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  ‘‘Gentlemen.’’ Annabelle paused for a moment, staring at Matthew’s broad back, wondering again if she was making the right choice, and if Jonathan would have desired something different. She waited until Mr. Colby rose from the swing and Matthew turned.

  Matthew pulled his hands from his pockets, his expression guarded. His eyes darted to hers, away again, then back. And in doing so, betrayed his earnestness. Aided by Jonathan’s stories about their childhood, the sudden image of him as a little boy flooded her mind, and she glimpsed the remnant of the neglected child in the man before her. Unexpectedly, her heart softened toward him.

  Matthew seemed to want this job so badly, and it made no sense. Certainly he felt no loyalty to her, even if she was his brother’s widow. Perhaps he was doing it for the money? With his hands fisted at his sides, jaw clenched tight, she admitted that he did have a desperate look about him.

  ‘‘Again, to you both,’’ she continued, gathering her thoughts, ‘‘I want to say how much I appreciate you applying for the position. I’m impressed with your experience and have no doubt that either of you could guarantee my safety and well-being on this journey.’’

  She took a step toward Bertram Colby and, in turn, saw Matthew slowly bow his head. She couldn’t help but watch him from the periphery of her vision as he retreated a half step. ‘‘Mr. Colby, your stories are enchanting and make me want to see my new home in Idaho more than ever. Thank you again for your willingness to accompany me, but . . . I’ve decided to hire Mr. Taylor for this journey.’’

  Annabelle saw Matthew’s head come up. In turn, Patrick’s eyes went wide and Hannah gave the tiniest smile.

  ‘‘Not a problem, ma’am. Taylor here will do you a fine job, I’m sure.’’ The genuineness of Mr. Colby’s tone rang true, easing Annabelle’s hesitance at declining him. A deep laugh rumbled up from his chest. ‘‘But I’ll miss tellin’ you all my stories around the fire at night, that’s for sure. I’ve got lots of ’em too.’’

  ‘‘I don’t doubt that for a minute, and I’ll miss hearing them.’’ She hoped her gratitude was apparent to him. ‘‘And thank you again, Mr. Colby, for what you said earlier about my husband being proud of me for making this journey. You couldn’t have paid me a higher compliment, sir.’’

  Colby took her hand and brought it to his lips, then gently placed a kiss there. No man, not even Jonathan, had ever done that to her. Annabelle stared, wordless. What was it about a man lightly touching his lips to the crown of her hand that made her feel so feminine, so honored? Whether she was worthy or not.

  Giving her fingertips a gentle squeeze, Mr. Colby released her. His gray eyes were keen, and Annabelle thought again that Bertram Colby possessed the friendliest countenance she’d ever seen.

  ‘‘I’m of the mind, ma’am, that those who go on ’afore us can look back and see what’s happenin’ to their loved ones here. I’ve been told I’m wrong, that those in the hereafter aren’t bothered with the goings on of now. But I’ve always been partial to the notion that they’re gathered together, cheerin’ us on somehow when we’ve fallen or had a hard time of it. And if that’s so, I figure that’s exactly what your husband’s doin’ right now, ma’am. He’s cheerin’ you on. You, and your little one that’s on the way.’’

  A quick intake of breath sounded from Matthew beside her, and cool reality doused what momentary warmth she’d felt at Mr. Colby’s kindness. Matthew had been dealt a tough hand recently— learning of Jonathan’s death the way he had . . . and now about Jonathan’s child in a similar fashion. Though the topic hadn’t come up again once Matthew had joined them this morning, she hadn’t intentionally kept the news from him. But neither had she looked forward to his reaction upon hearing it.

  With Mr. Colby’s departure, it felt as though the front porch shrank to half the size.

  No one said a word.

  Still watching Mr. Colby as he walked back toward town, Annabelle knew Patrick and Hannah were waiting. She took a deep breath.

  As well as she had been able to read Matthew up until then, Annabelle searched his expression and came up with nothing. His eyes were now dark, indecipherable, intimidating. So unlike Jonathan’s trusting, honest gaze.

  Vowing not to be the first to flinch, Annabelle reached into her past for lessons learned at a tender age. Intimidation was something a woman in her former profession quickly learned to deal with or she didn’t last long.

