Maybe This Christmas: A Sweet Historical Western Holiday Romance Novella (Holidays in Mountain Home Book 2) (4 page)

He paused, his expression slack with disbelief. He glanced about the shop, taking in the value of her inventory, her sewing machine, seemed to recognize she had a business to operate. “I guess you need time to sell the place. I’ll help. We’ll get word out—”

“I intend to stay.”

“You
can’t
be serious.”

She’d spent too many years under Reuben’s control, cowering beneath his temper. She intentionally straightened her posture. Gus wasn’t anything like her disastrous husband—she hoped. “This is my home. This is
my
business.” It represented independence and safety.

“I love you.” His deep baritone constricted with emotion. “I’ve loved you since I was fifteen years old.” His features contorted.

It seemed too cruel to tell him she didn’t love him anymore, hadn’t loved him for a very long time. After a pledge like this, what was the best way to inform him of her iron-clad decision to remain unmarried?

“I had no way to claim you, not before. Not when your father wielded the power, not when he’d already contracted with Carmichael.” His wide, strong shoulders slumped.“I loved you every last day you were wed to that pompous fool, Euphemia Scofield. I loved you enough to search for you for nearly a year. I love you enough to take you home with me, keep you safe. We’ll marry in Hartford, in front of the whole world, with your sister standing up with you.”

Did he realize he hadn’t asked her opinion nor considered her wishes? “It sounds lovely, but—”

“
We,
” Gus informed her, “are leaving no later than day after tomorrow. And we’re getting married no later than New Year’s.”

“No. We’re not.”

He stared at her as if he could not reconcile her answer with the truth according to August Rose.

“I’m flattered, honored that you want me for your wife after all this time. But you must listen to me. I’ve made up my mind. I will never again marry.”

“Carmichael.”

That’s all he need say. He did understand, at least a little. “Yes, my marriage was an unmitigated disaster. I learned far too much about the consequences of turning over every ounce of control to a man.” Old, once-buried desperation and fear resurfaced, sitting on her chest with the weight of a full-grown man. She couldn’t breathe.

“I’m not Reuben Carmichael.”

She raised a hand, indicated she understood that to be true. She fought for breath, reminded herself she’d left that oppression behind.

When she regained her composure, she continued, feeling she owed Gus more of an explanation. “I don’t like the woman I became, what marriage did to me. I chafed in the confines of marriage. I won’t go through that again.”

“That was an arranged marriage, you didn’t choose him…” He paused. “It will be different—good—with you and me.”

“You can’t promise that.
I’m
not cut out for marriage. I would make any man a poor wife.”

“I can’t accept that. You and I would’ve been happy, had we eloped like we wanted to.”

No matter what angle he argued, she wouldn’t change her mind. “I
need
my independence. I choose to remain unwed.”

He shook his head, as if he’d never considered the possibility of rejection. “I pursued employment with the Marshals to get close to you.”

That gave her pause. She’d seen the notice in the paper the day Gus was first sworn in. He’d been the youngest man given that honor in Hartford’s history.

“U.S. Marshals were assigned to guard Reuben Carmichael. If I had that job, I could get myself assigned to him. I’d be nearer to you.”

Her heart pounded, but she knew he wasn’t a deranged man, unable to accept the loss of a would-be bride. No. He had risen in the ranks, gone after what he wanted and claimed it. No apologies, no time wasted. The man exercised patience and confidence.

And he wanted her.

The realization was both flattering and terrifying.

“Please, don’t turn this into a contest of wills. You and I want significantly different things. We are at cross-purposes and cannot both win.”

He gathered his coat and slowly donned it. He buttoned from the collar on down. “You’ve spoken your mind, and I heard every word. It seems you heard me out, too.”

She nodded, relief somehow compounding the deep sadness aching at the pit of her stomach. It hurt to say goodbye. “Thank you for bringing me word of…of Carmichael. And of my parents.”

He nodded. A long moment passed and he made no further conversation nor move toward the door.

“Thank you for searching for me.”
Thank you for respecting my decision.

“It sounds like you’re saying goodbye.” A hint of a smile toyed with his full lips.

