Two days had passed. Two days of watching the waters leave debris, scrubbing the mud clinging to the house, and thanking Tristan for slogging to the kitchen to bring back what little was to be had from their mostly ruined stores.
For two days Opal had thrown herself into the work of cleaning and avoiding speaking to Tristan of anything more than the most basic necessities. To his credit he didn’t pressure her, only watched her with those eyes that always said too much.
She’d come to a clear conclusion. Obviously, he’d offered to marry her to save her from the devices of Mr. Weir. Well, she appreciated the sentiment, but she would not be a bride of obligation nor sacrifice, no matter how noble the intentions. That carpetbagger could not force her to wed, and she would not be caught off guard again.
The dog began barking, and her heart leapt into her throat. Had thinking of the scoundrel hastened his return? She dropped the cleaning rag from her hand and darted to the door, needing to check again that it remained locked. But when she reached the door, it was not a fancy blue chaise that churned up the mud, but a pair of sturdy, if mismatched, geldings, and the Remington carriage.
Opal flung open the door, her heart thudding against her ribs. Westley Remington swung down out of the seat, his boots sucking in the ankle-deep leavings of the river. He lifted Ella down next, her weight seeming nothing to him. Ella pulled her simple skirts above the muck, revealing sturdy boots that laced up past her ankles.
Ella’s eyes found Opal’s, and she burst into a smile. Mr. Remington gave a wave, and the two made their way onto the porch.
“Oh,” Ella said, “I was worried I would find only a foundation left when I finally arrived!” She grabbed Opal and pulled her into a hug. “I came as soon as we could get down the road.” She cast her husband a seething glance. “I would have walked here yesterday, if he would have let me.”
Opal settled into her friend’s embrace, unable to keep her smile contained.
“Indeed,” Mr. Remington said, ignoring his wife’s retort. “I am surprised you fared this well. Did the water come inside?”
She pulled free of Ella’s arms and turned to him. “No, thankfully it did not rise above the back porch. It flooded the kitchen, the barn, and the smokehouse, but the main house is unharmed.”
He nodded, his thick, dark hair caressing his forehead. “A blessing.”
“Aye,” Ella agreed. “And a blessing you are safe. How is your mother?”
Opal gestured to the door. “She is a bit flustered over all of the excitement, but doing as well as can be expected.”
At Opal’s urging, the Remingtons passed into the house and headed to the parlor. She made sure to secure the door, having to nudge Shadow back—lest he think to come in the house—and then moved to join them.
She hesitated in the doorway, willing her emotions to calm. Ella, it seemed, would not be fooled by such a tactic. No sooner had she settled on the settee than she rose from it again.
“What’s wrong?” She hurried to grasp Opal’s hands.
“A great deal is wrong,” Mama said from behind.
Opal tried not to groan, but Ella narrowed her eyes as the sound escaped unbidden from Opal’s throat. Couldn’t they just enjoy friendly company for a few moments before divesting the tale?
Mama swept past them into the parlor, not bothering to spare Opal a glance. “Come. There is much to tell.”
Opal glanced around the foyer and hall for Tristan, but saw no sign of him. Better he be somewhere occupying himself, anyway. She hadn’t given the gristly details of what had happened with Mr. Weir prior to their bout with the river, and she didn’t really want him overly informed.
Besides, Ella would probably want to ask him far too many questions. Opal sat next to Ella and listened to Mama recount all that had occurred, surprised at how candid she relayed it. Opal watched her, marveling at how the past days’ events seemed to have changed Mama. She looked tired, but she also seemed more genuine than she normally appeared with company. Not to mention more animated.
Mama left out no details, and at several intervals had to pause to answer Mr. Remington’s heated questions. By the end of it, Ella was grasping Opal’s hand so tightly it started to hurt.
“Make no mistake, Mrs. Martin,” Mr. Remington said, his expression stony. “I will see that scoundrel banned from these lands and run out of this town.” He looked to Opal, and she wondered if such an expression was one a brother wore. “I will let no harm come to you, I promise.”
The promise warmed her, and she was thankful for friends who were truly more like family.
“Tristan asked me to marry him,” Opal blurted.
Silence settled on the room, and she lowered her eyes.
“You did not tell me,” Mama said. “I thought he had been too busy with the chores to have the opportunity.”
Opal’s eyes flew wide. “You knew?”
Mama gave a satisfied smile. “Of course, child.” Then she frowned. “You did not accept?”
A shout arose from outside, cutting off her answer. They hurried to the window, but Mr. Remington reached it before she did, and his figure blocked her view. He made a funny noise that reminded her of one of Shadow’s growls, and then darted out of the parlor.
The women followed on his heels and piled out onto the front porch. Another shout arose, joined by the feverish barking of Tristan’s dog. She craned her neck, trying to look around Mr. Remington’s large frame as he hastened to the front stairs. A flash of movement grabbed her attention, and she stepped around Mama to see. Two figures rolled out from behind the Remington carriage, spraying mud.
