Mail Order Bride Mishap (Into the West #3)

Chapter 18

He reached the top of the riverbank in no time at all, commended himself on his quick pursuit. Slid to a stop amongst the reeds and straggly wildflowers choking the edge of the slope. An indistinct rumble from above sent his eyes skyward momentarily. The sky was thick with gray clouds, all hanging ominously close overhead. Rain was imminent, just waiting for the best moment to pounce on its unsuspecting victims.

Bringing his eyes back to earth, he cast his gaze along the river’s edge, anxiously seeking any evidence of Fiona’s presence. Ah, there, right where the water lapped at the sandy shore stood her recognizable form, head bent as if she studied the mixture of water and soil. Immediately he opened his mouth to call her name, lest she somehow decided to wade out into the swift current and lose herself in its rapid course.

But then he closed his mouth without uttering a sound. Studied her more carefully. Felt his heart roll sickeningly in his chest.

Her shoulders jerked spasmodically while her head remained bowed. Was she…crying? He cocked his head. His stomach pitched again, a knot of dread forming in its center, expanding as he watched her intimate breakdown. A part of him noticed absently how her thick, corkscrew curls had once again come loose from their moorings, how they straggled down her back like Rapunzel’s coils. the straw hat they’d once been tucked beneath listed to the side like a sinking ship upon her bent head.

His eyes traveled past her hair, noted the dejected drape of her muddy-colored jacket, the shoulder seams drooping past a proper fit. Knew without a doubt that what she’d overheard had cut her to the quick. That the old hags’ careless gossip had stripped Fiona of all her bravado.

 He must have made some dismissive sound about those two old cows back in the mercantile, for suddenly Fiona swung around, met his gaze with her watery one. Silently he stared back at her, watched her green eyes widen in dismay at being caught in a moment of weakness. He noticed her expression go from dejected to embarrassed to furious in a matter of seconds. And remained still even as she began to screech at him.

“Go away,” she yelled, voice breaking. “Why did you follow me? To gloat over finally making me cry? Or did you want to make sure I heard every disgusting word you said? Well, I did! You can go back and tell everyone that you finally broke Miss O’Toole,” she finished on a cut-off sob, turned her back to him once more.

“It wasn’t like that, Fiona,” he began, taking a step but halting as the soft, riverbank dirt crumbled down the incline toward her. His eyes dropped to the ground beneath his feet, noticed the dusty residue caking his once shining boots. Looked up just in time to catch the offended shake of her head.

“Give me a moment to explain,” he continued, striding parallel to her atop the slope, eyeballing the ground to find the best place to descend. Of course she took his hesitancy the wrong way.

“Don’t bother dirtying your fancy shoes, Mr. Perfect Anglo-Saxon banker. You don’t need to sully your reputation with a filthy, Irish foreigner any longer. I’ve been takin’ care of meself for most of me short life, and I’ve been doin’ just fine here in St. Helens, as well. I don’t need your explanation. I know exactly where I stand with you.”

She’d turned around by this point, faced him with shoulders squared and chin raised. She should have looked ridiculous, what with her snarled hair hanging around her face and over her shoulders like strips of red seaweed, and that silly schooner of a hat tilting dangerously over one ear.

Instead she looked heart-wrenchingly appealing, impossibly young, and beyond attractive to Edward as he stared down into her oval, tear-tracked face. Immediately he wanted to make his way down the slope, reach out and gather her into his arms, press her face against his shoulder and tell her it would be all right. That he would make sure no one slandered her ever again. That she was safe within his embrace.