The Men of Pride County: The Rebel (32 page)

“Who’s name?”

“The woman Patrice is sure even now is wearing your heart on her sleeve.”

“Guess there’s no keeping any secrets from a female, is there?”

“Darn few, my friend. Darn few.”

“Her name is Juliet Crowley. She was my commander’s daughter.”

For the next hour, he tried to explain Juliet, to describe the essence of a woman who without being a great beauty was the most desirable creature he’d ever known. A woman who was the antithesis of the kind of wife he’d wanted for himself, who’d undoubtably be more of a hindrance to his career than a help because of her Northern background and outspoken ways. He didn’t think he could survive another few weeks without having her at his side.

“So how did you manage to let her get away?”

“My mind was on the wrong things and she knew it. It wasn’t so much a case of me letting her go as not knowing how to get her to stay.”

“And you know that now.”

Noble smiled wryly. “Haven’t a clue.”

“Well, to my thinking, there’s not much you can do with her up there and you down here.”

“That’s my thinking, too.”

“Have you told her that you love her?”

Noble blinked at him.

“Well, you might just want to start there.”

He loved her. He loved her so dearly that he couldn’t recall a time when she wasn’t foremost in his heart, if not his mind. But he’d never said as much, not once even hinted at it, because it was easier to believe her claim of nothing serious than to express his thoughts
and scare her away, perhaps for good.

He was a man given to decisive but not impulsive action. He liked to consider all the angles, weigh each possibility. But where Juliet was concerned, his motives were strictly linear. He wanted her as his wife, his mate, his companion, his friend. He couldn’t begin to imagine that another female walked this earth that could come close to filling that position the way she would.

But to have her, he’d have to travel north and get her. If she was still free. No simple task. He knew well what she had thought of him during those last days. She’d thought him motivated solely by his code of justice to the sacrifice of all else.

Had she been wrong?

If he’d had his priorities in the proper order, would he have ever let her ride away without making some claim for a shared future? Would he have been so derailed by the knowledge that all his efforts for revenge had gone down a dead end that he wouldn’t notice she was leaving—perhaps forever?

His decision to head straight to Boston to iron out their misunderstandings was postponed by his first legal case on behalf of Starla and her husband. All the while he was in his professional element, he couldn’t shut off that part of himself that urged him to take care of the emotional, too. Only with them in tandem could he reach a balance in either.

Once Starla’s woes were settled and he had
a lease on both a building and its small but airy upstairs living quarters, it was time to buy a ticket for the first eastbound train.

A plan once again delayed by the unexpected.

The last person he thought to see on his front steps was George Allen. He figured the country chaplain would be busy building up his church with all his new, hard-won wisdom and cementing his relationship with the Irish girl, Colleen. But here he was, hat in hand, looking younger and more uncertain in his civilian clothes and blatantly miserable.

“George, how the hell are you?”

“Can we talk someplace private.”

Curious as to what had the youth so anxious, he led him to his new office, where the only furnishings were a big chair and some packing crates. He took a crate while George paced the cavernous room.

“What’s on your mind, George?”

“It’s not what’s on my mind, Noble, it’s what’s weighing on my soul.”

“The war is over, George. It’s time to put it aside and move on.”

“And you’ve done that? You’ve just put away all the things that made you travel halfway across the country, risking life and damnation to learn?”

Then Noble understood. George was talking about his search for the traitor. “That’s ancient history. Juliet told me the truth before she left with her father.”

George stared at him. “She did? And—and you decided to do nothing?”

“Nothing I could do. I couldn’t bring a dead man back to life to punish him for my vain notion of justice. That ideal had already cost me more than I care to sacrifice again.”

“A dead man? She told you his name?”

“No. And I don’t want to know. It doesn’t matter to me anymore. That part of my life is past, so if you’re worried over the state of my soul, you needn’t be. I’ve decided to leave that particular act of justice to your superior.”

George didn’t seem particularly happy to hear that. He stared at Noble for a long, silent moment, then said, “I want to ask Colleen to marry me.”

