Bride for Colton Page 7

  A fool, he’d said. Almost as if Colton had felt like a fool because some stranger lied to him about stealing. Or maybe the stranger wasn’t the reason he felt like a fool — maybe she was. But how could he possibly know? No one in Reindeer Rock knew her true story, and up until this morning, Colton had been head-over-heels in love with her.

  “Why do you think he stole the beans?”

  “Does it matter?”

  Gemma glanced at Lizzy. “Maybe. What if he was trying to feed his children?”

  Colton snorted his disgust. “Then they’re going to go even hungrier, because that man’s going to jail. But the worst part was the lying.” He glanced at her over his shoulder. “I can’t abide a liar.”

  He knows!

  She’d tried to tell herself it was just her imagination, but she knew deep in her heart he knew, at least that she wasn’t being totally honest with him. More than anything, she wanted to rush to him and beg his forgiveness, to tell him every sordid, disgusting detail of her life with Bronwen. Maybe he could forgive her if she revealed every secret about herself.

  Only Lizzy’s rigid back and pleading eyes stopped her.

  If she wanted to live an honest life with Colton, that would mean also revealing Lizzy’s secret, and she couldn’t deprive John and Mary of such a loving mother. No, she would just have to find a way to help Lizzy while keeping Colton in the dark, as much as she hated the idea.

  To protect Lizzy, Gemma would have to earn back Colton’s trust. The only way to do that was to share enough truth about her past he would believe that was the only thing she’d been hiding, while not implicating herself in any kind of criminal behavior in the process.

  That doesn’t leave many options.

  Colton remained in front of the fire while Gemma and Lizzy bustled about the kitchen, whispering as they made dinner. He’d wanted to confront her with his suspicions immediately, but he didn’t want to cause a scene in front of poor Lizzy. She’d been through enough without having to witness an argument between her hosts. So he’d kept it to himself and hadn’t let on in the slightest that he knew she was keeping something from him. He’d just have to put it out of his mind until they could be alone.

  The one thing he couldn’t stop thinking about was the man he’d arrested that day. Or rather, the man’s family. Though Gemma could have had no way of knowing, the man had eventually admitted to stealing the beans to feed his three children. Old man Harper had even said he didn’t think Colton should arrest the man — he’d just wanted to give him a stern tongue-lashing.

  “That can o’ beans don’t amount to…well, a can o’ beans!”

  But after his epiphany about Gemma on his way to work, Colton had been in a foul mood. “Mounties maintain the right,” he’d said, dragging the thief off to the station, where he’d left the man under the supervision of Calvin Montrose, the other new recruit.

  A blast of cold air brought him out of his sulk. John and Mary ran over to him, red-cheeked and grinning.

  “Look what I got!” John said, holding out his hand. A tiny tin trumpet, no bigger than Colton’s thumbnail, lay in the boy’s palm.

  Colton did his best to smile. “That’s something else, John. Where did you get it?”

  “Auntie Gemma gave us money!”

  “She did?” Colton glanced back at Gemma, who was too busy to notice.

  John held the toy to his mouth and simulated a horn tooting. He stomped around the room, ‘tooting’ his tiny horn, as Mary crawled into Colton’s lap and held out her own treasure for inspection. A single perfect lemon drop lay there. She looked up at him with somber eyes, as if she wanted his blessing.

  “That looks delicious, Mary,” he said. “Why haven’t you eaten it yet?”

  John stopped his racket long enough to say, “I told her to buy a toy she could use all the time instead of one piece of candy, but she wouldn’t listen.”

  Mary said nothing, just continued to stare up at him as she held out her hand. Colton’s smile faltered, wondering what she wanted from him.

  “What?” he finally asked.

  “It’s for you,” she said so quietly she was barely audible over John’s music.

  Colton’s brow pulled together. “For me?”

  She nodded, her face more serious than a child’s ever should be. He wrapped her fingers over the candy and shook his head.

  “No, Mary, you should eat it. Auntie Gemma wanted you to have a treat.”