She smiled, just a little. “I guess I am.” Surely he’d take his train tickets and be on today’s four-o’clock.

He eased on one glove, then the other. “Well, that’s where you’re mistaken. I’ve a mind to stay in Mountain Home for awhile, enjoy the fresh mountain air, and spend time with you.”

Oh,
no
.

“After all,” he murmured, “you and I are were good friends once. You loved me, then, and I believe you’ll come to love me again.” He winked and smiled broadly.

The bells tinkled as he shut the door behind himself.

Effie stumbled toward the chair in the back corner and sat, and dropped her head between her knees.
Breathe. Just breathe.

She’d made up her mind. She would
not
soften, would not reconsider, would
never
marry again—no matter how long Gus remained in Mountain Home.

Luke boarded Domino at the livery across the street from Effie’s shop. He didn’t know how long he’d be, and he couldn’t leave the gelding standing in the frigid wind.

First hints of daylight shaded the eastern sky in pinks and purples. It was far too early to pay a social call, except in the most dire of circumstances.

This qualified.

Last night, he’d watched her through the shop’s front window from a shadowed alley. He’d seen the marshal take her into the back room. Though he’d wanted to pound on the door and insist they do their talking in plain sight of the street, he’d waited until Rose finally quit Pettingill’s for the boardinghouse. He’d waited a half-hour more, ‘til he could reasonably believe Rose was in for the night.

By the time Luke had saddled up and headed home, he’d had ice in his bones.

This morning, Effie’s demeanor still haunted him. She’d sent him away last night, and he’d gone, out of some misguided respect for her wishes. Not this time. They were going to have a talk, and he wouldn’t leave until he understood the threat August Rose posed.

As he left the livery and stepped into the frozen mud of the street, the door of Pettingill’s opened and shut.
August Rose.

What was he doing here at this hour?

The marshal struck a match and cupped his hands around the flame, but it would take a whole lot more than that to hide his scowl. He drew deeply on the cigarette and exhaled smoke.

Luke halted, one boot on the boardwalk at his back, and one on the street. By the looks of August’s departure, he wasn’t happy.

That made two of them.

The lawman bent into the wind and headed to Ihnken’s Boardinghouse. He’d better stay there. Luke was in no mood to mind his manners or keep his fists to himself.

“Come in out of the cold.” Effie must’ve seen him coming because she met him at the door. Her dimpled smile faltered. “What’s wrong? Is it Miranda?”

“No, she’s fine.” The shop was toasty warm and smelled of fresh coffee. “I’m here about you.”

“Me?” She gestured him nearer to the stove’s heat.

“Yes, you. I saw how Rose affected you last night—I’ve never seen you that anxious—and you sent me away. I’m back to check on you.”

She merely nodded as if resigned. Color had returned to her cheeks and the shakes had stopped.

It wasn’t enough. “I saw him leaving just now. Is he bothering you?”

“No.”

He took notice of a pair of train tickets weighted with dressmaker shears.

She noticed where his attention had gone. “I told him no. I won’t go.”

He figured he understood why. She operated a successful business and had the freedom to do as she pleased. The folks of Mountain Home liked and respected her, considered her one of their own.

“You won’t go where?”

“Home…Connecticut.”

Luke had taken a hard look at the U.S. Marshal angle during the night. He’d seen the way Rose looked at Effie, with a certainty and propriety Luke hadn’t appreciated. Despite the badge, it looked personal. He didn’t know what to make of it. “Why? Official business, or something personal?”

“He offered to take me back home. I have a sister. He thought…”

He could well imagine what August Rose thought. His mood darkened further. He noticed Effie hadn’t actually answered his question.

“You want to stay here, despite the chance to visit your sister?”

“We were never close.” She sighed. “This is my home.”

“Good. It’s settled.”

She nodded.

He claimed the two unwanted tickets from beneath her scissors and prepared to return them to their owner.

“I know you, Mrs. O’Leary, and an old friend showing up, offering to accompany you to visit a sister isn’t nearly enough to ruffle your feathers this much. Something else is wrong.”

