, and he clasped her head in a gentle, yet unyielding hold, kissing her with months of pent-up longing. She raised her hands, gripping his shoulders, tugging him toward her, wanting him as close to her as possible.

After many minutes Sebastian broke the kiss and backed up a step. She instinctively followed him, not wanting to break her contact with him. “That is what I think of being just any friend to you, Amelia.”

Tears trickled from her eyes, and soon a silent stream coursed down her cheeks. He caressed her cheeks, scrubbing the tears aside, but was unable to forestall more from falling.

“Sweetheart, don’t cry. I’m leaving, but I’ll come back for you. I need time to become established in Darby, and then I’ll return for you and the children.” He kissed each cheek as he made his vow.

“I can’t bear for you to leave,” Amelia rasped. “I can’t handle losing another man I …” she choked on the word.

“I can barely manage to go,” he whispered. “And I have no desire to become another man you’ve loved and lost.” His teasing failed to ease her torment. “Hush, love,” he crooned as he pulled her into his arms.

“Darby?” she asked. “Where is that?”

“It’s down the Bitter Root Valley. There’s a lot of timber in those mountains, and Mr. Bouchard wants to have a sawmill there.” He kissed her head. “He’s got the bare bones of one now, but, come spring, he wants a proper one built.”

“When do you have to leave?” Amelia wrapped her arms securely around him, holding him tightly to her.

“I’ve told Mr. Bouchard I won’t leave until after Christmas and until after the trial.”