  Her pulse might be racing, but she had the practiced look of indifference down to an art, and she knew it masked the hurt clenching her chest. ‘‘Before Mr. Colby is completely out of sight, Mr. Taylor, perhaps I should ask you again whether you’re still interested in taking this job.’’

  Varying emotions played across Matthew’s face, but she could tell from his stance that he wanted to say something. He shot a quick look at Patrick and Hannah as though just remembering they were present, then back to her.

  His jaw muscles flexed as he deliberated. ‘‘How do you know the baby is his?’’

  Annabelle’s first instinct was to react. Then she thought about it from his perspective and nodded. ‘‘That’s a fair question, under the circumstances. I know the baby I carry is Jonathan’s because I have not been with any other man since June of last year.’’

  Matthew nodded slowly, his entire countenance calling her a liar.

  ‘‘I’m assuming, Mr. Taylor, that you can work your numbers?’’

  ‘‘Oh, I can work my numbers all right, ma’am. I also know how women like you work, and that’s why this whole situation just doesn’t add up to me. Why would a man like my brother choose to have a child with a woman like you? Tell me that.’’

  Patrick stepped forward. ‘‘Hold it right there, Taylor. I won’t stand by any longer and allow you to—’’

  ‘‘No, Patrick.’’ Annabelle put her hand out. ‘‘It’s fine. I want Mr. Taylor to be able to speak his mind.’’

  Matthew leveled his gaze. ‘‘Ma’am, if I were to truly speak my mind, I’d have to ask Mrs. Carlson to leave first.’’

  Annabelle didn’t blink, silently admiring his swift reply but daring not to show it. This man had more spine than she’d credited him with. She stared up at him, her eyes never leaving his. ‘‘Patrick, Hannah, would you excuse us, please?’’

  Patrick protested, but Annabelle took him by the arm. ‘‘Please, Patrick.’’

  His mouth slowly closed and they went inside. The screen door slammed closed, and then, to both the Carlsons’ credit, Annabelle heard the inner door close as well.

  ‘‘All right, Mr. Taylor. Hannah’s gone. No other ladies are present to hear your opinions,’’ she said, giving voice to his earlier insinuation. ‘‘Feel free to speak your mind. And please, don’t hold back on my account.’’

  CHAPTER | TWELVE

  FROM HIS SURPRISED EXPRESSION, Matthew apparently hadn’t expected her to call his bluff. Secretly, Annabelle doubted he had the courage to go through with it.

  ‘‘Are you certain . . . Miss Grayson, that you want me to speak my mind?’’ The calm in his voice contrasted the edge in his stare.

  She raised a brow at the sudden change in name. ‘‘If you and I are going to be traveling together for the next three months, Mr. Taylor, I’d rather you got it off your chest right now. And you can be sure that whatever you have to say, I’ve heard it all before.’’

  He gave her a look that said he doubted that, then focused on some point beyond the front porch, as though weighing the cost of being completely honest. Annabelle couldn’t help but wonder how it was that one brother got the more handsome features while the other got all the kindness. Or so it would seem.

  Matthew’s gaze briefly wandered over her face. ‘‘I can see why Johnny took a liking to you, Miss Grayson. In a way.’’ His voice was soft, yet there was not a trace of tenderness in his features. ‘‘You have a spark about you, and you don’t back down easy. My brother would’ve liked that about you right off. And you’re quick-witted too
, something he always admired.’’

  Instinctively, for reasons she couldn’t explain, Annabelle’s guard rose.

  ‘‘He was a good man, and he had a tender spot in him for lost things. When we were younger, Johnny was always bringing home something. He’d come in cradling a bird that had left the nest too soon or some pup with a broken leg. Mostly things that someone else had dumped along the side of the road. He wasn’t too good at seeing things like they really were. He tended to see things . . . and people, like he wished they would be.’’ He crossed his arms. ‘‘But I see what kind of person you are. You deceived Kathryn Jennings, and you apparently have the Carlsons fooled. Just like you did my brother. You know how to use people to get what you want. You wormed your way into Kathryn Jennings’ life a while back, probably hoping she’d give you money from her land.’’

