Chapter 13
Charlotte gave in to her trembling legs and collapsed into the chair. She didn’t want to admit that Joshua was right. It’s no crime to accept a little help.
No crime, perhaps, but it still felt wrong. She’d shouldered the responsibilities for so long, she didn’t know how to trust another to accomplish what needed to be done. She changed out of her muddy clothes and back into the dress, as though the familiar clothing would remind her of who she was.
Joshua entered soon afterwards, presenting her with chunks of meat, rinsed and mounted on long sticks for roasting.
She crouched before the fire and held them over the embers while he washed up.
Then he pushed the table closer so they could lean back against the table legs while their supper roasted.
Charlotte breathed in warmth and the scent of sizzling meat, letting the moment’s strange comfort float around her.
They sat close enough that her full skirts brushed his leg.
Close enough to recall the moment in the woods when she’d leaned against him and felt the strength of his arm around her, the unexpected gentleness of his hand on her back, the soft, deep timbre of his voice when he’d called her Charlotte.
Sneaking a glance under her lashes, she studied his profile.
Strong and serious, that’s how she’d first judged him.
Now she saw the lines of humor that sometimes softened his hard mouth.
The dark eyes that had seemed so harsh and flat to her outside Montgomery’s Tavern glimmered with light, humor, and even . . . caring.
“Watch now.” His deep voice made her realize she’d taken her attention off her supper and let her meat drift too close to the fire. His hand came over hers, lifting her stick to pull the meat out of danger.
Charlotte looked down at where his hand covered hers, surprised by how much she coveted the feeling. By all rights, she ought to feel nervous to face a second night alone with a strange man in a cabin miles from anyone. Yet he made her feel safe. Protected, even. She wasn’t used to this.
His hand rested a moment longer on hers, and she lifted her gaze to search his face. He met her eyes, his warm with a hint of a question. She wondered what he wanted to ask, but the next second he jerked his hand away, his attention returning to the fire, his lips turning down.
What made him frown? She could imagine the answer. He was stuck in a cabin, his supplies for the winter gone, heading miles out of his way on what could be a wild-goose chase. Many reasons to frown, and all of them caused by her.
Joshua cleared his throat. “This brother of yours.” He paused, rotating his meat while he seemed to search for words. “Is he likely to be amenable to what you have to say?”
It was a delicate way of asking if he’d be stuck with her indefinitely.
She straightened. Hadn’t she proven that she could look after herself?
All he had to do was get her to Simon’s homestead.
She pushed aside the strange hurt at the thought that he couldn’t wait to be rid of her and focused on his question.
“I don’t imagine he’ll want to return to the city.” She gave a tiny shrug. “But once he knows what’s at stake, he’ll come.”
He tilted his chin. “If you don’t mind my asking, what is at stake?”
Charlotte chewed her lip. She couldn’t claim to understand Joshua Robertson, but she sensed she could trust him.
The thought of sharing her burden appealed, though there was nothing he could do to ward off Deacon Cole’s threats.
A burden shared is a burden halved, Fulton always said.
Of course, that was mostly when she helped him clean the stable.
Still, how long had it been since she’d shared her fears with another? Even Fulton didn’t know the whole.
“My home,” she said, finally. “We have a farm. Just east of Toronto.”
His head swung around at the word home. “You’ve lost your home?” His voice was stark, as though he knew something about being set adrift in the world.
“Not yet.” Charlotte turned her roasting stick, focusing on the golden brown of the crisping skin. “But if he doesn’t come back . . .” She bit her lip. Should she tell him about the accusations against Simon?
Joshua cocked his head, as though he suspected there was more to the story.
“Still not sure I understand. At first, I figured you needed your brother to run things or pay the bills.” He gave a tiny half laugh.
“Now that I’ve gotten to know you better, I’m pretty sure you could manage just about anything. So why do you need him so badly?”
Pleasure bloomed in her chest. No one had acknowledged her competence before.
Certainly not Papa, who only complained about her managing ways.
As far as she could tell, Simon had never even noticed her efforts.
But even Joshua’s praise couldn’t loosen her tongue completely.
She was reluctant to admit her brother had abandoned her without a word.
