Hearts Entwined Page 5

  Pieter nodded. “He came to see me one weekend, and we got to talking. I complained about how uncomfortable Miss Ellmore’s . . . flirtations were making me. How trapped I felt.”

  Glad Jo was back to being Miss Ellmore, Claire opted to keep her gaze on Pieter’s face. The way his jaw clenched when he talked about Miss Ellmore lent authenticity to his story. Claire knew Pieter. His kind nature. He’d never rebuff a woman or fail to offer assistance. He was too much the gentleman. Maybe he had been trapped.

  Claire turned back to her needlework and ordered her heart not to soften. Trapped or not, there was no excuse for what she’d witnessed at the ice cream parlor. Pieter hadn’t been carrying Josephine Ellmore’s parcels or protecting her from a runaway wagon. He’d been stepping out with her. In public. Shaming the poor Irish girl he’d left behind in the tenements of New York.

  “Dirk always has an angle.” Pieter ground out the words between clenched teeth. “He said he’d overheard Jo complaining to her father about me ignoring her and being so rude as to leave a room whenever she entered. He said Ellmore was angry and threatened to send me packing without a reference.”

  An outcome that could have negated all the work Pieter had done to establish a reputation for himself among the area dairymen.

  “Dirk suggested I humor the girl. Pay her some attention. Take her out a few times and let nature run its course. She was bound to tire of me, boring stiff that I am.”

  Claire frowned at the unflattering phrase Diederick always tossed in his brother’s face whenever Pieter attempted to rein in Dirk’s adventurous tendencies. Pieter might not be flamboyant or boisterous, but he’d never been boring. Not to her. Besides, what good was a bright red circus tent that flapped free of its moorings the first time a bit of wind kicked up? She’d much rather have a stone wall sheltering her, stalwart and dependable. If Josephine had half a brain, she’d recognized that truth, as well.

  “Then, after the infatuation faded,” Pieter continued matter-of-factly, as if such a result was a foregone conclusion, which ironically stirred Claire’s temper, “I’d be free to return to you with better prospects. Perhaps even a partnership.”

  He fell silent for a moment, then guided the horse to the side of the road and halted the wagon. Claire’s feet squeezed the basket on the cart floor at the unexpected change in direction, but she needn’t have worried. Liam slept on.

  Pieter turned in his seat, or tried to. There was so little space that his knees simply knocked against hers as his torso twisted. He covered her hand with his own, needle and all.

  “I gave in to temptation, Claire. I knew better than to listen to Dirk’s schemes, but I wanted that partnership so badly.”

  She understood that drive. The same need to succeed burned in her chest, too. She just never thought he’d choose the easy way over the honest way. Diederick, yes. But Pieter? Never.

  “Losing my position at Ellmore’s would have put me back at least a year, if not more, from my goal,” Pieter said. “I couldn’t bear to put off our wedding that long.”

  Our wedding? Claire pulled her gaze from his hand to focus on his face. His beautiful, rugged, weather-worn face.

  “The separation was already tearing my heart out. I would have done anything to speed the day that would make you mine. So I . . . I gave in. With Dirk’s idiotic promises of ‘no one will get hurt’ and ‘Claire will never even know’ scratching my itching ears, I agreed. I stopped avoiding Jo. I never sought her out, but neither did I turn down any of her requests. If she wanted me to take her to town, I took her as soon as my work at the dairy was done. I sat with her in church. Held her knitting yarn so she could roll it into a ball, and tried to look interested when she prattled on about fashion and people I knew nothing about. I even made myself smile at her with one of those ridiculous giant grins that Dirk insisted made the ladies happy.”

  Claire’s heart seized before galloping away with her breath. Had . . . had she understood him correctly? He’d gone along with Diederick’s scheme not because he’d wanted to find success in business, but because he wanted to find a way to make her his wife sooner? The irony was too much. He’d danced attendance on another woman in order to be with her. Heaven preserve them.

  “I was stupid, Claire. Stupid and impatient. It wasn’t fair to Jo for me to pretend an interest I didn’t feel, and it was hurtfully disloyal to you. The moment I spotted you on the street in Rochester, I recognized my error. You were everything to me. All that I’d been working for was for you. For our life together. But by using dishonorable means to achieve an honorable end, I corrupted something beautiful and made it ugly.

