“But somethin’ could have been done. There’s always somethin’ to be done.”
“Why should it fall on you?”
“Because ithasto,” Patrick answered. “He left it all up to me.”
“Who? John?”
“Yes.”
She blustered. “Your father isn’t exactly a beacon of virtue.”
“But he’s my father just the same.” Patrick said it calmly. He didn’t expect her to understand the tangles of the Colson web, and why should she? She’d swallowed that idium and left her own father behind. How to explain to her that you could both love and hate a man, a place, a purpose, in equal amount? “He left the Union in my charge, and look at what I’ve done with it.” His hands balled, though he didn’t mean for them to. “I fell for Tanner’s scheme. I invited Polly in, and now it’s all in pieces. The Lords’ Army will keep on burnin’ and razin’, and there won’t be a choice but to break their strikes, give over their goods, return to the mines and factories, because there ain’t anythin’ else to turn to. Without the Union, there’s no tip-offs, no guns, no bluff. No way to protect themselves. That’s what I’ve done.”
Nina looked as though she might cry, and Lord, he hated to see it. He lifted a hand to her cheek, swiped his thumb over the freckles there. “I accepted the responsibility,” he said. “So I accept the blame, too.”
Nina’s eyes blurred with tears, and she shook her head. “This is Tanner’s fault. Shop’s fault.”
“Perhaps,” Patrick allowed. “But they’re only doin’ what the powerful do when the lowly rise up. You can’t start a revolution without plannin’ for the downfall. And I didn’t plan for this. I didn’t plan for you.”
Her nose had turned pink from the cold, her eyelashes wet. Her chill-burned lips opened slightly. A moment of hesitation. “Am I the downfall?” she asked, and it was delicate, like she expected the answer to come out spitting, swinging at her.
He could see how easily she would take the burden from him, how she would foster blame that wasn’t hers, and fill up that hole with it. He couldn’t let her. He couldn’t stand to watch the slow collapse of her lovely face, turning in on itself, hating herself. He wouldn’t let that happen.
The blame would remain his own.
So, he scoffed. “A girl from Scurry who can’t box?” he tsked. “A pain in the arse at most.”
Her lip quirked. “Broke my thumb once,” she admitted. “Couldn’t have been older than ten.”
Patrick wasn’t surprised. He’d seen her form. She punched like she was only thinking about it. “And the victim?”
“A boy from school,” she grinned. “Arlo. Used to call me Ninny Nina.”
Patrick whistled. “Deserved. A no-good villain.”
“He put ants in my hair, too,” she recalled.
“Ah, probably he was in love.”
She scowled at Patrick. “He had a funny way of showing it.”
“Most of us do.” He considered her for a moment, then stood. “Get up.”
She looked up from her frozen position on the bench. “Why?”
Patrick took off his coat and cap. “So you can learn to throw a punch like you mean it.”
She frowned. “You want me to punch you?”
He rolled his eyes. “Don’t act like it wouldn’t bring you a little satisfaction.”
“I don’t think it would,” she mused. “In fact, you might be the only person Idon’twant to punch.”
“That’s just my charm distractin’ you,” he said, taking her hand and pulling her upright. “Didn’t have no problems throwin’ fists at me in Kenton. Put ’em up.”
She looked a little incredulous. Her eyes glanced over his shoulders. “You’ll freeze.”
“That’s the first rule in a fight,” he said. “Don’t freeze.”
