She didn’t particularly care to see any of them, but whoever it was didn’t relent with the knocking until finally, Willa made her way to the door to keep the noise from waking Papa. She couldn’t even muster enough strength to find it within herself to be angry with him anymore. Lying in that bed, pale yet breathing evenly, he looked like a shadow of the man who’d loved and cared for and lied to her for her entire life.
Willa pulled open the door, ready to tell Leroy or Nick she didn’t care to speak to them now—or ever. But instead of a familiar or remorseful face, an angry one looked back at her.
Along with the muzzle of a revolver.
Chapter Twenty
NICK STRODE PAST THENugget saloon, which was as rowdy as any night, never mind that it was nearly Christmas Day. He’d been up and down this street so many times in the past hour, he’d lost count. His face was numb with cold, and while the logical part of his brain insisted he go to the hotel or risk freezing to death out here, the emotions that roiled through him kept him moving.
Besides, Willa was in that hotel, and she’d made it plain she wanted nothing to do with him.
Nick didn’t know when his plans had changed. It hadn’t been sudden. It was a gradual acceptance of life here in Creede, a growing desire to spend all his time with Willa, and a genuine need to help JT care for the people here. He’d gone from an outsider, uncertain if he belonged here, to imagining a life here with Willa at his side.
But now he’d gone and messed it all up. Yet, at the same time, he couldn’t imagine asking her to marry him while he carried such a secret. It wouldn’t have been right. She deserved to know.
And now he’d lost her forever.
Nick dodged a man who swerved drunkenly across the sidewalk, reminding him of the angry man who’d cornered Willa only a few days ago. He remembered the feel of her hand in his, and how he’d felt the intense need to protect her from the world. The only thing he couldn’t protect her from was himself.
Maybe she’d been correct in her judgment. Maybe he was a man who was full of himself and his own achievements, unable to accept other methods of healing. He stopped in front of the brightly lit boardinghouse and slammed his hand against the post outside. No, he’d been right. The so-called Dr. Rousseau had done nothing to help people aside from giving them false hope. But, as his gaze wandered to the people inside the frosty windows, laughing and conversing together in the room just beyond, he wondered if giving people hope was the worst thing in the world. Perhaps that was all Dr. Rousseau and his show wanted to do. Yes, they wanted to make money, but maybe it wasn’t all so wrong. Or was it?
Nick didn’t know the answer, or whether there was one. But one thing was clear—he needed to speak with Dr. Rousseau. And then he needed to talk to Willa, if she’d let him. He couldn’t let her go without at least laying his heart bare to her. If she turned him down then, he’d leave her be.
The thought of that made him feel every bit of the cold that bit at his face and through the fingers of his gloves. He couldn’t imagine his life without her. Just the thought of it sounded empty, incomplete.
He had to at least try.
Mind made up, Nick turned and strode through the town back to the hotel—and toward his fate.
