contenting himself with a sip of whiskey. The two men sat in silence for a while, united by unspoken contemplation of marital obligations.
Murphy lifted his glass in the faintest of salutes. “You are sunk deep in thought, my friend.”
Samuel brushed at his trousers, staring absently at his hand. “The border dispute must be settled. There’s been more trouble. Heard Morgan’s boom was busted.”
“There’s hiring at Sagamore’s.”
“How many?” That Sagamore’s was hiring surprised him, since most lumber mills were not Only two weeks before, the deCarteret mill had dismissed fifty workers, because shingle production had fallen.
“I don’t know how many they’re taking on. I’m trying to find out.”
“If Sagamore’s recruiting this early in the season, seems he must be expecting a big consignment. It can only mean the land agents intend turning a blind eye to trespass and cutting on Maine territory for yet another season.”
“Very active, these trespassers, Sam. I don’t like it.” Open indignation tinged Liams’s voice.
Samuel shrugged. “We’ll deal with them, if we have to.”
“Hush, Sam. Don’t say the words, else sure it is that you will wish them unsaid tomorrow.” Even when he was serious the Irishman’s lips seemed to quiver with a barely controlled smile.
“It’s what comes of Tyler’s bein’ president,” Samuel went on, peering at the bottom of his glass in disgust. “Despite election promises, it seems Fairbanks is too far away to serve legal processes and too expensive to employ military ejection.”
“I thought we weren’t going to mention that.” Murphy spoke easily, his voice deep, but there was a stiffness in his features.
Samuel let out his breath in a long sigh. His partner had a timberman’s suspicion of any type of federal intervention. “Politics is a complicated affair. It’s a big country, but the lumber trade is a small community.” He held out his empty glass for a refill. “I’ve no political sympathies, only instincts, and they shy away from cheats.”
As Murphy poured in a generous measure of whiskey, Samuel’s eyes moved slowly to settle on Caitlin’s face. She was watching him, her pointed, fawnlike face lit as if from within. It was as if she were drawing him into herself, so that he had no will of his own. Soon, he thought, he would have to go to her. Samuel knew he could not delay much longer. He was running out of time.
He sighed and took another drink. He would go to her. He would do his duty. Yes, duty, that was what it would be. He saw that clearly now. This marriage would be a constant reminder to himself that he was a deserter, that he had shirked his duty when his father needed him. Yes, it was fitting.
Chills ran up Samuel’s spine. Somehow, in retrospect, every major turning point in his life had been associated with Caitlin Parr. He had known her since childhood, though he knew that this did not make her any more easy to understand.
Some things never changed.
Caitlin Parr—no, Caitlin Jardine—had been a strong-willed, reckless girl from the moment he had met her. She’d burst into his life like a miniature whirlwind, disrupting the even tenure of his existence.
Samuel winced, remembering.
He had been only a boy of thirteen when his father went to Cornwall to set up a medical practice in Port Isaac. Samuel had been born late in his parents’ married life, and his delicate mother had not recovered from the difficult birth. She had taken to her room until her death some ten years later, and her son had grown up without a woman’s soft, gentle touch.
For all his height and strength and the maturity of his thirteen years, he saw no reason for a tidy house, no purpose in study, no sense in putting on clean clothes that would only become soiled, and no logic in trying to tame his shock of curly chestnut hair. Never was a male so much in need of female attention or so blissfully unaware of his need.
Dr. William Jardine, a massive man with rough-and-ready manners, possessed a notoriously incendiary temper. He could intimidate the bravest man, but he could not understand or handle his obstinate son.
They were in the middle of a loud argument when a ball came bouncing through the open door of their cottage. Later, it occurred to Samuel that the ever-curious Caitlin had only been angling for an opening, an excuse to cross into forbidden territory.
She danced across the threshold on eager little feet and took in the room in one glance: the cracked stone floor, the peeling paper on the walls, the armchairs with the stuffing oozing from torn leather like purulent wounds, the shelves stacked with interesting bottles, and mysterious odds and ends strewn over the table. She glanced at William, at Samuel, then grinned and came forward with a little hop, skip and bounce.
Caitlin halted in front of Samuel. She made a sympathetic murmur, then hid her mouth behind one hand. “You sound as though you were on the losing end of the argument.”
Samuel made no attempt at reply. He froze inwardly. Green eyes. He had never seen green eyes before. He searched those bright, intelligent eyes, transfixed.
Tense silence fell.
Samuel realized that he was holding his breath and staring, and he let air out deliberately and breathed in again. A new voice, unmistakably feminine, distracted him.
“Cat?” A beat of silence, then the sound of feet approaching the door. The lyrical sound of a young girl’s soprano floated through the open shutter. “Cat? Where are you?”
Dark lashes lowered to partially conceal the green gaze Caitlin took a step, stopped, and said over her shoulder “It’s safe, Cait. You can come in.” It was her expression that told Samuel she was far from pleased about something
There was the sound of feet. Caitryn crept in like a frightened mouse. She was like an angel, a real-life cherub with fair ringlets, great blue eyes and dimpled cheeks. She looked at Samuel. Then she lowered her eyes from his face and quickly looked away, as if it hurt her to look at him.
Not so the bold Caitlin. That one took a step closer. She scanned his father’s rooms. There was a sense of reckless energy about Caitlin, a dynamic, almost rash force that Samuel later came to understand, was an intrinsic part of her nature.
“Oh, how disappointing. I thought there would be blood and guts everywhere. Being a doctor’s surgery, and all that.” The surprise in her tone was obvious.
Samuel made a soft noise of disbelief. William Jardine crossed his arms. He fixed a forbidding stare on Caitlin Her heavy, dark hair had escaped its ribbons and was lying tossed and untidy in joyous disarray across her shoulder. She did a little jig—like an intoxicated little bird.
William snorted and glanced around his chamber. There was a line, thin and deep as a knife cut, between his eyebrows. He stroked his beard. “It lacks a woman’s touch. My wife is dead. Which is why my son neglects his chores,” he replied brutally.
His heavy face looked as if it had been carved in wood, so still and stern it seemed. It was an expression that brought excuses immediately to Samuel’s lips.
“It is clean—only a little untidy,” Samuel said, bravado elevating his chin. He knew he sounded insolent,
