Reclaimed Love: Banished Saga, Book Two (35 page)

“I have never lied to you,” I rasped.

“No, but you’ve never told me the whole truth. I need to know. I need to be able to mend whatever is between us.”

“Gabriel, I’m so afraid that you can’t.”

He frowned, and I sensed him searching for a way to encourage me to speak with him. At that moment, Colin entered the living room, and I sighed, uncertain if it was with relief or frustration.

“Hello, Gabe, Clarissa,” he said, watching us. “Is all well?”

“Colin, I think it would have been if you had given us a few more moments alone,” Gabriel said.

“Well, I’m sorry to disappoint, but I’m filthy and tired from a day at the smithy. Besides, I’m sure Rissa should have a chaperone,” Colin said.

“When did you start caring that Clarissa be properly chaperoned?”

“While you were away, playing in Butte,” Colin said with a steely undertone. “I’m going to wash up.”

“Why is it that Colin is willing to allude to what happened in Boston, and you don’t even like to mention it?” Gabriel asked.

I shook my head.

“Do you regret coming here? Regret having to leave your family behind? Is that why you are upset with me?”

“No, of course not. I made the decision to come here.”

“Are you waiting for Cameron to come for you? Is that why you don’t want me near you?”

“No!” I paled at the thought. “I don’t want him. I never did.”

“Are you sure? You seemed to think his arrival to Missoula would be welcome news.” He glared at me.

“It won’t be to me,” I whispered as I paled further.

“And it won’t be to me,” he snapped as I met his stormy blue eyes. He took a deep breath. “So you’re saying you want to be here? In Missoula? Away from your family?”

I nodded.

“That you’re not mad at me for causing you to leave all of them behind?”

I blinked my agreement.

“That you don’t want Cameron?”

I nodded my head vehemently.

“Then why won’t you decide to have a full life here? You chose to come here. Can’t you choose that?” At my persistent silence, he asked, “Why don’t you want to have any type of relationship with me?” He watched me with anguished eyes while I stood there, incapable of responding.

“Damn you,” he whispered in a tortured, low voice. “Damn you for coming all this way if you never envisioned what I dreamed.” He turned, striding out the door.

I collapsed onto a chair, shaking. Colin emerged from his room in freshly laundered clothes and with damp hair.

“Did Gabe go?” Colin asked with a raised eyebrow.

I nodded as I rose, scrubbing my eyes as I headed to the kitchen area. I opened the oven and began coughing uncontrollably as a waft of black smoke emerged. I reached in and pulled out a burnt chicken from within and began fanning away the smoke with a towel.

“You expect me to eat that?”

“It’s not that bad, Col, I promise. The meat inside will be nice and tender,” I choked out on a cough as I attempted to blink away tears.

Colin flung open a window and watched me with a dubious gleam in his blue eyes. He grabbed the towel from me and took over the attempt to fan the smoke out the window. After a moment, he stuck his head out the window and gulped some fresh air. “We’ll be lucky if the fire department doesn’t come, seeing all this smoke.”

He turned toward the kitchen again. “For Pete’s sake, Rissa, can’t you cook?” He swiped at his cheeks at an errant tear from the smoke.

“It’s edible, Col, I promise,” I said as I attempted to carve the chicken.

“It’s red in the middle and charred on the outside. How do you have such talent?”

I glared at him as I dropped a plate in front of him. “I’d eat and stop complaining when you come home to a cooked meal every night.”

“If you call this a meal,” Colin muttered.

I sat with a thud and stared at my plate. “This part isn’t bad,” I said as I took a bite of the chicken that had been between the charred and raw sections.

Colin took a long sip of water. “Not as long as you can get past the charcoal taste.” After a few minutes of pushing our food around our plates, Colin said, “You need to tell him, Rissa.” At my mutinous silence, he said, “He has a right to know.”

“I told him about Cameron following us to Butte.”

“And?”

“He was upset, although he seems to think I’d welcome Cameron’s arrival here.”

“Why would he think that?”

I flushed and looked away.

Colin growled, “Did you give him that idea Rissa?”

“I didn’t mean to, Col. I wasn’t sure if he’d be upset. I thought he might be relieved so he could be with Mrs. Egan.”

“Stop it, Rissa, right now. He’s been nothing but faithful to you.”

