Chapter
4

Claire clutched Liam to her chest and nearly ran down the street toward Bart Porter’s livery. It didn’t matter that she didn’t have Polly’s trunk or even the bag of infant supplies. All that mattered in that moment was escape.

Facing Stanley Fischer had been bad enough. Just as she’d known it would be. The sour man held on to a grudge as if it were the last coin in his cash box. But having Pieter witness her folly? Her pride couldn’t bear it.

And that was the issue, as always. Her pride. As much as she wanted to cast all the blame for the destruction of their relationship on Pieter’s shoulders for stepping out with another woman, she’d contributed, as well. Devastated by his betrayal, she’d turned her back on him. So sure was she that any explanation he could give would be woefully inadequate, she’d refused to see him and returned each of his letters unopened. There’d been no forgiveness. No fighting for the man she claimed to love. Just fleeing. And fleeing in the rashest manner possible—by answering the ad of a stranger in Texas and pledging to become a mail-order bride.

She’d always been the wise sister, the one with both feet planted firmly on the ground. How many times had she advised Polly that Diederick was no good for her? That he was a charmer seeking an easy life, not a man a woman could depend upon? And then, just like the Bible warned, while she’d been trying to remove the speck from her sister’s eye, the log in her own eye had crushed her. Her heart took the brunt of the blow, but it had been the blow to her pride that sent her running.

She couldn’t bear to see the pity in her mam’s eyes, the I-told-ye-so in her da’s. And worst of all, she couldn’t stand to listen to Polly pleading with her to hear Pieter out, reminding her of his character and steadfast ways, insisting that there must be a logical explanation. Because if Claire gave in, she’d have to admit that her flighty, lead-with-her-heart-and-not-with-her-head sister might actually be right.

So she’d run. Just as she was running now.

“Claire! Stop!” Pieter called out behind her, his voice too close. He’d catch her before she reached the livery, before she could block his questions and accusations with the presence of others.

Claire accelerated from a hurried walk to an actual jog. But Liam started to fuss, his whimpers abrading her conscience. Immediately, she slowed. Was her pride really so important that she’d risk the baby’s safety? Heaven preserve her! One misstep in her ill-advised haste, and she could have fallen. Liam could have been injured.

Lord, forgive me!

A strong hand grabbed her upper arm. He didn’t yank her around to face him. His grip didn’t bruise. Yet neither did it allow her to pull free. It simply held her. Supported her. Offered an anchor in the midst of her storm.

Claire’s eyes slid closed, and for just a moment, she began to relax, to lean back against him. But then she remembered another woman whose arm had rested on his. A wealthy, beautiful woman whose father could offer Pieter everything he’d ever wanted. Success. Respect. A partnership in a thriving business. All things Claire lacked.

Her spine locked back into place.

“Fischer’s a buffoon, Claire. Don’t let him upset you.”

Claire spun around and glared up at Pieter. “He might be a buffoon, but he’s ne’er lied to me, Pieter van Duren. Never promised to marry me in one breath, then scampered off to court a better candidate in the next.”

Pieter’s eyes widened, and his hold on her arm loosened. She took advantage of his shock and yanked free.

“I did Mr. Fischer a bad turn. He has every right to be angry with me. Just as I have every right to be angry with you.”

Pieter stared at her for a long moment, his eyes narrowing as they peered into places she strove to keep hidden. “And does he have the right to nurse that anger and treat you no better than the dirt under his feet even after nearly a year has gone by?” He paused, his voice softening to a near whisper. “Do you have that right?”

The soft words struck her like arrows to the chest. “Th-that’s unfair,” she murmured.

But was it?

Pieter said nothing. Just looked at her, his gaze illuminating his hurt. Was that how she’d been acting? As harsh and intolerant as Stanley Fischer? Surely not. She’d never been cruel. Never treated Pieter or anyone else with anything less than common courtesy. Yet neither had she extended forgiveness. In fact, ever since he’d stepped off that train she’d been trying to push him back out of her life just as Stanley Fischer had tried to push her out of his store.

The bitter taste of shame soured her mouth. All this time she’d taken refuge in being the wronged party, casting all the blame on Pieter and making herself at home in her lofty tower of self-righteousness. She truly was no better than Stanley Fischer.

Moisture coated her eyes as she faced the man who had once been her entire world. “Pieter. I’m sorry.” She blinked against the tears that threatened to fall and patted the baby whose discontent grew louder by the moment. As tempted as she was to use the babe as an excuse to escape Pieter, she held her ground and his gaze. “I’ve not treated ye well, have I? Runnin’ off without a word. Returnin’ yer letters. Refusin’ to see ye. ’Twas cowardly. I let the hurt dictate my actions. After all the years we’ve known each other, ye deserved better than that. And as much as I’ve grown during me time in Harper’s Station, the moment I saw ye step off that train, all the pain came rushin’ back, and with it my desire to shut ye out and flee.”

Claire used the edge of the diaper cloth she’d just purchased to rub away a tear that escaped her lashes, sniffed once, then inhaled a shaky breath and lifted her chin. She’d never been one to shirk her duty, no matter how difficult. She wouldn’t start now.

“Ye didn’t have to come, Pieter,” she acknowledged. “Ye must’ve known how awkward things would be between us, yet ye came anyway. To bring me my nephew.” She glanced down at the squirming infant in her arms, then tipped her head to hug him into her neck. “My son.” She looked up at the man before her. “Thank ye.”

