Page 39 of A Rugged Beauty
She blinked, pushing the memory away. Selfishly grateful that it hadn't been her.
Alice was a horrible person.
An awful person for being insincere when she'd formed a truce with her brother Owen's wife weeks ago. It irked her that her brothers were caught up in their new relationships. Who was going to watch out for Coop while they were domestically distracted?
It was all up to her.
And she wished that it wasn't.
Which made her selfish.
She opened her eyes and gave one more tug on the heavy quilt. A little cry slipped from her lips. The blanket didn't budge and helplessness itched just under her skin. She couldn’t afford to lose the covering.
Then a pair of big hands grabbed the blanket just below where she held it. She only caught a glimpse of the side of Braddock's face as he pulled with her.
Finally, something shifted under the eddying water and the blanket came loose. His hands brushed hers as she pulled it in.
"I've got it," she told him, shaken by his sudden appearance.
He stepped back, pushing one hand through his hair—where was his hat?—as he watched her tug the waterlogged blanket to shore.
She didn't want to notice the bruise high on his cheek or the one shading his jaw underneath a scruff of blond whiskers. He was staring at her, watching her take in the evidence of the blows her brother had landed two days ago.
Are you all right?The old Alice, the girl she'd been eight months ago, would've asked the question. But she firmed her lips and purposely returned her focus to the blanket, now on dry ground. She knelt to examine a small rip that now marred the edge.
"I'm fine," he said after a prolonged moment of silence. "Thank you for asking." One corner of his mouth lifted, a sign that he hadn’t meant anything unkind by the sarcastic words.
Of course he pushed. Braddock—she couldn't think of him as Robert anymore—always pushed.
"What do you want?" she asked as she wound the quilt between her hands, wringing water from it.
"To talk to you."
"I told you, I never want to see you again." If she blinked, she'd be back in the servant's hallway of his grandfather's expansive mansion, facing him with tear-filled eyes. She shook her head, freeing herself from the memory.
"You also told me you loved me," he said in a matter-of-fact tone, his jaw hard and his arms crossed over his chest. "Both of those things can't be true. One of them must be a lie.”
His words battered her for a moment, tugging at her insides the way the quilt had been pulled by the water. She had thought herself in love with him once. But she'd only been fooling herself.
"I love my brother, but I don't love his foolish actions," she said evenly. It was as close to an apology as she could make. She knew the truth now—how he truly felt about her family. About her station.
Water spattered over her skirt as she squeezed the fabric too strongly, her emotions getting the better of her. She could never be with Braddock. It would never work between them. The evidence of it was there in the bruises on his face.
And it wasn't only that Leo, Collin, and Coop hated him.
When she looked up, she got caught in his blue eyes. His expression was stony. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. A muscle jumped in his cheek.
"Whatever affection we used to have for each other is gone," she said firmly. "I don't know what foolish notion brought you to this wagon train, but you should join the next eastbound group and go home to your grandfather."
“It’s not gone for me." He strode forward and before she could react took the bottom of the sopping mass of blanket before she dropped it all on the dirty ground. His hands found hers in the process, and she found she couldn't look away from his intent gaze.
“It’s not gone for me," he repeated.
The warmth of his hands closing over hers brought back a visceral memory of the first time he'd touched her—during a rousing song at one of the dances attended mostly by workers from the powder mill. They'd been pressed in on all sides by the crowd, and he'd held her hand for a moment too long during the spinning, clapping dance around them. He hadn't looked away, not even when he'd missed a step and nearly stumbled. She'd thought she was something special, to have captured the attention of a man like him.
You're different from your working class brothers!
His shouted words from another conversation—their last real conversation before this one—resounded through her buzzing ears. She stepped away, breaking his hold and tugging the blanket into her midsection, uncaring that she got her dress wet.