Her gaze flitted about landing everywhere but on him.

“I can’t defend you, protect you properly, if I don’t know what I’m up against. It’s obvious you’re in trouble. Let me help.” He searched her gaze but found no answers there. “Tell me the truth. Trust me.”

“It’s not like that. He just brought news.” Her gaze skittered away. “My—” She paused, drew a deep breath, let it out with agonizing slowness. “My parents have passed away…he simply thought to deliver the news.”

“I’m sorry to hear your parents are gone, Effie…but he came here just to tell you in person? I don’t believe it. People don’t travel two thousand miles to deliver news, even to a dear friend. That’s what the postal service is for. If a letter won’t do, the telegraph
has
made it all the way to Mountain Home.”

He watched her closely, took note of her hesitancy to meet his gaze, the tightness of her mouth. She’d folded her arms in a defensive posture that screamed insecurity…and fear.

She
feared
August Rose. He’d put a stop to that. “He threatened you.”

“No.”

“He’s sure as shootin’ holding something over your head, and I won’t stand for it.”

“He
did not
threaten me.” She actually looked at him then.

“If he didn’t threaten you, why are you afraid?”

“Because he plans to stay in town.” She shivered and briskly rubbed her upper arms to warm herself. She seemed so small, so defenseless.

Luke didn’t like the idea of August Rose staying, but he needed to understand why Effie didn’t like it. “This is a problem because…?”

“He thinks there’s a possibility for us, for he and I…”

His gut clenched. “Why would he think that?”

“Years ago, before I married, Gus and I were too young to know better. We fell in love—it was brief, misguided, and over quickly.” She waved a hand as if to dissipate the memory.

Ouch
. He didn’t like knowing she’d once loved Rose, but at least she didn’t claim to fancy him now.

“Gus seems to believe there’s hope for us to rekindle that youthful romance.”

Luke weighed her answer against the level of anxiety he’d seen with his own two eyes…and it didn’t reconcile. Effie had proved herself too level-headed, too rational, too reasonable a woman to tremble with barely suppressed emotion just because an old beau had reemerged and expressed interest.

No. There was more to it than what she’d disclosed.

He’d get to the bottom of it.

But first, he had railway tickets to return to their rightful owner. As much as he dreaded confronting an armed U.S. Marshal, he looked forward to making himself clear. It was time August Rose left town—
alone
.

Luke found August Rose in the boarding house dining room. From the slump of his shoulders and contemplative expression, the fella had a lot on his mind.

But not so much he’d let his guard down. He sat with his back to the wall, in full view of the front door.

At this hour, Mrs. Ihnken prepared breakfast. Aromas of cooking meat and frying potatoes wafted through the warm house. Footsteps sounded overhead in the second story bedrooms for let.

Luke was pleased to find he had August’s attention to himself. No sense having this conversation with an audience.

August stood, and to Luke’s surprise, offered a handshake.

He hesitated, just a beat. He wouldn’t read too much into this. He closed the distance and accepting the gesture of greeting.

“Morning.” Rose’s grip was sure and strong, warm from the ceramic of his coffee cup and many long minutes near the fire in the dining room hearth.

“Morning.”

“Come for breakfast? Mrs. Ihnken makes mighty fine steak and eggs.”

“No. I came to see you.”

August lifted a brow in question.

Luke tossed the tickets onto the table. “It’s time you left town.”

The other man heard, naturally, but didn’t give much of a response. Luke hadn’t expected this to be easy, but neither had he expected August to take it so calmly.

Slowly, August’s storm-gray eyes hardened to granite. He took his chair with an insolence that made Luke’s hackles rise. Seconds ticked past on Mrs. Ihnken’s grandfather clock in the front parlor.

Luke ached to fill the silence with reasons, good and valid reasons why a gentleman would accept Effie’s refusal and board today’s train. He bit his tongue and waited. He knew a thing or two about tackling sticky subjects with men he didn’t like…managing the ranch had given him too much practice.

Finally, Rose set down his coffee cup, the barely audible clatter against saucer emphasizing his fine self-control. Luke’s estimation of the other man improved—though he didn’t like it.