  Mary’s braids flopped across her shoulders as she shook her head and pushed her hand toward him. He tried to resist, but the little tyke was so persistent. Finally, he let her tiny fingers turn his hand over and drop the lemon drop in his palm. She copied his action from a moment before, and Colton choked up as her slender fingers folded his over the candy, one by one.

  “Why, Mary? Why do you want me to have this so much?”

  Her penetrating gaze spoke of a soul much older than her years. “To thank you for helping us. I love you, Mr. Leeds.”

  If Colton had thought he’d reached the limit of his affection for Mary, he'd been wrong. Her words started a cascade of feelings and he had no idea what to do with them all. Thankfully, she reached up and hugged him tightly, so he could bury his face in her sweet-smelling hair. Pinpricks jabbed at the back of his eyes, and he held her tighter. He’d always dreamed of having a little girl just like her. She had such a sweet nature and a kind heart.

  An image of the dejected and very thin thief flashed in his mind, and he suddenly understood why the man had stolen the beans. If Mary and John were hungry, Colton would do just about anything to keep them well fed — what would he do for his own children?

  That possibility seemed so far off now, though since marrying Gemma, he’d been dreaming of having those babies with her. Only now… He still hadn’t decided what to do about her, he only knew starting a family with a woman he couldn’t trust wasn’t the greatest idea in the world.

  But you have no proof. That was true, he only had his instincts. But Malcolm had taught him to trust his instincts, and they were screaming that Gemma had something to hide. He just had to find out what it was.

  Long after Lizzy and her children were sound asleep and snoring lightly, Colton lay awake in front of the fire, thinking about Gemma and their future together. All night he’d acted as if nothing was bothering him. He’d even cut the lemon drop in two and shared it with Gemma, for Mary’s sake. The little girl had given him a smile that had nearly broken his heart.

  By this time of night, he’d have snuggled closer to Gemma, reaching out to take her hand in his, but he'd refrained. He couldn’t bring himself to fake affection as she probably had, especially knowing in his heart she was hiding something more profound than her favorite color or that she didn’t like the way he said ‘guarantee’.

  He’d just have to find a private moment to confront her about his suspicions and demand she tell him the truth. With the decision made, he closed his eyes and prayed for sleep. Just as he relaxed into a doze, Gemma’s voice tore him from slumber’s gentle embrace.

  “I know what it’s like to go hungry,” she said quietly.

  The log he’d thrown on the fire before they’d turned in popped loudly, and someone in the bed stirred, then settled. It gave him time to wake up and realize she was talking. To him. About her past! Turning onto his side, he watched the golden light flickering across her face, but he said nothing.

  “The first several years of my life in Saint John were about as ideal as a girl could ask for. I don’t remember much about the town, to be honest, just that Gamma always enjoyed walking along the waterfront. I distinctly remember feeding a seagull a scrap of bread directly from my hand. Oh, how we laughed at that funny bird!”

  “Gamma?” Colton asked.

  She held his gaze and smiled ruefully. “My grandmother. She raised me from birth until she died when I was six years old.”

  “I’m so sorry.” And he was, despite the fact she’d told him her mother was the one
who’d died.

  “No, I’m sorry, Colton. For not being completely honest. You don’t deserve that.”

  He remained silent, unsure how to respond. Better to just let her talk, then he’d see how he felt.

  “I loved Gamma just as much as if she’d been my own mother. When she passed away, I was devastated. And alone. The townsfolk were kind, and I was passed around from family to family until a long-lost relative from Ottawa came to fetch me. I lived with her until I turned eighteen, and then I left for good.”

  Colton studied her carefully, calling up every lesson Malcolm had taught him to spot a lie, but Gemma seemed to be an open book. Her gaze was steady, she didn’t stumble over any part of her story, and she wasn’t in the slightest fidgety. In fact, she looked almost at peace with the tale she was telling.