  “That very day, I told Jo about you and apologized for not being honest with her. She was angry and hurt, but she didn’t have her father send me packing, which made me wonder if the conversation Dirk had supposedly overheard had ever really happened in the first place.

  “Every weekend I returned home, praying you’d let me apologize, let me somehow put things right. But you refused to see me. Returned my letters without reading a single word. Then one weekend you were simply gone.” Pieter fell silent for a moment, then slowly pulled his hand away from hers. “After all we had meant to each other, Claire, you just gave up on me. Worse—you ran off to Texas to marry a stranger.”

  The hurt in his voice made her heart bleed, but it was the betrayal shining in his eyes and the loss of his touch that cut the deepest. She hadn’t been the only one betrayed. He’d used a woman to ease his path to success, but hadn’t she done the same? Used a man to salvage her pride and escape her pain? She’d taken the easy way out, too. With disastrous results.

  “Oh, Pieter,” she said softly, regret thickening her voice, “we’re a pair of fools, aren’t we?” She fiddled with her embroidery, lamenting the jumbled mess she’d made of the threads. “Our pasts are so tangled and snarled, I doubt we’ll ever be put to rights. We’ve too many knots in our way.”

  “Good.”

  Her eyes jumped to his. “Good? What d’ye mean, good? Knots are a bad thing.”

  “Not to my way of thinking.” Something fierce lit Pieter’s eyes as he leaned closer to her. She backed away slightly, but he followed, bending even farther toward her. “I want to be so tangled and knotted up with you that nothing will ever pull us apart again. Not anger, nor hardship, nor hurt, nor even some dunderhead’s idiotic mistakes. No matter what comes, we stick together and work it out.”

  Her stomach ached with yearning. He made it sound so easy.

  It wouldn’t be.

  But maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t be impossible, either.

  Chapter

  6

  Pieter hadn’t known quite what to expect from a women’s colony, but the speed at which news spread about Claire’s return was truly remarkable. Ladies poured out of every nook and cranny to swarm the clinic. Nothing stirred a female’s curiosity more than a new man in town.

  Pieter shook his head as the latest woman brushed past him. He wasn’t the new man causing the ruckus, of course. Nope. Liam claimed that honor all by himself. The sheer volume of feminine cooing and high-pitched nonsense words being tossed about inside the clinic would have made Diederick proud.

  Or jealous. Dirk never had enjoyed anyone else being the center of attention.

  Pieter’s smile slipped as he finished unharnessing the rented horse from its cart. How could Dirk turn his back on Polly and the child he’d fathered? The depth of his brother’s selfishness sickened Pieter. Last he’d seen Dirk, he had been pursuing some textile heiress, sure he’d be able to convince the plain, plump young woman to marry him and thereby provide not only a managerial position for himself within her father’s company, but a healthy fortune at the onset thanks to her significant dowry. Her doting father wouldn’t want his only daughter living in any discomfort.

  Pieter couldn’t help but secretly wish for the girl’s father to beat Dirk at his own game. Perhaps when negotiating the marriage contract, he would offer a modest dowry
and a position within the company only to reveal after the vows had been spoken that the position entailed the lowest, most menial labor. Pieter couldn’t think of a punishment Dirk would hate more than actually having to work for his own advancement. It would serve the bounder right to be cut off from the golden goose he coveted so strongly that he had abandoned his own child to chase it.

  Having already secured the goat in the fenced yard behind the clinic, Pieter took one last look at the building before leading the horse back toward town and the water pump he’d spotted near a garden area.

  Despite having said the piece he’d traveled halfway across the country to say, nothing had been resolved between him and Claire. She probably needed time, but he didn’t have a lot to offer. He was expected in Snyder in a week, to accept delivery of his dairy cows. He’d hoped to take Claire with him. As his wife. Yet impatience had bungled things for him before, and he’d vowed not to make that mistake a second time. If he had to woo her over the next three years, one day at a time when he came for his monthly visit to see Liam, that was what he’d do. Jacob worked for Rachel for seven years, after all, his love for his woman making the time pass like mere days. Pieter could do the same.