Opal let out a squeal. Mr. Weir had returned! His horse sidestepped and whinnied, hooves flying dangerously close to the struggling men. Tristan shouted something, and then flipped Mr. Weir onto his back, pinning him in the muck.
“Stay here,” Mr. Remington commanded as he nearly leapt off the second stair. He acted as though he were still an officer in the Federal Army and the women were his troops!
The ladies looked at one another, and Ella seemed to share Opal’s thoughts. They both hefted their skirts and scurried down the front steps. Mr. Remington called for the men to halt, but Tristan had Mr. Weir’s shirt collar in his hands and was saying something Opal couldn’t hear.
Ella grabbed her arm and pulled them to a stop next to the carriage, just a few paces from the men. “Not too close. I’ve seen enough fighting men to know you never place yourself within reach.”
Opal frowned and made a move to step forward, but Ella held firm.
“They won’t mean for you to get hurt, but when their fists are flying, they don’t seem to have much control over where blows land.”
She sounded so earnest that Opal relented. The shouts stopped, drawing her eyes back to the men whose suits were covered in thick river sediment.
Mr. Remington clasped Tristan on his shoulder. “Rise, Mr. Stuart, and let us have words with this fellow.”
Tristan sneered at Mr. Weir, and Opal couldn’t help the kernel of satisfaction that blossomed over the look of fear covering his face. She crossed her arms. There. Let him see what it felt like.
Mr. Weir’s eyes found hers, and narrowed. Tristan caught the expression and whirled around, seeing her.
“Opal,” Tristan barked. “Return to the porch.”
So now he thought to command her as well? She lifted her chin. “I will not. As this matter concerns me, and my home, I shall stay.”
Tristan opened his mouth as though to contest her, but then a spark flashed in his eyes and, to her great surprise, he grinned. “You are correct, Miss Martin. My apologies.”
Underneath Tristan’s weight, Mr. Weir groaned.
Ella put her fingers to her mouth, but couldn’t quite contain her smirk. Her husband merely shook his head and turned his attention back to Mr. Weir. Tristan shoved off the man, earning another groan, and then stood back to watch him slowly gain his feet.
Mr. Weir brushed himself off, glaring at Tristan. “What is the meaning of this? I will have the law after you, vagrant, for attacking me without cause!”
Tristan’s fingers flexed at his sides. “Without cause?” He looked at Mr. Remington. “I would say attempting to threaten a lady into a betrothal in order to steal her home is an adequate cause. Would you not agree, sir?”
Opal pressed her lips together. What all had Mama shared with him? Opal had given him no details.
Mr. Remington nodded. “I say that is fair and just cause, indeed.” He turned his palms out. “But if you wish, Mr. Weir, I will accompany you to town to speak with the Federal officials. I know them all quite well.”
Mr. Weir blanched, then balled his fists. “The lady agreed to marry me.” His voice seemed less forceful than before. He glanced at Opal again. “There is no crime here.”
Tristan made a rumbling noise and took a step closer, causing Mr. Weir to lean back and begin sputtering. Shadow seemed to take this as an invitation to renew his barking. The dog bounced around the men, letting his canine dissatisfaction with the situation be known, and earning a worried stare from the carpetbagger. Opal had never liked the creature more.
Tristan merely held out his hand toward the dog, and the canine quieted. Shadow sat back on his haunches, his eyes riveted on Mr. Weir.
“As the lady is present…” Tristan gestured to Opal. “We shall merely ask her.”
She swallowed, annoyed with her pounding pulse. With Tristan here to protect her, she should not feel afraid. His warm eyes offered encouragement, and her resolve strengthened.
Opal tore her eyes away from Tristan and let her gaze rest on Mr. Weir’s red face. “I do not wish to marry you.”
“But, you said—”
She squared her shoulders, finding more confidence. “I merely said what I had to say in order to get you to leave. Surely after the way you treated us, and the unholy insinuations you made, you cannot expect for me to want to marry you.”
Mr. Weir sneered, revealing the man she had seen in the house once more. Instinctively, she took a step back, and Ella held her arm for support.
Tristan stepped between them, his voice dangerously low. “There you have it. She has no desire to wed you or further suffer your intentions. You will remove yourself from this land and never return.”
“But, I—”
Tristan snagged the front of his shirt. “Are we clear?”
Mr. Weir glowered, and Mr. Remington stepped closer. Tristan released him and moved back, wiping his hands on his trousers.
Finally, Mr. Weir flung his hands up. “Fine! This place is a ramshackle heap anyway.” He bared his teeth at Opal. “Not to mention the fact that she would be far too much work to refine and not nearly pretty enough to be worth the trouble.” He made a rude gesture at Tristan and then grabbed the pommel of his horse’s saddle. “I will take my money elsewhere.”
Tristan tossed him the horse’s reigns. “See that you do.”
Without casting her another look, Mr. Weir grabbed the reins and yanked the horse’s head to the side. The frightened creature let out a startled whinny, then churned up the muddy grass in her yard as it lurched away.
In another moment, the horse was galloping down the drive, leaving Opal with a profound sense of relief.