  A flush of defensiveness heated her. ‘‘I never took one penny from Kathryn Jennings. Ask her yourself if you don’t believe—’’

  ‘‘And then you saw an easy mark in my brother and won his favor. No doubt in order to lay claim to whatever he had that you could take.’’ Anger flashed in his eyes and his arms went stiff at his sides. ‘‘I don’t know how you managed it, but you talked him into buying you out of that brothel. You let him do it, all the while knowing you didn’t care one whit for him. He knew it too. Or didn’t you overhear that part? That night in the shack? Johnny told me then that you didn’t love him, so please, don’t stand here and pretend like you felt any different about him. Even he knew the truth!’’

  A good deal taller than her, Matthew Taylor had an imposing presence, especially when angered. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides. Annabelle doubted he was even aware of doing it, yet it wasn’t his fists she feared. She already figured he wasn’t the hitting type, and she would know.

  A number of thoughts flashed through her mind.

  Confronted with his condemnation, she felt the familiar urge to retaliate. With a well-aimed glare, she had withered men whose expressions bore similar contempt, and she had taken pleasure in doing so. It typically came afterward, when the men had gotten what they’d come for and were putting their clothes back on, along with the convenient respectability they’d dumped at her door. Or when she saw them later in town, when loathing had replaced the former lust, and it seemed as though they blamed her for what they had chosen to do.

  Jonathan would’ve said the person she once had been was now dead and buried, washed away in the swift current of Fountain Creek last summer. But as she stood there confronted by Matthew’s accusations and tasting the bittersweet retaliation on the tip of her tongue, suddenly she wasn’t so certain.

  Knifed by Matthew’s disapproval, she wanted nothing more than to turn that finely honed blade back on him. She knew how to do it too. Matthew wanted to talk about the truth? She would happily oblige.

  ‘‘I overheard plenty of things in the shack that night, Mr. Taylor. Some of which were of a more . . . personal nature than others.’’ She enjoyed watching those honey brown eyes of his lose a shade of confidence. ‘‘Things I’m sure you’d rather I hadn’t learned.’’

  His jaw hardened. His head tipped in silent challenge.

  ‘‘I find it funny how a man like you—apparently one who knows so much about people and specifically women like me, as you phrased it—can somehow have managed to . . .’’

  The words caught in her throat. Something Bertram Colby had said earlier replayed in her mind, and the intentioned cruelty of what she’d been about to say jarred her. It shamed her to imagine that Jonathan might be witnessing her actions now, or that he could read her thoughts and know what she had been about to do. Especially in light of how kind Jonathan had been to her and how much he’d cared about his younger brother.

  Matthew shifted his weight, pulling her attention back. ‘‘Feel free to speak your mind, Miss Grayson.’’ In a gesture that was quickly becoming familiar, he cocked a single brow and gave her that half smile. ‘‘And please, don’t hold back on my account.’’

  In another situation, she would have enjoyed his clever wit as he parroted back what she’d said to him moments before. But not this time.

  She scrambled to think of another response, one that would satisfy the dare in his tone. ‘‘I was going to say, Mr. Taylor, that . . . I find it funny how a man who thinks he has such insight into people, who understands their motives, can manage to have missed the mark so badly on his own brother.’’ Jonathan’s face filled her mind as she watched Matthew’s smile fade. A place deep inside her opened, and the next words left her tongue of their own accord. ‘‘You stand here acting as though you cared so deeply for your brother, while I saw firsthand how you purposely shut Jonathan out of your life. How you said those hurtful things to him and then just left, after so many years of being separated, and without even saying good-bye. I wonder . . . do you have any idea how much you hurt your brother? How disappointed he was?’’

  Her body trembling, she closed her mouth and wondered where all that had come from. It hadn’t been her intention, the last part especially, but remembering the hurt in Jonathan’s face after Matthew walked out last fall had unleashed a well of resentment. And from the guilt lining Matthew’s face that moment, it appeared she’d accidentally wandered onto a tender topic. For them both.

  He was the first to look away.

  Seconds passed. Neither of them spoke.

  Just moments before, she’d been so certain about hiring Matthew for this job. She would’ve sworn she’d felt some kind of confirmation inside her. But now . . .