Pieter held her gaze for a long moment before nodding slightly. Then, apparently realizing they were starting to draw a crowd, he gently took her arm and steered her down the street in the direction she’d been heading. They walked in silence until they reached the livery.

She drew to a halt in front of the open barn doors and mumbled a quiet explanation. “Mr. Porter, a friend from Harper’s Station, gave me a ride to town this morning, but since he had deliveries to make for his freight business, he made arrangements with his brother for me to borrow a horse and cart from his livery for the drive home. I should probably be checkin’ on it and seein’ about returnin’ to Harper’s Station. That way ye can get on with the rest of yer business.”

“You are my business, Claire.”

She jerked her head up, questions racing through her brain. Questions that must have shown on her face, for Pieter smiled. That small, private half-smile of his that never failed to turn her insides to mush.

“Delivering Liam wasn’t my only reason for coming.” He ran a finger along the edge of her face, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Her skin tingled at his touch. Then he moved on to the babe, gently cupping the lad’s downy head and rubbing back and forth.

The contact soothed the boy, but it had the opposite effect on Claire. For as Pieter stroked the child, the back of his knuckles also brushed the underside of her chin, leaving not only her heart in a puddle from his tender, fatherly treatment of Liam, but the rest of her longing for another caress meant just for her.

Once the baby ceased his fretting, Pieter withdrew his hand. “When Polly finally admitted to me that your mail-order marriage never took place, I began making plans.” He met her gaze, his eyes clear and intent. “Plans to win you back, Claire. To prove myself worthy of you.” He retreated a step and shifted his weight, but his eyes never left hers. “When Polly approached me about Liam, I already had a train ticket to Texas in my possession. I would have come for you with or without the little man as an excuse.”

He’d been coming for her all along? Even after the way she’d sliced him from her life? Her heart gave a leap, yet her head argued caution. He’d hurt her before. He could hurt her again.

“I’m not asking you to forget all that’s happened between us. I’m simply asking you to give me a chance to explain and own up to my failures. After you’ve heard what I have to say, if you still want no part of me, I’ll respect your wishes and leave you to your life in Harper’s Station with no more than monthly visits to remain connected with Liam.”

Claire’s forehead scrunched. Monthly visits? From New York?

“I have no doubt that you’ll be a wonderful mother to him,” Pieter hurried to reassure her, as if he feared he’d insulted her with his comment. “But Liam is a van Duren. His father might have abandoned him, but I will not. He’s my blood. I intend to see that he receives the love and support such a connection deserves.”

This was the man she had fallen in love with, a man of deep honor and commitment, a man she had always been able to depend on. Had she painted him a full-fledged villain when perhaps he’d simply been a good man who’d temporarily stumbled? No one could be perfect all the time. Yet that was what she had expected of him. To never let her down. Ever.

“I would be glad to have ye involved in Liam’s life.” She swallowed another chunk of pride. It scratched as it went down, but it lightened her soul a little. “He’ll need a . . .”—she nearly said father, but that would be inviting too many pictures of domesticity that she wasn’t yet ready to contemplate—“a strong man in his life to look up to as an example. But I don’t understand how ye think to visit every month. The time away from work plus the train fare would make visiting once a year barely feasible.”

Pieter grinned and rocked back on his heels. “It won’t be so bad. I thought to visit over a Sunday, get a local lad to milk the cows for me while I’m gone. And if the cheese and butter business goes as well as anticipated, I’ll have extra ready cash for the train fare.”

“Extra cash? Have ye gone daft, Pieter? I had to pay Mr. Fischer seventy-five dollars to reimburse him for the ticket he purchased to bring me out here. And ’twas only one way!”

Something lit Pieter’s eyes. A sparkle—dare she believe it was a touch of mischief? “Don’t worry. The fare will be manageable. The trip’s only a couple hours.”

“Whisht! Now I know ye’re daft.”

He chuckled. “No. Not daft. Only calculating distance from a different starting point.” His face grew serious. “I bought a piece of land, Claire. And I’ve money to start a small dairy herd.”

His own land? Heaven be praised. He’d worked so hard for so long. She knew how much that meant to him. To his family—to be the first to own land in the New World. To escape the tenements and make a life for himself. No matter what trouble had come between them, she was truly proud of his accomplishment.

“Oh, Pieter, I’m so happy for ye. I know ’twas yer dream.”

“Part of my dream,” he corrected, and a little shiver danced along Claire’s nape at the implication. “I didn’t just bring Liam with me on that train. I brought all my worldly goods. The land I bought is in Texas, Claire.”

Texas? Who ever heard of a Texas dairy? Dairies belonged in places like New York and Wisconsin. Why in the world would he choose Texas?

But as her heart thumped in her chest, she recognized the answer. He’d come for her. To prove himself. Hadn’t he said as much? Yet to go so far as to purchase something as permanent as land with no guarantee that she’d change her mind. ’Twas like throwing the deed to the farm into a poker pot when the final cards had yet to be dealt. Unaccountably foolhardy.

Yet incredibly romantic.

The blighter was cheating. Trying to manipulate her.

Or maybe he was sacrificing everything he had for love. Not only for her, but for the nephew they shared.

How could she possibly be expected to remain unaffected by such a grand gesture?

Claire stared into the tender brown eyes of the man she’d loved for half her life and felt the stone of her heart start to soften and yield. Remaining unaffected was obviously not an option. But keeping her wits about her was. She would listen to his explanations. Perhaps even offer forgiveness. Heaven knew her soul could benefit from the release of that burden. But it would be her head, not her heart, that would decide how they moved forward. Her heart had led her astray once. She wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.