“That’s grand news. No surprise, but good news just the same.”

So why didn’t George sound happy about it?

“She’s placed me on a pedestal like one of her home-country saints. She won’t be convinced that I’m just a man, as susceptible to sin as any other.”

“Once you’ve been married for a time, I’m sure she’ll figure that out for herself.”

He didn’t smile. “I can’t take her for my wife, Noble, nor can I accept the appointment to my church until I rid myself of the burden I’ve been carrying in cowardly silence for far too long.”

Noble felt a prick of insight into an area he didn’t want to penetrate. “You’re a man of
God, George. Confess to Him and start over. Why are you coming to me?”

“Because it’s you I’ve wronged. You and the other men in our troop.”

George went to stand at one of the grimy windows, looking out over the past and its decisions as if they were even now spread out before him, while Noble listened without a word.

“I convinced myself that my act was one of moral conscience, that by pulling my friends out of the line of fire in an unholy war, I’d be saving their lives, their souls. I convinced myself that I had the right, no, the
duty
, to intercede. So many had died, Noble … my childhood best friend as he stood right beside me and others we shared meals and leaky tents and stories with. I felt I was doing God’s will. But I know now that it was my own will behind my actions. I was afraid of dying, Noble. Nothing honorable about that. Just a coward looking for an easy escape under the guise of saving us all.”

The shock wasn’t as great as Noble thought it should be. Perhaps part of him had always suspected, but never wanted to be proven right. In all those conversations they’d had about moral issues and the state of the soul it wasn’t Noble’s fall from grace they’d been discussing, as he’d always assumed. It was George’s own.

“Then all those men died in the camp. How could I tell you the truth then? How could I
admit to doing something so horribly wrong?”

“Why are you telling me now, George?” Noble asked quietly. “Why confess when there was no one looking to blame you for the deed?”

“Because I want to start over, and I can’t until I stand up to what I’ve done, in front of both of you and Colleen—and in front of my mirror. I haven’t been able to meet my own eyes while shaving for better than a year.”

To Noble’s dismay, George bowed his head and began to weep. Watching him manfully accept the responsibility for treachery, Noble should have felt something akin to rage or vindication. He’d dedicated the better part of a year of his life to one goal only, to discovering who had betrayed them. But knowing didn’t bring back the men they’d lost. It didn’t relieve the guilt he would always carry as their leader. It was a hollow victory at best. Because he understood and sympathized, he was no longer qualified to judge.

“George, the traitor I sought died at Point Lookout.”

Watery blue eyes lifted in confusion. “But I’ve just told you—”

“You’ve confessed a sin that we’ve all carried, one of pride and self-interest and fear. I can’t judge what sits upon a man’s heart when he makes a choice of conviction. It was my sin to think I could. I’ve served long enough to satisfy my conscience and now I’m ready to move on. George, it’s time for you to do the
same. Give my best to Colleen. Serve her and your congregation as well as you served me, and be assured that I could not have had a better man standing beside me.”

Clearly, George didn’t know what to say.

“You don’t need my forgiveness, George, you need your own.” Noble checked his watch. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a train to catch to Boston. It’s time for me to make my own reparations.”

Chapter 24

Juliet stood staring, unable to form a word or coherent thought.

It looked like Noble Banning standing at her front door.

He was just as heartbreakingly handsome as she remembered, even without the extra dash and drama of a uniform, so real, she was almost convinced she could reach out and touch him. But it couldn’t be …

“Juliet, you’re looking well.”

The sound of his softly drawled syllables was enough to make her want to launch herself into his arms. But she held back, suppressing her joy, blinking away the wash of jubilation burning in her eyes.

Noble obviously hadn’t come all the way to Boston to tell her how she was looking. She forced a smile.

“Papa will be so happy to see you. Come in. He’s just come back from the doctor and could use some company that doesn’t nag him unmercifully.”

He frowned slightly at her overly cheerful tone. “Is he all right, Juliet?”

“If a professional soldier can ever be all right without a troop to order around. I’ll let him tell you.”