  “Bronwen wasn’t a good provider, and we often went hungry. It was rare for her to have enough money to feed us both, so most of the time she only fed herself. Even the driest crust of bread looked like a feast when she’d eat in front of me.”

  “Why are you telling me this, Gemma?”

  She reached out to lay her cool hand atop his. “To give you an idea of what it’s like to go hungry. Remember the little boy we saw steal an apple right after our wedding? I saw myself in that chap. So hungry you make bad decisions. Tempted by a juicy, ripe piece of fruit that’s more than you’ve eaten in days. Maybe you’re even being forced into it by an adult. That’s why I stopped you from chasing after him. There’s more to his story than you or I could possibly know.”

  Colton remembered the moment well. He also remembered how frustrated he’d been at not being able to dispense justice, as he’d been taught. The righteous part of him wanted to argue, to insist that right and wrong have no middle ground — but he kept remembering Mary’s somber brown eyes, and how he would do anything to keep her from harm.

  “And I suppose you feel badly for the thief I told you about today,” he quipped.

  “I do. And also his family. They’re probably wondering if their father finally left them, or maybe even died.”

  Colton hadn’t thought about contacting the man’s family. He’d assumed the town was so small, the news would spread like a wildfire. But what if it hadn’t reached them yet? Acid built up in his stomach over all the uncertainty. He’d thought he was doing the right thing, but now… He’d have to talk to Malcolm about it in the morning.

  “I’m sorry for not sharing more of my story with you before now,” she said, squeezing his hand. “I worried that such an honorable man as yourself wouldn’t be able to accept someone who’d lived on the margins of polite society for most of her life. You need to know, though, my affection for you was never a lie. You’ve won my heart, Colton, and every night I pray you won’t turn me out because of who I really am. I honestly can’t imagine my life without your goodness in it.”

  Colton sighed with relief. All of the ‘tells’ Malcolm had taught him had been present on the day he’d met and married Gemma — he’d only realized that as he’d fumed about her deception all day — but her face was clear and full of love. All the doubt he’d had about their future together just minutes earlier vanished.

  Pulling her into his arms, he brushed hair from her face and smiled down at her. His wife, his love. “You will never have to go hungry again, my dear.”

  Chapter 7

  “There’s a difference between the letter of the law and the spirit of the law, Colton.”

  While Colton tacked a stack of wanted posters to the wall, Malcolm sat perched on the edge of his desk, explaining an aspect of being a Mountie that Colton had never expected: grey areas. He’d been raised to believe in right and wrong, but Malcolm was now telling him there was a less distinct bit in between that he’d have to learn to accept if he wanted to actually thrive in his career.

  “In some posts you’ll have, your focus will be on maintaining law and order. Putting the bad guys away. Or as the slogan goes, always getting your man. But there are other places where our job is to protect the people we serve, such as right here in Reindeer Rock.”

  Colton frowned. “I don’t understand the difference. Doesn’t the one beget the other?”

  Malcolm snorted. “Beget? Should I start calling you Methuselah?”

  “So I like to read,” Colton grumbled. “You should try it sometime. Now answer the question.”

  “Settle down, Methuselah. The simple answer is no.”

  “That makes no sense! Doesn’t putting away a criminal make the town safer for everyone else?”

  Malcolm pushed off the table to go stare blankly at the wall with all the wanted posters tacked to it. “Not always. Say, weren’t you supposed to put up the new posters?”

  Colton scowled at his commander, a luxury he most likely wouldn’t have at future postings. “I’ll get to it, but not until you answer the question.”

  “Fine. Take the man you arrested last night. Farnsworth, his name was. Mr. Farnsworth has a wife and three children in a small cottage just outside of town. The blizzard just after we arrived killed two of his milk-giving cows, and collapsed part of their roof. He’s been running all over town, doing whatever jobs people would pay him for — in food or money — but he hadn’t found work for a couple of days.”

  Colton jabbed the last tack into the last poster a little too hard, poking himself in the process. That was nothing compared to the Farnsworth family’s suffering.