  Annabelle was thankful for the muted sounds that filled the uneasy silence between them—the whinny of the grays in the field, the high-pitched squeals of six-year-old Bobby and his sister, Lilly, as they played out back, and the faraway rumblings of a passing wagon on the main road.

  Matthew slipped off his hat, then shoved a hand through his hair, resignation lining his face. ‘‘Let’s be honest with each other, Miss Grayson. At least about one thing.’’ His deep voice grew soft again. ‘‘We both know you married my brother in order to get something you couldn’t get on your own. Tell me that’s not true.’’

  Knowing he wasn’t completely in the right, Annabelle wished she could deny what truth there was in his statement. ‘‘Part of what you’re saying is true, Mr. Taylor. I never would’ve been able to leave my old life without your brother’s help. But I did care for Jonathan. Very much. He was the kindest person I’ve ever known.’’

  Matthew closed his eyes for a second, then nodded. ‘‘Thank you for being honest, Miss Grayson. About that, at least.’’ He stared past her for a few seconds. ‘‘Johnny always was too trusting. He gave people the benefit of the doubt when they didn’t deserve it. And for whatever reason, he couldn’t see through you. I guess he was too . . . captivated by whatever it is that you do. But you need to know that I see who and what you are. And you don’t appeal to me in the least.’’

  His gaze swept the length of her—slowly down, then back up again—and true to his word, she detected nothing from him even remotely similar to desire. What Annabelle did see, with painful clarity, was the memory of her own flawed face in the splintered reflection of the hand mirror. Suddenly aware of the sharp rise and fall of her chest, she blinked to clear the unwelcome image.

  He opened his mouth to say something else, then apparently thought better of it. He shook his head, clearly struggling with what to say next.

  But Annabelle knew what was coming. He would tell her that she wasn’t worthy to draw the same breath as him, much less take up space in this life. That people like her were rubbish and ought to be treated as such. She’d heard it all before.

  Matthew looked down at his boots and sighed. A weariness seemed to move over him. ‘‘Miss Grayson, there’s a list of things in my mind that I’ve been wanting to say to you for the last few months, since I found out about Johnny having married you. And for the past couple of days, since learning about my brother�
�s death, that list has only grown longer.’’ A frown crossed his forehead briefly. ‘‘But now that I’m here, standing face-to-face in front of you, with the chance to say all those things . . .’’ A slow sigh left him. He gave a halfhearted shrug. ‘‘Seems I’m not able to do it.’’

  ‘‘On the contrary, Mr. Taylor, you’ve been doing quite well. Why stop now?’’ The words came out more softly than Annabelle would have liked, especially knowing that if she ended up hiring Matthew Taylor, he would feel a need to say these things to her eventually. Better to get it over with now. He needed a bit of goading . . . fine. She knew just what to do.

  ‘‘You’re not having second thoughts about there being a lady present after all, are you, Mr. Taylor?’’

  A faint smile ghosted his mouth before vanishing. ‘‘No, Miss Grayson, that’s not what concerns me,’’ he said softly, sincerity replacing cynicism. ‘‘I’m afraid the lady in you went missing a long time ago.’’

  Unable to respond, Annabelle knew in that moment—call it a feeling, an instinct, some kind of intuition—that whatever else Matthew Taylor had to say wasn’t something she had heard before. Nor was it something she would welcome.

  ‘‘You probably won’t believe me, and to be honest, I guess it doesn’t really matter to me that you do, but . . . I was coming back here to Willow Springs hoping to find my brother and make amends. I’d never make Johnny out to be a saint. You knew him, so I’m assuming you found that out real quick. Underneath it all, though, he was a good man. A decent man.’’ He glanced down, then back up at her, his expression pained. ‘‘You were honest with me a minute ago, so I’ll be honest with you.

  ‘‘I still hold the same opinion that I voiced that night in the shack. I think Johnny made a mistake in marrying you. I think you married him to get out of that brothel, to get his money, his land, and whatever else you could. And while I don’t find any pleasure in saying this to you right now . . .’’ He gave a soft laugh without humor. ‘‘Not like I thought I would when I pictured it in my mind so many times, my brother, God rest his soul, deserved better than some sullied . . . tainted . . . used-up woman like you.’’