A Reluctant Bride (22 page)

“Wait.”

She touched his arm. It was the first time she'd voluntarily reached out to him. He closed his eyes, savoring the gentle pressure of her fingers against his skin. It was nothing but a gesture, a way to get his attention. But it meant much more than that.

“Tell me, Aden.”

He opened his eyes and saw she had opened her door to him. “Tell me about the bruises. The past. The secrets you're hiding. Tell me everything.”

He shook his head. “You don't want to know.”

“
Ya
,” she said, taking his hand. “I do.”

CHAPTER 12

S
adie didn't know what caused her to reach out to Aden. When she heard his knock at the door, she hadn't intended to answer it. What if he was still angry? What if the man she saw downstairs, the one who had so much fury in his eyes it terrified her, was the real Aden Troyer? What kind of monster had she married?

But that wasn't true. Sol was the monster, not Aden. Her husband had saved her from his brother—again. How could she ignore him after that?

Then she saw the pain in his eyes when she opened the door. The shame. And she couldn't turn away.

He released her slightly shaky hand and walked inside. She closed the bedroom door, which was a foolish thing to do since they were alone. But she wanted to give him a sense of privacy. For him to feel safe.

She sat down on the edge of her bed while he hovered near the door. He shifted from one foot to the other, looking everywhere but in her direction. Sweat dripped down the sides of his
freckled face. She went to her dresser and pulled out one of her kerchiefs. “Here,” she said, handing it to him.

He wiped his face with the pale yellow cloth, then gathered it into a ball in his hand. Finally he looked at her. “Sorry about the kitchen door.”

She almost wanted to smile. After everything, he was apologizing for a stupid door. “It can be fixed.”

“I'll take care of it right away.”

She sat back down on the bed and met his eyes squarely. He was evading, and she wouldn't let him get away with it. “All right. After we've talked.”

He looked away again. He didn't say anything for a long time, and she could hear his heavy breathing in the silence of the room.

“I have never hit
mei bruder
,” he finally said. Then he turned to her with a desperate expression. “I need you to believe that.”

She nodded. Because for some reason, she did.

“When I saw him here . . . when I saw how scared you were . . .” His voice cracked. “I lost it.” His hand squeezed her kerchief. “I've never been that angry before. I promised myself I wouldn't let anything happen to you.” He looked down at his feet. “It almost did.”

“That wasn't
yer
fault. You didn't know Sol was going to be here.”

He lifted his head to look at her, his smile off center. “Now look who's being nice.”

Their gazes met, and something changed in Aden's eyes. There was a warmth there, a different emotion she hadn't seen before. It reached inside her, softening the hardness that had slowly consumed her since her parents died. She looked at the green-and-white quilt on her bed and smoothed the already
straight fabric, needing to focus on something other than the perplexing emotions he was stirring inside her.

“Sol has a temper,” Aden said after a long pause, his tone taking on an edge that hadn't been there before. “He has his own way of dealing with it.”

She looked up as he moved closer to the bed. She saw the silent question in his eyes and scooted over, giving him room to sit down. As he lowered his lean frame next to her, she wondered how he found the strength not only to break down the back door but to overcome his bigger and stronger brother.

“I can't tell you any more than that.” He faced her, his mouth tensing at the corners. “I won't speak ill of
mei familye
. Not to anyone.”

“But—”

“Please, Sadie.” He ran his palms over his thighs, staring straight ahead now. “Don't ask me about it again.”

She looked at his hands, which were covering his knees. She hadn't realized how big his hands were. Noticing a raised scar that ran across the first two knuckles, she pointed to it. “Can I ask you how you got that?”

The corner of his mouth lifted. “By being clumsy.” He examined the scar. “I was about thirteen, and I'd been fishing at Birch Creek. The fish were biting, and I had a huge haul. I put some of them back, but saved the best ones and took them home. I was filleting one of them when . . .” He made a slicing motion across the scar with the opposite index finger. “The knife slipped. Bled like crazy. Fortunately
Mamm
was right there. A few stitches later I was
gut
to
geh
.”

“That must have hurt.”

“
Ya
, it did.” He got up from the bed, but did not look at her.
“I better take care of that door before the kitchen gets full of flies.” He paused and glanced at her. “Are you okay?”

She looked up at him. His brow was furrowed, his eyes filled with concern. “
Ya
,” she said quietly. “I am.” She swallowed. “Thanks to you.”

His ruddy complexion deepened a shade. “I mean to keep
mei
promise, Sadie. Sol won't hurt you. I'll make sure of it.”

She watched him walk out of her bedroom, almost overcome by the respect she felt for him. He wasn't a coward, like she'd thought. He wasn't weak, like his brother had said. She had misjudged him, and the guilt settling over her was nearly suffocating.

Aden leaned the kitchen door against the door frame and frowned. He'd damaged it more than he realized. The bottom half of the door was splintered and there was a dent from the impact of his boot. By some miracle the hinges were intact so he could at least hang the door, but tomorrow he would have to get a new one. That meant hiring a taxi to go to the home improvement store, something that would take all day. If things were different he could ask Sol, an actual
carpenter
, to make him a new one.
How ironic.