  “Farnsworth claims he only borrowed the beans, and that he had every intention of paying back Mr. Harper…with interest, however that would work where beans were concerned.”

  Colton hadn’t thought it possible he could feel any worse than he already had about the situation. He was wrong.

  “When I spoke to Mr. Harper about the situation,” Malcolm continued, “he said he’d be just as happy to have Farnsworth work for him a couple times a week. As soon as he works off the cost of the beans, Farnsworth will get paid in food from the store.”

  Malcolm returned to his desk and sat behind it, giving Colton an understanding shrug. “I know it’s confusing, especially at the start of your career — and sometimes later in it as well — but we must always think of our duty to protect the people of this great country. What good would it have done to prosecute Farnsworth when no one in town wanted that, not even the man he stole from?”

  “But that’s our job! Are we just supposed to set free every thief that comes along with a sad story?”

  “Not at all. But even Mr. Harper could see that the man did what he did out of desperation. I’d bet good money that just about everyone up here has seen hard times that tempted them into doing something they otherwise would find wrong. They sympathize with the man, and a single five-minute conversation worked it out so Farnsworth’s wife and kids don’t have to ask for government assistance, Harper gets paid for the beans — in a way he finds agreeable — and Farnsworth himself can maintain his pride by working instead of resorting to stealing. Everyone wins in the end, instead of everyone losing.”

  “So…” Colton’s brain tried to process this new way of thinking. It all seemed so close to what Gemma had been saying the night before. “So right isn’t always good?”

  “Most of the time it is, but occasionally we have to use our brains and our hearts together to find the best solution.”

  Cold blasted into the station as a large figure bundled up in an ice-encrusted fur coat, frosty hats and snowy mittens barged in. It would take a good half-hour for the small space to heat back up, even with the door only open for a couple of seconds.

  “Hoo-whee, it’s a cold one out there today,” said a vaguely familiar voice. Colton couldn’t place the man until he saw his face though.

  “Welcome,” Malcolm said, standing. “How can we help you, sir?”

  The man grunted as he peeled layer after layer off, enough for his round face to finally emerge. His handlebar mustache sat a little wonky from being cooped up inside a balaclava, but Colton recognized him immed
iately.

  “Mr. Kirk,” he said, a smile spreading as he shook the man’s hand vigorously. “I forgot you said you’d be dropping by on your rounds.”

  Malcolm’s gaze bounced between them. “You know each other?”

  “We met on the train,” Colton explained. “This is Mr. Richard Kirk. He’s a fur buyer for The Bay.”

  “How do you do Commander…Wilson, isn’t it?”

  “It is. Pleasure to meet you, sir.”

  “How’s your trip been so far, Mr. Kirk?” Colton asked, curious about the man’s work.

  “Not as good as I’d hoped.” Kirk sighed dramatically. “I still have a couple more outposts to stop at, but so far the take is less than I’ve seen in a while, even for this time of year.”

  “I wonder why that is,” Colton mused.

  Malcolm answered. “My guess is because intoxication has gone up amongst the Ojibwe in the last year or two. There’s a relatively new bootlegging operation, but our predecessors weren’t able to track it down.”

  Kirk shook his head somberly as he paced around the room. “That’s a shame. It would also explain the low yield. Any ideas who might be behind it all?”

  “If we did,” Colton said, straightening his back, “he’d be right back there behind those bars.”

  “I like your pluck, young man,” said Kirk with a merry chortle. “I hope the rest of your team feel as strongly about this issue as Constable Leeds, Commander Wilson.”

  Malcolm frowned a little, as if Kirk had just insulted him personally. “Of course they do. Unfortunately, it takes time to build up a rapport with the locals. But trust me that, as the saying goes, a Mountie always gets his man. We’ll get this one before too long, you can count on that.”

  Kirk nodded brusquely as he stopped to scan the wanted posters Colton had hung. “Good to hear. And the sooner the better, as far as I’m concerned. All this nonsense is taking a big bite out of my business, and I can’t have that.”