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Amalia stared at him and tilted her chin. For a moment they locked eyes. She gasped and took a step back. “No.” She closed her eyes and clutched his sleeve. “Oh no, David, no, please. I don’t have any animosity towards him, but...and overnight? It’d be unseemly, to say the least. And rather awkward. And exhausting. And this detour was supposed to provide me with a bit of rest and relaxation. And it’s not fair. It’s just not.”
“David?” Will pursed his lips and wrinkled his brow, confusion clear in every feature.
He didn’t turn to his friend though, just Amalia, whose ears were turning red. She probably had Thad’s temper. There’d been glimpses. And Simon had warned him.
She’s the fiercest Truitt. One time, when she was only six and I was eight, we were playing tag with some other children on the property. One of the bigger boys shoved me into one of our ponds, and Amalia...well, I didn’t know someone could toss a rock bigger than her head. At least she doesn’t have Thad’s aim.
Simon could say that again. Especially since Thad was a sharpshooter.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t think we have a choice.” He moved a little to block her access to any sharp objects. “All of your points are valid. We can’t stay at the train station, and as much as it pains me to say, we can’t stay here either. We need to leave and there’s only one person we know in this town and as you said, your split was amicable...”
“He won’t turn us away.” Amalia gritted her teeth and clenched her fists. “But being there, with him, will just prevent any sort of—” And now she was more purple than red. She ducked her head and mumbled words that would most certainly get quite a few people brought up on obscenity charges.
David worked not to snicker, despite himself. Of all the situations, of all the ways to ruin their night...
“Ah.” Will rocked on his heels. “I always did want to pick Armstrong’s brain about field strategy.” He shrugged.
Fair enough. At least someone’s night wasn’t ruined, though by the expression on Meg’s face...ah well. No “amusement” all around. Poor all of them. Though better safe and frustrated than dead.
* * *
Two hours later, David pounded on the front door to the farm to be greeted by Armstrong himself, and two burly servants.
“Who are you?” The man of the house held a rather large rifle as he eyed the visitors, before lowering it and gasping as he met his former wife’s gaze. “Mercy, Amalia? What are you doing here? And who are these people?”
Before he could answer, Amalia launched into a long, rambling explanation about suspicious characters and “Pinkerton instincts,” introducing all three of them. Her former husband’s eyelids began to droop once she came to the part about changing lines. She stamped on his toe.
“Ow, Amalia. What was that for? I could’ve shot you.” Armstrong yawned.
“You aren’t that fast and you weren’t paying attention to me and it’s late and I really don’t want to be here but...” She frowned.
Armstrong’s lip twitched as he eyed David once more. “I apologize.” He scratched his thinning hair. “And of course you can stay for the night. I don’t have any rooms made up, but I suppose you can take mine and Mr... Zisskind, right? V Corps?” Elias Armstrong wagged a finger at him. “I heard about you. You saved four men at The Crater, two of them mine.”
He inclined his head. “You and I can keep watch down here, let... Jefferies, was it? The same one who charged into gunfire, twice, to pull out the wounded? He can rest. With the nurse.”
Well, no one said Amalia married foolish men. Or ones with faulty memories. Though still, keeping watch with yet another man she had once chosen over him... He’d rather have the stables, unmucked. “That won’t be necessary—”
The former officer held up a hand to silence him. “I’d love to help. It’s been a while since I had this sort of excitement. I’d put Amalia with June, my wife, but she’s with child so that might be a tad awkward.”
As opposed to having your former wife in your bed?
Not that he’d say that out loud. Instead, thirty minutes later, he found himself precariously close to sharing a bed with the man himself, as the two had stretched out on opposite couches in the parlor, the older man with his weapon by his side.
David dragged his teeth over his lower lip as he stared, first out the window in the darkness, then at the ceiling. Even without a lamp, the cracks in the plaster were visible enough to count.
Across the room, Armstrong shifted, his breathing quiet, too quiet to be asleep. David’s thumbs itched. He shouldn’t, especially as it wasn’t necessary to the investigation, but he had to know.
“Major?” The other man’s head shot up at David’s voice. Now or never. “Can I ask you a personal question?”
“As opposed to merely sharing my personal space?” Armstrong shifted again, springs creaking.
r /> Touché. Definitely not stupid. David coughed into his hand. “I—”
“I assume you want to know why I married her, as we are a bit...different.” A heavy sigh from the older man.
David twisted his forefinger so hard he cracked the knuckle. “Yes.” Because he had to somehow solve the puzzle of Amalia.
Armstrong grunted and the couch under him strained as he straightened to a sitting position. “I married Amalia Truitt because...well, because she was divorced. At least in a roundabout way.”
