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“We need to talk,” Joshua demanded.
Abby tried to push the door closed but he was too quick. “Go away!”
She didn’t quite know how it happened, but he was soon striding through the house, shrinking it just by his presence. Abby followed him toward the sitting area near the fireplace, her thoughts whirling. What can he want?
Josh walked to the hearth, then turned, propping his elbow indolently on the beautiful mantel her brother had carved. “So this is where you chose to raise my son.”
“I haven’t made a free choice since the night you took my virginity,” Abby spat back.
Josh raised his left eyebrow. “If my memory serves, you did more than your fair share of unbuttoning.”
Abby flew at him. Her fists balled, she struck wildly. Then in a heartbeat she found herself imprisoned against the hard wall of his chest.
“Stop it!” he cried.
Abby stared up at him. His eyes were like blue flames, his lips sealed in a straight line. He still smells the same, some stupid sentimental part of her brain remembered. His eyes changed as they held hers prisoner. His gaze was still hot and blazing, but desire replaced anger. His lips came closer to hers and Abby panicked. She wouldn’t survive his kiss whole.
About the Author
As a child, KATE WELSH often lost herself in creating make-believe worlds and happily-ever-after tales. Many years later she turned back to creating happy endings when her husband challenged her to write down the stories in her head. A lover of all things romantic, Kate has been writing romance for over twenty years now. Her first published novels hit the stands in 1998.
Kate was Valley Forge Romance Writers’ first president, and is currently their vice-president. She lives her own happily-ever-after in the Philadelphia suburbs, with her husband of over thirty years, her daughter, their one-hundred-pound Chesapeake Bay Retriever Ecko, and Kali, the family cat.
Kate loves hearing from readers, who can reach her on the internet at [email protected]
QUESTIONS
OF HONOUR
Kate Welsh
MILLS & BOON
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Chapter One
Wheatonburg, Pennsylvania November—1875
Snow fell, drifting silently over Wheatonburg. Through the thickening curtain of white, Abaigeal Sullivan peered out the front window of the company store, then turned away from the lovely, flawless illusion. The soot and coal dust still tarnished everything beneath the white powder. With a heart heavy from too many burdens, she turned back to her cleaning.
Minutes later the clock chimed four. “I imagine that’s it for you today, Mrs. Sullivan,” Mr. Prescott said.
Abby gritted her teeth at his disdainful tone. He was the manager of the company store and as overbearing a taskmaster with her as the fire bosses were with the miners. He resented her leaving on the last stroke of four, but felt no qualm docking her an entire hour’s pay if the same clock had stopped chiming twelve when she arrived.
“I don’t see Daniel, so I’d better hurry along,” she replied as cheerfully as she could manage.
Mr. Prescott looked up at her and their eyes met over his spectacles. “Have you decided about that dimity? You have very little on credit. You certainly need a new dress.”
Abby looked down at her skirt. She could afford the lovely material, but every penny she spent kept her and Daniel in Wheatonburg longer. A new dress wasn’t worth it. “I’ve decided not. I have three dresses. A body hardly needs more than that. Good day to you,” she said, tossing her cape about her shoulders as she closed the door behind herself.
She stomped down the steps. Oh, wasn’t he being sweet today after making her work on the Lord’s day! And him, trying to tempt her from her goal after accusing her son of stealing. Without a drop of proof!
Abby took a deep breath and looked around, hoping the scene before her would bring her calm. Wheatonburg did look beautiful during a snowfall. Today no one would guess there was anything insidious here. Not the abject poverty of the possession houses. Not the underlying fear of armed guards at the mines or Harlan Wheaton’s reason for putting them there.
At the town cemetery, Abby glanced toward the fresh graves. The deepening mantle of white hid the mud covering the resting place of the two miners who’d been killed for refusing to do the bidding of the AMU.
American Miners United had been born with the hope of forcing mining safety changes. It had sounded so promising but had quickly been co-opted by a group of thugs call Workmen who now held the whole coal region hostage—owners and miners alike.
She walked on and soon climbed the steps to the train station’s boardwalk. In the distance, she heard a train whistle. She looked inside the station house and saw the stationmaster, Mr. Dodd, at his seat behind his postal counter. “I haven’t heard from Amber in weeks. Is there any mail?”
Charles Dodd shook his head. “No, but I expect you’ll hear from my niece soon.”
“Good. I worry about her. She hasn’t been the same since losing her Joseph. Have you seen your pint-sized shadow?” Abby asked, surprised not to see her son with Mr. Dodd.
“End of the platform. Likes to be the first to see it.”
As the stationmaster, Mr. Dodd saw a lot of Daniel. Her son had railroading dreams and that was fine with her, but recently the railroad had become another favorite target of the AMU. “I worry about him, too, with all the trouble,” Abby confided. She shook her head sadly.
Mr. Dodd looked up,