“I don’t know what to do! How do I talk about what happened?” I asked in an anguished whisper. “Why would he want me once he knows? I don’t want him to hate me. To look at me differently.”

“Tell him, Rissa. You must have trust in his love for you. Besides, if you aren’t honest with him soon, he just might start to look to another for comfort.” He watched me intently. “And I want to see you happy. Fully happy again.” He gripped my hand for a moment.

“Well, I know what will make you very happy,” I said, trying to dispel the serious mood and turn the topic off of myself. “I worried my most recent recipe might be a, well, a, ah…”

“A bloody, inedible disaster,” Colin continued.

I shot him an exasperated look at his accurate description. “Anyway,” I continued, “I went to the bakery and bought a treat for dessert. I hoped it would last tonight and tomorrow, but…” I sighed as I saw Colin gobble up a quarter of the rhubarb pie I had bought. “Or, we can eat it all tonight.” We devoured the pie, finishing off the milk. “Oh, that was delicious.” I sighed in contentment, finally feeling full.

“Is there a reason you never learned to cook, Rissa?” Colin asked, leaning away from the table on the back two legs of his chair. He let out a groan, showing his exhaustion after a long day at the smithy. “’Cause I need to eat if I’m going to keep up at the smithy.” He sighed again, stretching farther.

I worried he’d fall over, but knew Colin had more grace than I would ever possess.

“We always had a cook!” I protested. “But I’ll try to learn. I’m looking for a beginner’s cookbook at the depository.”

Colin rolled his eyes in exasperation. “You don’t need a book, Rissa,” he said. “You can read just fine. Somehow everything you make comes out awful. I wish we had money for a cook now.” He sighed and yawned.

I frowned at him, upset that my feeble attempts in the kitchen were so lacking.

“Besides,” Colin continued, “when you do fully reconcile with Gabe and marry him, he’ll need to eat too. I know you never cared about keeping a proper home for Cameron, but you must want one for Gabe.” Colin watched me.

“Well, yes, but why must I cook?” I asked, panic-stricken at the thought of having to prepare three meals a day.

“It’s the way of things, Rissa,” Colin said with a mischievous grin.

“So like a man,” I muttered, thinking of Sophie.

Colin laughed, stood and stretched. “’Night, Rissa.”

“Good night, Colin,” I grumbled as I tried to banish the image of myself in an apron, daily pulling charred, smoking objects from an oven. Then I envisioned Gabriel laughing and embracing me from behind, and it didn’t seem an undesirable future.

CHAPTER 37

“I’LL BE EVEN OLDER than Mr. Pickens before I finish organizing these books,” I muttered to myself as I put my hands on my hips and glared at a pile on one of the tables. I sighed, and then nearly choked on the dust from the subsequent deep inhalation. I moved toward the window, cracking it open to let in fresh air.

Mrs. Vaughan had been adamant that the windows remained firmly shut to protect the books. She wished she could have the windows permanently sealed, but, as this was rented space, it was not possible. Between the dust, the heat and the occasional pungent visitor, I sometimes worried I would faint dead away. I often had to open the windows to survive.

I perched on the windowsill, breathing the relatively fresh air. I listened to the sounds of the town around me—the horses nickering, the wagons rolling by, the people walking on the boardwalk below, their voices muffled as they carried on conversations. I smiled, feeling like I had finally begun to be a part of this town.

I reached into my pocket to reread part of the letter I had received from my da yesterday.

While your stepmother cannot understand your desire to travel to Montana to be with Gabriel, I do. It always seemed to me that you should be with him. He appeared to suit you much better than Cameron. And I know I shouldn’t be surprised that you, my brave daughter, was the one to travel to him. I miss you, Clarissa. I hope to hear of your wedding soon.

I jerked from my reverie as someone cleared his throat. “Ahem.” I bumped my head on the window sash, causing myself to nearly topple onto the floor. I caught myself but knew it had been a less-than-graceful moment. I blushed, looking toward the man in the doorway.

“Gabriel,” I whispered with a soft smile. I stuffed my letter into my pocket and rubbed my head, trying to ease the ache.

“Hello, Clarissa,” he said in his gentle baritone. He studied me for a few moments. “I’ve wanted to see you. I’d hoped you would come by the workshop.”

“Oh, I don’t know as that would be proper,” I stammered out.