  “There’s water and pasture you can use at the station house.”

  The deep voice startled Pieter out of his mental wanderings. He jerked his head toward the sound and spotted a man with a gun holstered on his hip leaning casually against a large oak tree beside the local café.

  The man pushed away from the tree and strode forward, sunlight glinting off the star on his vest. “Malachi Shaw,” he said as he stretched out his hand.

  Pieter returned the handshake, making sure his grip was firm and steady. “Pieter van Duren. I’m a friend of Claire’s.”

  “Can’t say I’ve heard her mention you.” Shaw clasped Pieter’s hand longer than necessary, his hold tightening as his gaze probed Pieter’s face.

  Pieter endured the scrutiny, straightening his shoulders and lifting his chin. “Our families know each other in New York.”

  “How long you planning to stay?”

  Pieter squeezed the marshal’s hand, then tugged free. He didn’t mind being measured, but he wouldn’t be intimidated. “I’ve got a room in Seymour for the week. I’ll be making daily visits to Harper’s Station in the interim. Making sure Claire has everything she needs for the babe.”

  The marshal hooked his thumbs into the small pockets of his vest, his relaxed stance at odds with the intensity of his stare. “That kid’s arrival has certainly caused a stir. Especially since no one—including Miss Nevin, apparently—knew he was coming.”

  He was fishing for details. Pieter wouldn’t be supplying any. He could understand Shaw’s dedication to his duty. Protecting the ladies of Harper’s Station included protecting Claire, and Pieter applauded him for that. But he wasn’t about to spill personal details just to ease this man’s curiosity. He took refuge in silence and an it’s-none-of-your-business stare.

  The marshal seemed to accept the closure of that particular road but didn’t give up his questioning. Just jumped to a different path. “So you’ll return to New York after you see the boy settled?”

  Pieter crossed his arms over his chest. “No.”

  Shaw waited several seconds for Pieter to elaborate. He didn’t.

  “So where ya headed?”

  “I don’t believe that is any of your concern.”

  Something sparked in the marshal’s eyes. In a blink, his casual stance vanished. He stood ramrod straight, hands balled into fists and jaw clenched in warning as he stepped close enough to Pieter to bring their noses barely inches apart. “Everything that could impact the well-being of the women in this town is my concern. I saw the way your eyes followed Claire into the clinic. You’re not just here for the babe. You’re here for her. She came to us last year, fleeing an unwanted suitor. I aim to see she doesn’t fall prey to another. If she lets me know you’re not welcome, you might as well get comfortable in Seymour, for you won’t be visiting that babe or anyone else in Harper’s Station.”

  Pieter bit back a defensive retort, stilled his riled pulse, and gave a sharp nod—one of understanding, not agreement. He’d never force his attentions on Claire, but neither would he let this meddling marshal dictate his future. “I appreciate your looking out for Claire’s best interests, Mr. Shaw. And while my personal reasons for being here are none of your business, I’m glad you care enough about Claire to stick your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

  The marshal stepped back and grinned. “Nosy, huh? Well, I’ve been called worse.” He gestured across the street toward the old station house. “Come on. Those women will be oohing and aahing for hours yet. After we rub your horse down and turn him out in the paddock, I’ll heat up some of Bertie’s coffee, and we can sit a spell.”

  Pieter raised a brow. “You planning another round of interrogation?”

  Shaw held his arms up, palms out. “Nope. Just two men chattin’, I swear. Male conversation is a rare commodity in these parts, believe me. I aim to take full advantage of you.” He chuckled and slapped Pieter on the shoulder.

  “That’s the prettiest baby I’ve ever seen,” Maybelle declared as she wrapped Liam in his blanket and handed him back to Claire after doing a quick exam. “And healthy as can be, too.” Maybelle winked. “He’ll be running you ragged before you know it.”

  Claire thanked her mentor and snuggled Liam close. He grinned up at her, his toothless gums shining with baby drool, his eyes dark blue and so jolly, she couldn’t help but smile back. “Oh, ye little heartbreaker. What am I to do with ye?”

  Give him everything in your heart, Claire.