But Sadie was okay, and that's what mattered. He'd have destroyed the door, the hinges, the frame, even the house—anything to keep her safe from Sol.

He searched several drawers in the kitchen, hoping to find a screwdriver. Even a hammer would work as a temporary fix. But there were no tools in the kitchen, so he headed for the barn,
remembering that he'd seen a rusty gray-colored toolbox somewhere in the building when he cleaned it up earlier that week.

When he walked outside he frowned. Sol's horse, Jasper, and his buggy were still parked in the driveway. Maybe he'd decided to walk off his anger, which was fine by Aden. Better he calm down than do something that might hurt himself or the horse.

Aden climbed into Sol's buggy and pulled it around to the back of the house, then unhitched Jasper and took him to the empty stall in the barn. He fed and watered him so he would be ready when Sol returned. Aden gave some extra oats to Rusty, then to Sadie's horse, Apple, before searching for the toolbox. He found it on the ground on the other side of the barn and took it into the house. When he went inside the kitchen, Sadie was there washing the breakfast dishes.

“I have to
geh
to the store soon,” she said. “We're opening on Monday.”

He squatted in front of the toolbox, opened the lid, and searched for a regular screwdriver. “Do you need any help?”

A pause. “
Nee
.”

Aden shouldn't have been surprised that she refused his offer. Despite what happened this morning, nothing had changed between them. At least not for her. He couldn't say the same thing about himself.

He glanced up. She was standing at the sink, her back to him, and he couldn't keep his eyes off her. She continually amazed him. She'd been frightened for good reason, but she hadn't fallen to pieces. She could have pushed him further away, but instead she had offered comfort in her own way.

His gaze traveled the length of her, and he quickly averted his eyes. He was too much of a man not to admit her beauty affected him. While he'd always been attracted to her and admired her,
something new shifted inside him when he thought about her now, especially when he was alone.

Last night he'd lain in bed, unable to stop thinking about her. Knowing she was a few feet away gnawed at him. But he couldn't—and wouldn't—do anything to make her uncomfortable. Yet that hadn't stopped him from dreaming about kissing her . . . and more. His arms ached to hold her . . . for her to hold him.

She turned, and he switched his gaze back to the toolbox. Somehow he'd have to find contentment in this one-sided relationship. Already he had a little bit of hope—they were talking, at least.

The screwdriver he needed was lying on top of the rest of the tools, which were a disorganized mess. He'd sort through them later. He concentrated on hanging the door the best he could.

“I thought I'd make stone soup for lunch,” she said.

“Uh-mm.” He stood back and regarded the hinges. They were a little damaged, although he could probably bend them back enough to support the door. He should get new ones when he picked up the door—

“Aden?”

Sadie's voice cut through his thoughts. He glanced over his shoulder, surprised she was looking at him.

“Stone soup?” she said, the corner of her mouth lifting in a tiny smile.

“What?”

“You want stone soup?”

He frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“You really do get involved in
yer
work, don't you?”

Aden caught the glint in her eyes. “Um,
ya
. Sometimes.”

She turned back to the counter. “I'm making vegetable soup.”
She glanced at him. “Maybe with a couple of stones thrown in for
gut
measure.”

Grinning, he smelled the sharp scent of onions cooking in the stockpot. “Sounds delicious.” Aden marveled at the ease he felt. Like life was almost normal, and what had happened with Sol was a distant memory.

When he finished hanging the door, he put the tools away. He gripped the handle of the toolbox, then paused. He wasn't sure if this was a good time to broach the subject, which had been on his mind since Abigail had called, but since they were on relatively good terms right now, he might as well. “Sadie,” he said tentatively.

“
Ya
?” She scraped a bit of diced celery into a tall metal stockpot.

“You should visit yer
schwesters
this weekend.”

She froze, then looked at him and said, “I can't leave right now. The store—”

“Isn't opening until Monday.” He went to her. “You need to see Abigail and Joanna.” He longed to touch her. Instead he held on to the toolbox with both hands. “You need
yer
family.”

She picked up a paring knife and began peeling the potatoes, not answering him.

“I can take care of things here,” he added, hoping to reassure her.

Dropping the knife, she faced him, the guarded expression he was familiar with back in place. “Why are you so eager for me to leave?”

His brow shot up in surprise. “I'm not. I just thought—”

“You thought wrong.” She picked up the knife again.

He rubbed his chin, feeling the scruff of his new beard, which was taking some getting used to as it grew in. He could
tell by the furious way she hacked at the potatoes that he had struck a nerve, which made him think he was right to suggest she see her sisters. “I could
geh
with you,” he said, fairly certain she'd balk. But maybe it would also push her to go anyway.

“
Nee
,” she said quickly. “That's a terrible idea.” Then she faced him, letting out a delicate sigh. “I didn't mean that the way it sounded.” She put the knife down again. “I know I need to
geh
to Middlefield. It's just . . .”