Winds of Change (8 page)

Patrick hadn’t seen Candace at all since yesterday, and he was getting irritable. One thing after another had happened, and he’d been busy non-stop. He’d stopped by the house twice during the day, but Candace wasn’t available either time. The first time, Ma had been working on her wedding dress and insisted Patrick not see it until the day of the wedding.

The second time, she’d trekked to the chicken coop to collect what few eggs if any, the chicken had laid. He’d gone to meet her there, but their paths had unknowingly crossed. The truth was, he missed her. During the months they’d lived together, thinking they were married, he hadn’t truly appreciated her. He could see that now.

At least there was only one day left until they married. Starting tomorrow, they’d have a lot more time together, and wouldn’t have to worry about saying goodbye in the evenings. Tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough for him.

Someone knocked at the door. He went to answer it and saw Maeve standing there.

She handed him a pile of fabric. “I didn’t think I’d get them done in time, but here they are.”

“Thank you.” Taking the curtains, he looked around the tiny cabin that would be his and Candace’s home until spring, at least. Candace hadn’t stepped foot in it since the day of Burl’s visit, and over the last month, he’d enlisted Liza and Maeve’s help in making the place seem more like a home.

“This cabin has really transformed.” Maeve’s gaze circled the one room house. “Candace will be pleased.”

“I owe it all to you and Liza.” He chuckled. “You saw my attempt at making it home.”

Maeve also laughed. “You tried.”

A sudden silence fell between them. He’d formed a friendship of sorts with his sister-in-law, but there were still awkward moments when one of them would remember she’d come to Weatherton to marry him, not Sam, even though everything worked out for the best—Maeve married Sam, and he was going to marry Candace.

“I should go.” Maeve looked back toward her and Sam’s cabin. “Dinner is almost ready.”

“You’re not joining everyone in the family house?”

“Not tonight.”

He held up the curtains still in his hand. “Thank you again.”

“You’re welcome.”

Closing the door behind her, he took a deep breath. He hoped Candace was pleased with the changes. There was a braided rug near the fireplace, and another by the bed. Liza had taken the old quilt and fixed the rips and tears. They’d never bothered him, but his sister had kindly informed him a girl wants a pretty covering. When she’d returned it, the quilt looked brand new. The best addition was a small stove in the corner.

After the frigid start to December, Harold Kennedy’s wife went crazy and insisted she couldn’t spend another winter in this forsaken place. Mid-December they’d pulled up roots and moved, but not before selling off much of their belongings. Patrick had been fortunate to purchase their cook stove at an affordable price vastly lower than that of a new one. Now, Candace and he could have their own dinners alone in the cabin.

Which reminded him, he had to leave soon. First, he hung the curtains from rods he’d secured to the wall yesterday. They were a sheer material, of what specifically, he didn’t know, but they had tiny yellow and blue flowers embroidered along the bottom. He’d specifically wanted that fabric because it reminded him of the dress he’d purchased for Candace when they’d
married
the first time. If his home was going to have feminine touches, he wanted them to remind him of Candace.

He glimpsed around. Everything was perfectly in place. He quickly washed up, pulled on his coat and then left for the main house. The smell of stew reached his nostrils before a view of the house did. If he was lucky, Candace had baked her bread that morning. Not that Ma’s wasn’t good—it was—but Candace had a way of making hers rise higher. Slather a healthy dose of freshly churned butter on top of a thick slice and he didn’t need anything else to fill his stomach.

Except that stew did smell awfully good. He walked directly into the house, not bothering to knock on the door.

“You’re making quite a habit of being late.” Ma shook a rag at him.

“Sorry.” He leaned down, winking before he landed a kiss on her cheek. “I had important business to take care of.”

She swatted his arm. “As long as you had a good reason, I guess you’re forgiven.”

“Where’s Candace?” He held his breath, praying Ma wouldn’t say she was out somewhere.

“In the kitchen.”

His legs automatically carried him to the kitchen. He leaned against the doorframe, observing her for several moments. She stood over the stove, stirring the stew. Her cheeks were flushed, presumably from the stove’s heat. She hummed while she worked, and he wondered if she was aware that she did.

The serviceable gray calico dress she wore shouldn’t have done much to accentuate her beauty, but she was breathtaking. As she stirred, her other hand occasionally went to her throat. Squinting his eyes, he saw she wore the ruby necklace. Knowing she was thinking of him brought a slow grin to his face.

“Good evening,” he said, finally announcing his presence.

She spun around. “When did you get here?”

“A few minutes ago.” He didn’t mention he’d been watching her.

“Your ma said you stopped by twice today. I’m sorry I missed you.” She laid down the spoon and approached him.

“Just don’t miss me tomorrow.” It was a jocular command, but he’d still feel much better once the wedding was over and they were married for real. He was ready to settle down, begin a new life with her.

Candace sighed contentedly. “I’m happy it will finally be here.”

“Me too.” When he thought about it, he’d only known Candace four months, but so much had happened in that time frame that it seemed like a lifetime. In a way it was because the life he lived now was not that of the one he’d lived even last summer. He’d grown up and become a better person.

“Patrick, are you expecting anyone?” Entering the kitchen, Ma gave him a curious look.

“No, why?”

“There’s a rider coming in, all by himself.” Ma’s eyebrows furrowed. “Neither he nor the mount, look familiar.”

An instant protectiveness came over him. He patted his firearm secure in its holster. “Where are Jeanette and the others?”

“In their rooms.”

“Go to yours and stay there until I say to leave.” His jaw clenched.

Ma and Candace scurried to the rear of the house where the bedrooms were. Visitors weren’t uncommon, but unrecognized ones were. With any luck, there wouldn’t be any trouble, just someone lost or looking for work, but a man couldn’t be too careful. Especially not when those he loved were in the house.

