to a spoiled little chit who’ll bring you nothing but trouble!”
She had said too much. She’d known it even before she’d felt him stiffen beneath her touch and seen the flash of cold anger in his eyes. But it had been too late to take back the words spoken in a fever of desperation.
“I can’t live my life for you,” he’d said in a strained voice. “And you’ve already lived too much of yours for me. It’s time to let go, sis. It’s time for you to back off and let me be a man.”
“But you’re not a man—not yet!” She’d gripped him stubbornly, refusing to give up. “You’re eighteen years old, and you’ve no way to support a wife, let alone one who’s grown up rich and pampered! Think about it, Will! Use the brain God gave you, instead of—”
“That’s enough.” He had twisted away to stand facing her, his face shadowed by an odd sadness. “I’m tired. I’m going to bed. We can talk in the morning.”
“But what about your lessons?” she’d protested, ignoring what he’d just told her. “You have three weeks to finish your algebra course before…”
Her words had trailed off as he’d cast her a look of utter desperation, then stalked into his room and slammed the door behind him.
Now, sick with regret, Harriet lay staring up into the darkness. Why hadn’t she been more understanding? Why hadn’t she listened to her brother instead of raging at him like a harridan? He had looked so weary, as if the weight of the whole world had dropped onto his young shoulders. Her emotional outburst had only added to that burden.
The worst of it was, she had treated him like a child when, in truth, he was already doing a man’s work, and doing it well. As for his character, Will had been responsible, honest and trustworthy his whole life. Harriet remembered the summer he was eleven years old and he’d rescued a lost purebred spaniel puppy. He’d fallen in love with the little dog and would have given anything to keep it, but because he’d known it wasn’t a stray, he’d forced himself to trudge up and down the dusty streets, knocking on doors until he found the rightful owner. Afterward, Will had been so heartbroken that he’d refused the reward the family had offered for the return of their valuable pet.
It was much the same now, Harriet told herself. Will was infatuated with pretty Jenny Calhoun, but in the end he would see the light and do the right thing, no matter how much it hurt. Meanwhile, trying to force him to a decision would only make him dig in his stubborn young heels. It was time to take a quieter, wiser course of action.
Tomorrow was Saturday. While Will was at work, she would have time to prepare a pot roast with new potatoes, carrots and onions, and to bake his favorite molasses cake. When he came home from work, she would encourage him to talk, and this time she would listen instead of lecture. Somehow she would find a way to break this spell of youthful madness and set his feet back on the path to happiness and prosperity.
As for Brandon Calhoun, he could take his precious daughter and go to the devil! If the man harmed so much as a hair on her brother’s head, she would see that he paid for the rest of his life!
A shattering heat, like flame blazing through ice, surged through Harriet’s body as Brandon’s image took shape in her mind. She had struggled for hours to erase that image—the looming stature that made her feel small and defenseless; the piercing cerulean eyes that rendered her as transparent as apple jelly; the chiseled-granite jaw and the grim yet, somehow, disturbingly sensual mouth.
Harriet had never felt at ease around men, especially men like Brandon Calhoun. Arrogant, overbearing and reeking of self-made success, with the kind of looks that caused matrons to reach for their smelling salts, he was everything that made her want to snatch up her skirts and bolt like a rabbit.
But running away from Brandon was the worst thing she could do. If she so much as flinched under the scrutiny of those storm-blue eyes, he would see it as a victory. She would never again be able to stand up to him in a convincing manner. Despite any show of bravado on her part, he would look down at her and know that her mouth was dry, her pulse was racing and her knees were quivering beneath her petticoats. He would bully her into a corner and keep her there while he did his worst to destroy her brother’s life.
Whatever the cost to her own pride, she could not allow that to happen.
Outside, the voice of the wind had risen from a moan to a shriek. Its force caught the edge of a warped shutter, splintering the weakened wood and tearing it loose from its upper hinge. Held by a single corner, the shutter flapped and twisted in the wind, banging against the front window, threatening to shatter the fragile glass panes.
Harriet sat up in bed, shivering in her high-necked flannel nightgown. She was not tall enough to reach the top of the shutter and hammer the hinge back into place, nor was she strong enough to pull the shutter down for later repair. For this, she would have to rouse her angry, exhausted young brother.
Without taking time to find her slippers, she sprinted across the icy floor. A wooden splinter jabbed into the ball of her bare foot. Ignoring the pain, she rapped sharply on the thin planks. She hated the thought of waking Will when he was so tired, but the shutter had to be fixed or it would break the window, letting in the cold wind and the snow that was sure to follow.
“Will!” When he did not respond, she rapped harder on the door. “Wake up! I need your help!”
She paused, ears straining in the darkness, but no sound came from her brother’s room. She could hear nothing except the slamming of the shutter, the scrape of a dry branch against the roof and the howling cry of the wind.
“Will!” She pounded so hard that pain shot through her knuckles, but when she stopped to listen again, there was still no answer. Harriet sighed. Will always slept like a hibernating bear, with the covers pulled up over his ears. She would have no choice except to go in and wake him, as she’d done so often when he was a schoolboy.
The doorknob, which had no lock attached, was cold in her hand. She gave it a sharp twist to release the catch. The warped wood groaned as the door swung open on its cheap tin hinges.
The room was eerily silent, its stillness unbroken by so much as a breath. A flicker of moonlight through the window revealed a lumpy, motionless form in the bed. Harriet’s throat tightened as she crept toward it.
“Will?” She tugged at the quilts. There was no stirring at her touch, no familiar, awakening moan. Heart suddenly racing, she seized the covers and swept them aside. An anguished groan stirred in her throat as she stared down at her brother’s pillows, his bunched-up dressing gown and his Sunday hat, arranged to mimic his sleeping outline beneath the covers.
Will was gone.
* * *
The frantic pounding on Brandon’s front door jerked him from the edge of a fitful sleep. He sat up, still groggy, swearing under his breath as he swung his legs off the bed, jammed his feet into fleece-lined slippers and reached for his merino dressing gown. What could bring someone to his house at this ungodly hour? Had something gone wrong at the bank? A robbery? A fire?
Still cursing, he lit a lantern and made his way down the long flight of stairs. Only Helga slept on the ground floor of the house, and she snored too loudly to hear anything short of an earthquake. As for Jenny…
His chest clenched at the memory of their confrontation over dinner. Lord, what
