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was his little brother—twenty years old—worked up into a fever. No surprise there. Aiden took a sip of his tea, assessing the boy’s mood over the rim of his cup. Finn could surprise you, but it was best to try to at least figure out his state before attempting to deal with him. As much as Aiden loved his youngest brother, he had to be honest about his flaws and weaknesses—there were many of those. Judging by the disgruntled frown, the crease of annoyance in Finn’s forehead and the angry way he tossed the harness strap across the back of one of the chairs, Aiden figured his brother was working himself up into a temper.
    Best not to react to it or encourage it. “I see you had trouble fixing that harness. Why don’t you get a cup of tea? We’ll tackle it tomorrow.”
    “Trouble? I didn’t have any trouble.” Finn took off his battered work hat and plucked his newer, going-to-town hat from the wall peg. “What I have is a problem sewing that up for her.”
    “It’s what I asked you to do. Technically, you would be doing it for me.”
    Finn cursed. “Do you think having a woman live out there is a good idea?”
    “No, but what else would you have me do with her?”
    “I could name a few things, all of which would involve her moving on to take advantage of someone else. She’s trouble, Aiden.”
    “Oh? Do you know the Widow Nelson?”
    “I know her type. Whatever she’s offering you, beware. She’s just trying to get her hooks into you.”
    “I’ll keep that in mind.” Wryly, Aiden finished the dregs of tea in his cup, trying to imagine quiet, proper Joanna Nelson as Finn was attempting to paint her.
    It was impossible. When he thought of her, he recalled how gentle she was, how diligent and kind to her children, and of all the work she must have been forced to do for her father. That old man was the type who wouldn’t give shelter to his daughter and grandchildren without expecting a good amount of profit from it.
    No, when Aiden thought of Joanna Nelson, he thought of hard work and that simple beauty of hers. The good kind of beauty that was more than appearances. She was the brand of woman who would face down a man twice her size if she thought her children needed protection.
    That was the type of woman he could understand. He folded the newspaper in half, then in half again, watching Finn exchange his work shirt for one of the clean ones folded in the basket near the door, where the laundry lady had left it. It appeared that Finn was heading to town. Would it do any good to forbid him to go?
    Finn had that belligerent look to him, the one he got when he was in no mind to be told what to do. “Fine, don’t mind what I’m saying. You’ll see I’m right when she’s got you standing up in church wearing your wedding ring.”
    An arrow to the heart, that’s what Finn’s words were to Aiden. Finn was thinking he was so smart, as he always did when he got up a full head of steam. He was just talking to impress himself. What did he know about real life? Not one thing. He spent most of his time dreaming about the bottom of a whiskey bottle.
    Finn had never loved so hard that his breath and heartbeat were nothing, nothing at all, compared to a woman’s breath and heartbeat. He had never sat the night through, bargaining with God every second of every minute of every long, long hour to take his life—to just take it—and to please let her live.
    A wife? That was far more than a wedding ring and a minister’s words. A marriage was more than something a woman hoodwinked a man into. Anything short of that was a falsehood and an affront to God, whose love was a great gift. Pressure gathered at Aiden’s temples, and he dropped the paper. He was in no mood to read now.
    Finn grabbed his Sunday coat from the wall peg.
    Yep, Aiden could see exactly what his brother was up to. “I don’t want you going out.”
    “You’re not my lord and master, are you?” Finn had the audacity to wink. “C’mon. I