He took his gun from the holster, just in case—better to be prepared than caught unaware. Bending his neck, he tried to get a glimpse of the visitor through the window but couldn’t. He opened the front door and waited on the porch. The rider slid off his mount and had his back to the house.

“Who are you?” Patrick called out.

“Patrick Holden, is that you?” The man turned around, showing his face.

Only sheer willpower kept Patrick from allowing his shock to show. “You’ve found me, now what do you want Roscoe, or are you still passing yourself off as a judge?”

Roscoe blanched. “How’d you find out?”

“Does it matter? Are you going to tell me why you’re here? I think you’ve disrupted my life enough.” Nerves swished in his belly, but he didn’t allow it to show. Roscoe’s sudden appearance could mean no good.

“Pardon, my intrusion.” Something akin to grief passed over Roscoe’s ill-kempt features. “I know I took a risk coming here, but I needed to know Candace is doing well. I know she’s here, someone in town told me so.”

“Her welfare is none of your concern or is your conscience eating you with guilt for the lies and fake marriage you officiated?” Anger seethed through Patrick.

“I had my reasons.” The older man’s voice shook, and Patrick realized how frail he was. “If you’d allow me to explain, it will all make sense.”

I doubt that
. “Lay down your weapons and walk over with your hands in the air.”

Hands lowered, Roscoe removed his belt with a holster on each side. He tossed it on the snow-covered ground. He bent over and retrieved a knife from his boots and threw it on top the belt. Then he raised both arms and walked to the porch.

Patrick was vaguely convinced the old man meant no harm, but he refused to let down his guard.

“There’s something in my vest pocket that I wish to show you.” Roscoe looked at him for permission.

“Go ahead and pull it out.”

Seconds later, Roscoe handed Patrick a photograph.

A sense of alarm rang through him. “Where did you get this?”

“It was in my Ma’s belongings when she died.”

Staring at the portrait, Patrick couldn’t rid himself of the unease multiplying in his stomach. The girl in the photograph looked exactly like Candace, a younger version of the tintype she’d found in her Pa’s belongings. He already knew the answer but asked anyway. “Who is this?”

“Nancy. Candace’s mother.”

A headache formed behind his right temple. “Who were you to her?”

“Nancy was my baby sister.” Unabashed sadness filled the man’s words.

“Which makes Candace your niece?” Patrick asked, putting the pieces together.

“Yes.”

Disgust struck him, thinking of all the things Candace had been put through. “What kind of uncle are you?”

“Not a very good one, but I did my best by her.”

“How do you figure? For years, Candace put up with abuse from her Pa, and you show up, joining forces with her pa to manipulate her and me into a marriage.” He shook a fist, and the tintype waved precariously in his hand. “One that wasn’t even legitimate, I might add.”

Roscoe frowned. “I didn’t know about Candace. Her ma ran away with Burl when she was only sixteen. For a few years, my other sister and I tried to track her down but never succeeded.”

“Then how do you know Candace is your niece?” Patrick holstered his gun, confused still, but convinced there was no immediate danger.

“On my last trip to Pine Prairie I recognized Burl. He was older, sloppier, but recognizable nonetheless.” He reached for the picture and Patrick handed it back. “When I saw Candace I knew at last I had found them—she’s the mirror image of Nancy. Except it was too late for my sister.”

Patrick tugged on his hat. The news was too unbelievable, and he was still skeptical. “Did Burl recognize you?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have any idea what Candace suffered from that loathsome man?” Taking a deep breath, he willed himself to remain calm.

“I saw a glimpse.” A raspy cough came from Roscoe. “I knew I had to get her away from him, and you were the perfect way.”

“Me?” Arched eyebrows questioned Roscoe’s statement.

“It was my idea to force you young ones into a marriage.” He coughed again.

“Do you have any idea the problems that fake marriage caused?” Patrick felt his ire grow again.

“Burl promised he’d never tell anyone it was fake. I need you to trust me when I said I did it for Candace’s sake.”

“That’s asking a lot of a man.” His mouth set in a straight line. “Especially when anyone who knew me at the time knew I was a good-for-nothing scoundrel.”

“You’ve never been that. Deep down, you have a noble heart.”

A loud snort came out. “And how would you know anything about me?”

“I stop in Pine Prairie a few times a year. About two years ago, I passed through and was awoken by a commotion in the hallway.” Another cough and this time blood came from the man’s mouth. “I remember going into the hall and seeing you beating a man with bright red hair. Told him if he ever hurt Sissy or any other female, you’d kill him. I thought it was some love triangle squabble and went back to my room. The next day, I learned you saved a woman from being raped.”

The man knew too many details to be making it up, but Patrick didn’t recall ever seeing him. Then again, in those days Patrick had a habit of only noticing the females. “Suppose you’re telling the truth, it still doesn’t answer the false marriage business.”

Roscoe sighed. “I kept my distance from Burl for a day, didn’t let him know I was there. I saw how horribly he treated Candace. When I saw him strike her for no good reason, I knew I had to do something.”

Patrick’s fist clenched. He couldn’t stomach the idea of anyone hurting Candace.

“I didn’t know what, so I chummed up with him while formulating a plan.” A deep breath produced another round of hacking coughs. “When I saw Candace at the dance and recognized you with her, I knew a higher power had intervened. Burl wanted the girl off his hands, so I convinced him you and Candace would marry. Otherwise, her reputation would be marred and no one would ever want to marry her.”

“He was a fool.” The words spat from his mouth and landed on the ground. If Burl wasn’t already dead, Patrick had a mind to kill him with his own bare hands.

“Yes, he was.” Roscoe hobbled up the steps and leaned against the house. “I’m dying, Patrick. I haven’t got much time left on this earth, but I had to come and see that Candace is in good hands.”