“I can’t argue with that.” He smiled, crinkling his scar the same way he had when she’d come close to colliding with him. Perhaps he hadn’t been sneering before, after all. He really should smile more often because he looked quite dashing when he did, reminding her of a rogue from one of the stories she’d read.
“It seems to me you’d be eager to give me the position. How else could you be sure I’d have the money to pay you back?”
He braced his right elbow in his left hand and covered the scarred side of his face with his palm. “You’ve made your point. The position is yours.”
She couldn’t believe how easy it had been to get him to agree.
“I do have one condition.”
Oh, no. “Yes?”
“I want Dr. Wright to examine you.”
Mr. O’Brien was full of surprises. “That’s not necessary.”
“It’s obvious you’re in pain. The job will entail a fair amount of lifting. I want to make sure you’re able to handle it.”
“I’m fine. I don’t need to see the doctor. I c-can’t.” She’d intended to sound forceful, not fearful. If only her voice hadn’t betrayed her.
“You can, and you will—if you want to work for me.”
His clipped words and sharp tone riled her. Dashing rogues were one thing. Rude, unyielding men were another. “As I told you, I can’t see him. I don’t have the money for an examination. Besides, I’m sure I’ll be better in a few days.”
“Who did this to you?”
His rapid change of subject took her aback. “What?”
He leaned forward and peered at her beneath the wide brim of her simple muslin bonnet. “Who struck you, Miss Martin?”
Shame surged through her, so bitter she could almost taste it. It had been hard enough telling her new friends that her own brother had slapped her. She couldn’t tell this stern-faced stranger. “That’s not important. I’ll never see him again.” At least she hoped not.
Mr. O’Brien narrowed his eyes. “It’s important to me. I don’t want an angry suitor showing up at my door seeking to get you back. I won’t put Mutti in danger.”
She blinked several times. “I can assure you it wasn’t a suitor. I’ve never had one.”
Now, why had she said that? Her romantic life—or lack thereof—was none of his business.
“How do I know you’re telling the truth? A woman in your situation could go to great lengths to get away from her attacker. She might even...lie.”
“I’m not like that. I’m a follower of Christ and would never deceive you.”
The words had scarcely left her lips when guilt soured her stomach. She hadn’t lied, but she hadn’t exactly told him the truth, either. She’d misled him, just like she’d misled everyone else since she’d embarked on her journey.
Although she felt like a fraud every time someone called her Becky or Miss Martin, her pastor and his wife had agreed that altering her name was necessary in order to keep Dillon from locating her. If her brother found her, there was no telling what he would do to her. A man who would set fire to a factory and accuse his own sister of having committed the crime was capable of almost anything.
He nodded. “I’m glad to hear that. I put great stock in honesty.”
She couldn’t be entirely truthful, but if her admission could help ease his misgivings about hiring her, perhaps she should be forthcoming about this particular issue. “If you must know, my brother did it.”
“I see.” Mr. O’Brien studied her. She resisted the urge to look away. Since she was going to be working for him, there would be no hiding beneath her bonnet. She might as well let him satisfy his curiosity. Lifting her head, she focused on his thick hair, admiring the lovely wave over his right eye.
“He must have used a good deal of force to leave bruises that haven’t faded yet. Did he make a habit of this?”
She couldn’t let him think she’d tolerated such behavior. “That was the first time. The only time. We’d just lost our father, and Dillon didn’t take it well.” Her understatement had taken on epic proportions. If she told Mr. O’Brien what she really thought about her brother and how many times she’d had to ask the Lord’s forgiveness for her dark mutterings the past few days, he might question her faith.
“That’s no excuse.” His voice was low but firm. “Nothing gives a man a reason to lash out at a woman. The scoundrel had better never show his face around here, or he’ll have me to deal with. You’ll be safe at my place.”
“I appreciate that, but I don’t expect to see him again.” She wasn’t in danger since Dillon had no idea where she’d gone, but Mr. O’Brien’s protectiveness warmed her all the same. He wasn’t a rogue. How she knew, she couldn’t say, but something told her he was an honorable man, the kind a woman could trust.
“That’s good. Now, let me get Dr. Wright to examine you.”
The warmth that had enveloped her fled, replaced by a quickly spreading case of gooseflesh. If the doctor told Mr. O’Brien how much pain she was in, he’d find out she hadn’t been truthful. She’d seen his temper, and the possibility of it flaring up again gave her pause.
“Before you call him, there’s something you should know.”
* * *
James stood at the window in Dr. Wright’s waiting area. An inebriated miner staggered out of the Arch Saloon across the street and weaved his way up the walkway, clutching each of the posts supporting the balcony at the Cary House hotel as he passed.
Turning from the disturbing sight, James crossed the room and sat beside Mutti.
Miss Martin had suffered at the hands of her own brother, and yet she’d made excuses for him. It made no sense. Judging by the sickly yellowish-gray on her cheeks and her cautious movements, he’d obviously hit her repeatedly and hard. Well, she wouldn’t have to worry now. If the brute was to show up, he’d be sorry. James would make sure of that.
Mutti placed a hand on his bouncing leg. “Everything will be fine, Sohn.”
“I know you’re taken with her, but I’m not sure she’s up to the task of caring for you.”
“She will heal soon. You will see.” A radiant smile lit Mutti’s face. “The Lord sent this dear girl to us, I am sure. She is the answer to my prayers.”
He didn’t put much stock in prayer these days. God didn’t seem to care what happened to him. He just kept taking things away. His father. His future. Now Mutti’s days were numbered.
Before he could think of a tactful way to reroute the conversation, Miss Martin returned to the waiting area, followed by Dr. Wright. James shot to his feet. “How is she, Doctor?”
Miss
