me then, if I can’t be a blacksmith?”
Mina frowned. “Of course we would. That wouldn’t make a bit of difference.”
“But I’ll only be a tinker.”
“You could spend your days scooping shit out of the river and making piles on the lawn, and it wouldn’t make a difference to us,” Rhys said from behind her.
Mina’s lips smashed together, and she met Anne’s eyes. The girl giggled.
“I hope it will be something other than that,” Mina said. “But I have a question for you: Why didn’t you come to us so that we could help you find Geordie?”
The tinker squirmed a little in her seat. “I didn’t want to be a bother.”
“You’re not,” Rhys said. “You can’t be. If you need help, if your friends do, come to us. Please.”
Oh, but Mina loved him for remembering to add the last bit.
Anne’s small hands tightened on hers. “I will.”
“There’s more,” Mina said. “Rhys and I, we consider you our family. That means we think you belong to us. It means we’ll take care of you, help you any way we can, never let you go. Is that all right? Tell us now if it’s not.”
Even if Anne said it wasn’t, Mina wasn’t sure she’d be able to let go. Her heart didn’t seem to beat in the long second before the tinker nodded.
She heard Rhys’s soft exhalation of relief behind her, but Mina wasn’t done. “It also means that we belong to you . So you have to take care of us a little, too. We worry easily.”
Understanding glimmered in the girl’s eyes, and she nodded sagely. “Because you’re so old.”
Mina huffed out a laugh. “Yes, because we’re old. So if you’re going to be late, try to let us know. If you’re going to be out, let us know where. If you need something we haven’t given you, tell us. And it’s all right to let us worry. It only means that we’re thinking of you, and that we care for you.”
To her surprise, Anne sat forward, wrapped her arms around Mina’s neck. “I care about you, too.”
“Well.” Her throat ached. Oh, damn , she was beginning to cry. “That’s settled, then.”
“Perfectly settled,” Rhys said.
Almost.
* * *
Later, Mina waited until Rhys was unhooking the back of her dress before saying, “You can’t kill the boy for hitting her.”
His hands stilled. “I wouldn’t kill a boy.”
She knew. “But for a second, he wasn’t a boy—he was just someone who’d hurt her. And you wanted to strangle him.”
His arms came around her waist, hauling her back against his chest. His mouth searched out her ear, and she heard the laughter in his voice. “So did you, Mina.”
She smiled and leaned her head back against his shoulder. “Yes. But just so that we are clear: We do not even seek this boy out—no matter how tempting it would be to frighten him a bit. If Anne is done with him, so will we be.”
There was no humor now. “You ask a lot.”
“I know. I also asked it of my parents. I’m asking the same of myself, too, and it’s harder than I ever dreamed. I think that we will definitely wait a few more years before having more children.”
He grinned against her cheek. “But we’re so old .”
Her laugh turned into a gasp as his teeth closed over her earlobe. She forced herself to concentrate. This needed to be said. “And you are afraid.”
Rhys stiffened behind her. “No,” he said gruffly.
“Every day I leave for work.”
His body shook. “No.”
“Rhys.”
“What would you do with a terrified husband?” His arms tightened, almost cutting off her breath. “What use is a man always in fear? I have never been . . . And I can’t bear it if you—Ah, God.”
Realization struck her, the root of his fear. “I would never leave you.”
“Mina.” His harsh breaths rasped against her ear. “It is fear of everything . I can’t control it. I worry that a boiler will explode in your steamcoach. I worry that you will slip as you run. Christ, I stay awake at night and worry that if I fall asleep,
Mina frowned. “Of course we would. That wouldn’t make a bit of difference.”
“But I’ll only be a tinker.”
“You could spend your days scooping shit out of the river and making piles on the lawn, and it wouldn’t make a difference to us,” Rhys said from behind her.
Mina’s lips smashed together, and she met Anne’s eyes. The girl giggled.
“I hope it will be something other than that,” Mina said. “But I have a question for you: Why didn’t you come to us so that we could help you find Geordie?”
The tinker squirmed a little in her seat. “I didn’t want to be a bother.”
“You’re not,” Rhys said. “You can’t be. If you need help, if your friends do, come to us. Please.”
Oh, but Mina loved him for remembering to add the last bit.
Anne’s small hands tightened on hers. “I will.”
“There’s more,” Mina said. “Rhys and I, we consider you our family. That means we think you belong to us. It means we’ll take care of you, help you any way we can, never let you go. Is that all right? Tell us now if it’s not.”
Even if Anne said it wasn’t, Mina wasn’t sure she’d be able to let go. Her heart didn’t seem to beat in the long second before the tinker nodded.
She heard Rhys’s soft exhalation of relief behind her, but Mina wasn’t done. “It also means that we belong to you . So you have to take care of us a little, too. We worry easily.”
Understanding glimmered in the girl’s eyes, and she nodded sagely. “Because you’re so old.”
Mina huffed out a laugh. “Yes, because we’re old. So if you’re going to be late, try to let us know. If you’re going to be out, let us know where. If you need something we haven’t given you, tell us. And it’s all right to let us worry. It only means that we’re thinking of you, and that we care for you.”
To her surprise, Anne sat forward, wrapped her arms around Mina’s neck. “I care about you, too.”
“Well.” Her throat ached. Oh, damn , she was beginning to cry. “That’s settled, then.”
“Perfectly settled,” Rhys said.
Almost.
* * *
Later, Mina waited until Rhys was unhooking the back of her dress before saying, “You can’t kill the boy for hitting her.”
His hands stilled. “I wouldn’t kill a boy.”
She knew. “But for a second, he wasn’t a boy—he was just someone who’d hurt her. And you wanted to strangle him.”
His arms came around her waist, hauling her back against his chest. His mouth searched out her ear, and she heard the laughter in his voice. “So did you, Mina.”
She smiled and leaned her head back against his shoulder. “Yes. But just so that we are clear: We do not even seek this boy out—no matter how tempting it would be to frighten him a bit. If Anne is done with him, so will we be.”
There was no humor now. “You ask a lot.”
“I know. I also asked it of my parents. I’m asking the same of myself, too, and it’s harder than I ever dreamed. I think that we will definitely wait a few more years before having more children.”
He grinned against her cheek. “But we’re so old .”
Her laugh turned into a gasp as his teeth closed over her earlobe. She forced herself to concentrate. This needed to be said. “And you are afraid.”
Rhys stiffened behind her. “No,” he said gruffly.
“Every day I leave for work.”
His body shook. “No.”
“Rhys.”
“What would you do with a terrified husband?” His arms tightened, almost cutting off her breath. “What use is a man always in fear? I have never been . . . And I can’t bear it if you—Ah, God.”
Realization struck her, the root of his fear. “I would never leave you.”
“Mina.” His harsh breaths rasped against her ear. “It is fear of everything . I can’t control it. I worry that a boiler will explode in your steamcoach. I worry that you will slip as you run. Christ, I stay awake at night and worry that if I fall asleep,
Similar Books