He frowned, his blue eyes showing his confusion while his long, elegant fingers traced the edges of a brown felt hat. A slight sheen of wood dust clung to his faded gray workpants and blue shirt. “When did you begin to worry about what was proper?”

He moved toward me, his boot heels making a resounding
click
on the floor. I backed away a step, and he stilled his movement. His expression chilled. “Why don’t you want me near you?”

“Gabriel, I’m sorry.”

“For not trusting me? For thinking I would harm you?” His eyes sparked fire as he glared at me and spun on his heel.

“Gabriel!” I called out, but I heard his boots as he descended the stairs.

“That was poorly done, missy,” wheezed out Mr. Pickens as he
thump
ed into the room with his cane. “Even if you didn’t plan on askin’ my opinion, I’m givin’ it. Poorly done indeed. That man come here to see if you still wanted him, and you repuffed him,” Mr. Pickens said.

I half smiled, realizing he meant
rebuffed
. “I don’t mean to act as I do,” I croaked out.

“Then tell him, you simpleton,” he said. He collapsed into his chair, as though speaking to someone with such limited reasoning ability took more energy than he had.

I shook my head.

“You got to fight for what you want, missy,” he said. “It don’t just get given to you.” He gasped a few times, though I suspected out of exasperation rather than true breathlessness. “Ah.” Mr. Pickens sighed. “So that reasonably intelligent brain of yours is finally workin’.”

He smiled, clamping his teeth together like I had seen men who smoked pipes clench their jaws.

“What’re you goin’ to do, missy?” His curiosity and concern lit his face.

I shook my head, thinking things through. “I honestly don’t know,” I murmured.

“Pshaw!” Mr. Pickens said, waving one hand at me in disgust, rolling his eyes heavenward as though trying to obtain divine help. “You go over there now, missy, and speak with that man. That’s what yer goin’ to do.”

“It would seem impertinent.”

“Impertinent my foot,” he tried to roar, but it came out weakly on a gasp. “You have to grasp at happiness, missy. No one else will help you grab at it. Go. Go on now. I’ll hold down the fort for a while.” He smiled his nearly toothless grin.

I walked toward Mr. Pickens and gave him a quick hug. “Thank you, si—A.J.,” I whispered, tears choking my throat.

I left the Book Depository and hurried toward Gabriel’s workshop. The warm, dry air caressed my cheek as I walked down Higgins toward Main Street, avoiding the restless antics of teenage boys racing on bicycles as I crossed the street.

I arrived at Gabriel’s door to find it wide open. I peered inside, allowing my eyes to adjust to the darker interior, looking around for Gabriel. I heard a low muttering off to one side, and the loud
thunk
of metal as a tool hit another tool. I watched as he bent over the workbench, gripping the sides of it as though he were in pain.

“Gabriel,” I called out.

He reared up, glancing over his left shoulder before spinning around to face me. I saw happiness flit across his face before he controlled his emotions and pasted on a neutral expression. “Clarissa.”

I stood there, uncertain what I wanted to say.

“Come in, Clarissa,” he spoke again, in an even gentler tone. “Let me show you my workshop.” He held out his hand toward me in welcome.

I nodded, smiling, and entered the room, looking around for the first time. The space was similar to his workshop in Boston, though much smaller. There were two workbenches with tools hanging nearby, a table and furniture in various stages of completion. The main difference I noted was the staircase to the living area overhead, which he did not show me.

He leaned against one of the workbenches, allowing him to be closer to eye level with me. He waited for me to speak, watching me with guarded tenderness, the way he used to when I was with him in Boston.

I smiled at him, gathering my courage to speak. “I’m sorry I reacted to you the way I did, earlier today,” I said in a soft voice.

“I want to understand, Clarissa. Help me to understand.”

“Gabriel,” I said in a low, quivering voice, “I don’t...” I broke off at a loss for words. I stared at a place over his shoulder. “I don’t know how to explain to you my life in Da’s house this past year, especially the past six months.” I took a deep breath and then met his eyes. “And Cameron. Cameron was horrid. Worse than you could imagine.” I closed my eyes, as though in pain.

“Why didn’t you write me the truth?”

“I … I tried. Some things can’t be written,” I whispered.

“What was in the letter you were reading today?”

“It’s a letter from my da. He was wishing me well. Hoping I found happiness in Montana.”