“It’s not easy to run a farm without a man to take the crops to market.
” She fobbed him off with an excuse that, while true, didn’t answer his question.
“The hired hands respect a man as their employer, too.” He opened his mouth to speak, and she held up a hand.
“Think about it and you’ll see it’s true. ”
“I suppose you have a point. Mrs. Norris always said she worked twice as hard as a man and still her patrons thought they knew better than she did. They learned their mistake soon enough.” He shot her a keen stare.
“I’d wager people learn not to underestimate you, too.
” He gave a rueful chuckle. “I certainly did.”
The words flustered her. Her closest family couldn’t see this about her, yet a man she’d known for two days seemed to understand her. Respect her.
She gestured to the roasting turkey. “The meat looks done, don’t you think?”
“I reckon so.”
They turned their attention to their supper, and she hoped he’d drop the subject of her family. But after a few bites of turkey—surprisingly tasty despite the lack of seasoning—he spoke again.
“You ever consider selling? I reckon a spread so close to town would fetch a fine price. Set you up in comfort.”
She paused, the last bite of supper halfway to her mouth.
“We can’t sell.” He blinked at the vehemence in her tone, and she calmed her voice.
“My mother never wanted to leave England.” Everything came back to that in the end.
“Papa promised her an estate just like the one she’d left behind.
Edenbrook, it’s called. It’s meant to be an inheritance,” she continued.
“For my brother. Mama made me promise to look after it for them.”
“Them?” A flash of alarm crossed his face. “There’s more than one?”
She smiled. If one brother was this much trouble, imagine having two. “I meant my brother and my father.”
“Your father. So you’re not alone.” He was silent for a long moment, studying her.
Charlotte wished he’d turn his attention to something else. She leaned forward, throwing the turkey bones into the fire with a twinge of regret. At Edenbrook she’d have made broth and stretched the bird into another meal.
His gaze was on her still, serious and thoughtful. “I don’t have much experience with fathers, but it seems to me that’s his responsibility, isn’t it? Looking after the family estate?”
How dare he pass judgment on her father? He knew nothing of their situation or the complicated web of love and obligation that linked them. “Horses were his passion, not Edenbrook. And he and Simon never . . . got on.”
The way she defended her family filled Joshua with longing.
What would it be like to have another person take his part with such passion and .
. . love? That’s why he wanted Henry with him.
A boy ought to grow up with someone on his side.
And Joshua wouldn’t mind having someone on his side once in a while, either.
“It’s not his fault. He was never the same after Mama died and now he’s . . .” She broke off, her voice choked with emotion. “Now Papa’s sick, too.”
Her distress filled him with a frustrating need for action.
He wanted to calm her worries and see her smile again, but he was powerless to solve her problems. “All the more reason for your brother to stay by your side.” If he had a sister, he wouldn’t have abandoned her for the backwoods.
Of course, his feelings for Charlotte were far from . . . brotherly.
“And you’re an expert on brothers, are you?”
He’d had enough careless insults thrown his way that he ought to be immune to her sarcasm. But her words cut deep, beneath the layers of toughness he wore, thick like calluses around his heart, to the tender spot underneath—the place filled with longing, regret, and guilt.
“You’re right,” he said, his voice hoarse.
He cleared his throat. “I haven’t been much of a brother myself.
” He stared hard into the crackling flames, willing the hurt to subside.
Then he felt a brush on the back of his hand, small and soft.
His gaze dropped to where Charlotte’s hand hovered over his.
He should draw back, but at that moment he’d never wanted anything more than to feel her touch.
Quick as lightning, he flipped his hand over and clasped her hand in his.
Warmth flowed from her to him—or was it the other way around?
He didn’t know. He only knew the connection between them was solid and tangible.
He’d ceased to think of her as Miss Fulton, spoiled heiress. She was Charlotte now.
“I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry. Tell me about Henry,” she said, her voice low.
He never talked about Henry, as though speaking his wishes aloud meant they would never come to be.
He considered brushing aside her question, but then he’d break the thread between them.
The warmth from her hand would be gone. He didn’t want that.
And suddenly, he didn’t want to keep his story inside him any longer, either.