Noble followed her through the narrow group of rooms and out the back glass doors. John Crowley sat on the small patio surrounded by what little green and sky the city afforded. He looked well, perhaps thinner from the recovery process, but the black silk patch over one eye lent a debonair appeal. His face lit up with unashamed delight when he recognized his guest.

“Major—I should say Mr. Banning! What a surprise this is.”

“I’m glad to see you in such good spirits, sir.”

“Don’t call me sir. My name is John. There’s no need for formality, is there?”

“I guess not.”

“Jules, fetch Noble some brandy and tell Anne we have company.”

“Yes, Papa.”

As she disappeared silently into the house, Crowley waved Noble into one of the wrought-iron chairs opposite him. “What brings you to Boston, Noble?”

“Some unfinished business.”

Hearing his tone, Juliet guessed at his topic. She hurried anxiously to her father’s study. How had Noble uncovered her lie? Was he here to demand answers from her father? Her
hands shook as she poured out two glasses of amber liquor that would undoubtedly burn less harshly than the truth.

So he hadn’t been able to let it go. The war was over, yet he still pursued retribution. With that kind of zeal, that kind of single-minded focus, what chance was there of him ever forgiving her for putting him off the scent for these past months.

Or had he immediately seen through her lie for what it was? Did he think of it as another trick, as another sleight of hand to deny him the information that weighed more than duty? Or would he believe her now if she told him the truth,
her
truth, that she’d only thought to give him peace of mind. Would he even care to listen to her explanation?

She’d heard nothing from him since she’d left the fort. His future was wide open now, and once he’d heard what her father would tell him, she’d never see him again.

He could get on with his life—and she with hers.

She swallowed hard and started back for the patio, carrying both glasses. Once there, she paused in the doorway, sidelined by surprise because of the easy way the two men were speaking together—like old comrades in arms, like friends. That was something she’d never expected.

“There you are, Jules. Bring those in before they get too warm.”

She moved quickly to deliver the drinks,
careful not to lift her gaze as she handed one to Noble. But his hand slipped over hers as she tried to pass him the glass, and when he didn’t let go, she had to look up.

She expected to see accusation, anger, even disappointment in his cool blue gaze but all she saw was a question. Afraid to interpret what puzzled him so, she forced a narrow smile and said, “I’ll go tell Anne you’re here.”

His brows lowered. Not exactly displeasure. Definitely curiosity.

She slipped her hand out from under his. He had to let go or drop the glass. As soon as he did, she headed for the house, chiding herself for the way his touch left her nerves hopping like Mexican jumping beans.

But Anne had already heard Noble’s arrival and swept past Juliet to embrace their guest as he stood.

“Mr. Banning, what an honor.”

“Miz Stacy, a pleasure.”

Anne stepped back, her cheeks pinkening prettily as she cast a secret glance at the colonel. “Actually, it’s Mrs. Crowley now.” She displayed her ring finger with girlish excitement. “For all of two weeks.”

“Congratulations.” He gave her another hug and a kiss on the cheek while his gaze cut to Juliet over the other woman’s shoulder. Again Juliet read questions there, questions she didn’t want to answer.

“That’s not the only cause for a toast,” Crowley stated with obvious pleasure. “Not
only have I earned a wonderful wife, I’ve managed to regain my commission. I guess the government feels an old one-eyed warhorse with experience is better than a yearling right out of the gate.”

Noble stared at him, his smile uncertain. “You’re going back to Fort Blair?”

“Next week,” Anne said, her satisfaction evident as she went to encircle her new husband’s shoulders with the fond wrap of her arms. “I never thought I’d miss the dust and heat so much, but I can’t wait to get back home.”

Crowley lifted his glass. “To Fort Blair and the men who served her bravely.”

Noble joined him with a “Here, here,” and drank the brandy down in a single gulp. He toasted the couple, but his attention had another focus: the woman who stood, a passive observer, in the doorway. Noting the direction of his gaze, Crowley patted his wife’s hand.