  She bent forward and touched a kiss to Liam’s downy head. His tiny fist poked out of the blanket and flailed about as if he couldn’t quite contain his excitement at being back in her arms. She held a finger out to him, and he clutched it, bringing it to his mouth. Claire’s chest swelled. Such a precious child. So innocent. So sweet. It would be impossible not to love him.

  I give ye my solemn vow, Polly. I will hold him dear to me heart and pledge all that I have to keep him safe.

  “He’s a little darling,” Bertie Chandler crooned, moving in for a closer look. The rest of the ladies followed suit, surrounding Claire. How they had all learned of Liam’s arrival when she’d only been back in town for fifteen minutes, she had no idea, but nearly a dozen of Harper’s Station’s citizens filled the clinic’s waiting area, eager for a turn to hold the baby.

  Part of her wanted to shoo them all away, to dash down the hall to her room and latch the door against them. Liam was hers, and hers alone.

  Only he wasn’t. He belonged to Pieter, too.

  Pieter. What was she to do with all he’d told her? His declaration of love. His explanations. His dairy farm in Snyder. Saints above. He had moved to Texas for her. For Liam. He deserved to be a part of the child’s life. But could she trust him enough to be a permanent part of hers?

  “May I hold him?” Bertie asked, breaking Claire out of her thoughts. The older lady reached for Liam, and with great reluctance, Claire handed him over.

  Most of the ladies shifted to Bertie’s side, all mesmerized by the boy, but Tori Porter and Emma Shaw stayed with Claire.

  “Your poor sister,” Tori said, taking Claire’s arm and steering her toward a sofa along the far wall. “How desperate she must have been to send her child away.” The normally stoic shopkeeper’s eyes misted. “I remember how hard it was when Lewis was first born. If I hadn’t found that position tending house with Mrs. Barry, I might have been faced with a similar choice. Thank God she had you to turn to, Claire. I can’t imagine how devastating it must have been to give up her son.”

  The three sat, Claire sandwiched between Tori and Emma. It reminded her of the day she’d first arrived in Harper’s Station, distraught and desperate to escape marriage to Stanley Fischer. She and her sister might be in very different situations, but she understood what desperatio
n could lead a person to do.

  “Da cut her off,” Claire explained in Polly’s defense. “Turned her out. She had no way to provide for the babe.” Her gaze found Liam, who was being passed from Bertie to her sister, Henrietta. “It was either leave him in a foundling home or send him to me.”

  “Then she made the right choice.” Emma patted Claire’s knee and smiled warmly. “You’ll make a wonderful mother, Claire. You love him already, I can tell.”

  Claire grinned as Liam grabbed a fistful of Henry Chandler’s gray hair, earning a muffled screech from the spinster. “I do.”

  “And what of the man who brought him to you?” Emma’s arched brows and twinkling eyes didn’t bode well for keeping secrets. “Mal and I saw him driving and followed you to the clinic. The man could barely take his eyes off of you.”

  Heat flushed Claire’s cheeks. “His name is Pieter van Duren. He’s a friend from back home. We . . . ah . . . courted once upon a time.”

  Emma leaned her shoulder against Claire’s in a sisterly fashion. “He seems a much better candidate for husband than Stanley Fischer.”

  Claire ducked her head and fiddled with her skirt. “Pieter’s a good man. A man I once loved to distraction. But he broke me heart. Quite unintentionally, it turns out, but at the time, the wound was so deep that I deemed marriage to a stranger preferable. Marriage where me heart would be safe from harm.”

  “Yet you couldn’t go through with it,” Emma said.

  Claire shook her head.

  “And now he’s back,” Tori added. “And you have another choice to make.”

  Claire bit her lip and looked from one friend to the other before her gaze drifted over to Liam. “Aye. And I have more than just meself to consider this time around.”

  An hour later in the station house kitchen, after three cups of coffee and a half-dozen molasses cookies—one of which Pieter was fairly certain he saw the marshal tuck inside his vest—very little, if any, tension remained between the two men. Malachi Shaw listened with interest to Pieter as he rambled on about his dairy prospects, and Pieter found the tales the marshal told about masked outlaws and gunmen disguised as detectives as fascinating as they were horrifying. Apparently the quiet little women’s colony Claire had been living in for the last nine months had been far from quiet. Or safe.