He’d told no one the whole, not even Mrs. Norris. No one had ever asked.
“We came from the north of England. My parents, my younger sister, and I.” He swallowed. It wasn’t easy to relive the darkest time of his life. “Da died. So did my sister. She went out on the pond before the ice was frozen solid. He went after her and they both . . .”
“Oh, Joshua.” The words left her like a breath, low and tender, washing over him like a balm. “How old were you?”
“Twelve. We couldn’t handle the farm without Da, so we moved back to the city.
Mam remarried and Henry was born.” He spoke quickly now, as though he was reciting facts and not the hardest days of his young life.
“We made out all right.” It was true, except the last bit.
He hadn’t been all right. Far from it. His first job at a farm outside the city had been a harsh introduction to the world of low pay and cold indifference.
“My stepfather died five years ago and my mother a year later. I promised her I’d look after Henry.
Keep him safe. He’s the only family I have left.
” He prodded the embers with his roasting stick.
“I left him in a boardinghouse while I worked and saved for our own place. I thought he’d be safe there. ”
She squeezed his hand. “It must have been very difficult caring for a young boy when you were so young yourself.”
“No harder than it was for you,” he said, refusing her pity. “At least I had something to keep me going. I wanted a home for us. A place where we’d be a family.”
“And you did it. How many men in your position could accomplish so much at your age?”
He shook his head, again rejecting her praise. “I wanted to be much farther ahead by twenty-five, but . . .”
“But what?”
The past year, he’d worked harder than ever. Clearing land and planting crops alone almost broke him, and he’d still let Henry down. “Doesn’t matter much at all, what I did. I should have gone back for him earlier. I should have found a way.”
Her face was pensive in the firelight. “I can understand that. Sometimes I’m convinced it must be my fault my brother ran off.
” He moved closer at the distress in her voice, his shoulder nudging hers to remind her she wasn’t alone.
It was forward of him, and he expected her to pull away.
Instead, she leaned against him. “How did I not know what he planned? I should have found a way, too.” She gave a long sigh.
“You’re not your brother’s keeper,” he said. “There’s things that happen in life that just . . . happen. Sometimes we have to trust.”
Her smile peeked out, gently mocking. A reward for all the confidences he’d shared. “You take that counsel to heart, do you?”
“Haven’t tried it myself.” He grinned. “But it seems like sound advice.”
They sat so close he could see the flecks of green in her eyes.
Her smile faded, and his gaze dropped to her lips.
When she’d first climbed into his wagon outside Montgomery’s Tavern, he’d thought her beautiful.
Still did, but now that he knew her loyal, courageous heart, she was fast becoming the most fascinating woman he’d ever met.
What would it be like to have her in his life? To share his heart and home with her? He would have thought it impossible, but she’d just drawn closer when she could’ve pulled away. Her eyes, soft and warm, seemed to invite him nearer.
“Charlotte,” he whispered. “I . . .” He couldn’t find words to express the emotion filling his heart or the awareness that heightened every sense and urged him closer still. He leaned forward until there was only a breath between them.
She gave a tiny sigh that sounded like approval. He brought a hand up to cup her face.
The fire crackled as a log collapsed, sending up a shower of sparks. She stiffened and pulled away, her eyes wide with shock. Her hand covered her mouth as though she couldn’t believe what had nearly happened.
Neither could he.
He’d given his word he’d get her safe to his brother. Instead, he took liberties and broke her trust.
“I’m sorry. I should never—”
She jumped to her feet. “No. I . . . we shouldn’t.” She turned away, wrapping her arms around her middle as though she would protect herself from him. The action sliced him like an axe. Did she see him as a danger? A man she couldn’t trust?
A hard knot of regret formed in his middle. He’d shared too much and gotten too close. For heaven’s sake, he’d nearly kissed her.
Reality came crashing back. Joshua had a feeling there was more to Charlotte Fulton and her mysterious brother than met the eye.
He couldn’t allow himself to get caught up in her troubles, not when he’d vowed that nothing—and certainly no woman—would come between him and his mission to reunite with Henry.
Besides, there was no future with Charlotte Fulton, a woman so far out of his sphere that any connection between them would be impossible.