Page 7 of The Love Knot

Fischer’s eyes widened in incredulity. “Why? Look, mister, I don’t know what she promised you, but she ain’t nothing but a two-bit hustler. She cheated me once, and I’m sure she’ll cheat you, as well, if given half a chance. She’s not to be trusted.”

Pieter’s eyes narrowed. “Claire Nevin is the most honorable lady you’ve ever had the good fortune to meet. She’s kindhearted, self-sacrificing, and someone to depend on when trouble arises. And that babe she carries—her nephew. Taken in out of the goodness of her heart. So perhaps in the future, you’ll spare a moment to learn the facts of a situation before spewing your slanderous poison in public.”

Pieter tossed the shopkeeper’s arm away from him as if it were contaminated with gangrene, pinned the despicable man with a final glare, then picked up the bag Claire had left for him and strode out of the store without once looking back.

Chapter

4

Claire clutched Liam to her chest and nearly ran down the street toward Bart Porter’s livery. It didn’t matter that she didn’t have Polly’s trunk or even the bag of infant supplies. All that mattered in that moment was escape.

Facing Stanley Fischer had been bad enough. Just as she’d known it would be. The sour man held on to a grudge as if it were the last coin in his cash box. But having Pieter witness her folly? Her pride couldn’t bear it.

And that was the issue, as always. Her pride. As much as she wanted to cast all the blame for the destruction of their relationship on Pieter’s shoulders for stepping out with another woman, she’d contributed, as well. Devastated by his betrayal, she’d turned her back on him. So sure was she that any explanation he could give would be woefully inadequate, she’d refused to see him and returned each of his letters unopened. There’d been no forgiveness. No fighting for the man she claimed to love. Just fleeing. And fleeing in the rashest manner possible—by answering the ad of a stranger in Texas and pledging to become a mail-order bride.

She’d always been the wise sister, the one with both feet planted firmly on the ground. How many times had she advised Polly that Diederick was no good for her? That he was a charmer seeking an easy life, not a man a woman could depend upon? And then, just like the Bible warned, while she’d been trying to remove the speck from her sister’s eye, the log in her own eye had crushed her. Her heart took the brunt of the blow, but it had been the blow to her pride that sent her running.

She couldn’t bear to see the pity in her mam’s eyes, the I-told-ye-so in her da’s. And worst of all, she couldn’t stand to listen to Polly pleading with her to hear Pieter out, reminding her of his character and steadfast ways, insisting that there must be a logical explanation. Because if Claire gave in, she’d have to admit that her flighty, lead-with-her-heart-and-not-with-her-head sister might actually be right.

So she’d run. Just as she was running now.

“Claire! Stop!” Pieter called out behind her, his voice too close. He’d catch her before she reached the livery, before she could block his questions and accusations with the presence of others.

Claire accelerated from a hurried walk to an actual jog. But Liam started to fuss, his whimpers abrading her conscience. Immediately, she slowed. Was her pride really so important that she’d risk the baby’s safety? Heaven preserve her! One misstep in her ill-advised haste, and she could have fallen. Liam could have been injured.

Lord, forgive me!

A strong hand grabbed her upper arm. He didn’t yank her around to face him. His grip didn’t bruise. Yet neither did it allow her to pull free. It simply held her. Supported her. Offered an anchor in the midst of her storm.

Claire’s eyes slid closed, and for just a moment, she began to relax, to lean back against him. But then she remembered another woman whose arm had rested on his. A wealthy, beautiful woman whose father could offer Pieter everything he’d ever wanted. Success. Respect. A partnership in a thriving business. All things Claire lacked.

Her spine locked back into place.

“Fischer’s a buffoon, Claire. Don’t let him upset you.”

Claire spun around and glared up at Pieter. “He might be a buffoon, but he’s ne’er lied to me, Pieter van Duren. Never promised to marry me in one breath, then scampered off to court a better candidate in the next.”

Pieter’s eyes widened, and his hold on her arm loosened. She took advantage of his shock and yanked free.

“I did Mr. Fischer a bad turn. He has every right to be angry with me. Just as I have every right to be angry with you.”

Pieter stared at her for a long moment, his eyes narrowing as they peered into places she strove to keep hidden. “And does he have the right to nurse that anger and treat you no better than the dirt under his feet even after nearly a year has gone by?” He paused, his voice softening to a near whisper. “Do you have that right?”

The soft words struck her like arrows to the chest. “Th-that’s unfair,” she murmured.

But was it?

Pieter said nothing. Just looked at her, his gaze illuminating his hurt. Was that how she’d been acting? As harsh and intolerant as Stanley Fischer? Surely not. She’d never been cruel. Never treated Pieter or anyone else with anything less than common courtesy. Yet neither had she extended forgiveness. In fact, ever since he’d stepped off that train she’d been trying to push him back out of her life just as Stanley Fischer had tried to push her out of his store.

The bitter taste of shame soured her mouth. All this time she’d taken refuge in being the wronged party, casting all the blame on Pieter and making herself at home in her lofty tower of self-righteousness. She truly was no better than Stanley Fischer.

Moisture coated her eyes as she faced the man who had once been her entire world. “Pieter. I’m sorry.” She blinked against the tears that threatened to fall and patted the baby whose discontent grew louder by the moment. As tempted as she was to use the babe as an excuse to escape Pieter, she held her ground and his gaze. “I’ve not treated ye well, have I? Runnin’ off without a word. Returnin’ yer letters. Refusin’ to see ye. ’Twas cowardly. I let the hurt dictate my actions. After all the years we’ve known each other, ye deserved better than that. And as much as I’ve grown during me time in Harper’s Station, the moment I saw ye step off that train, all the pain came rushin’ back, and with it my desire to shut ye out and flee.”

Claire used the edge of the diaper cloth she’d just purchased to rub away a tear that escaped her lashes, sniffed once, then inhaled a shaky breath and lifted her chin. She’d never been one to shirk her duty, no matter how difficult. She wouldn’t start now.

“Ye didn’t have to come, Pieter,” she acknowledged. “Ye must’ve known how awkward things would be between us, yet ye came anyway. To bring me my nephew.” She glanced down at the squirming infant in her arms, then tipped her head to hug him into her neck. “My son.” She looked up at the man before her. “Thank ye.”

Pieter held her gaze for a long moment before nodding slightly. Then, apparently realizing they were starting to draw a crowd, he gently took her arm and steered her down the street in the direction she’d been heading. They walked in silence until they reached the livery.