Free Poppy: Bride of Alaska (American Mail-Order Bride 49) by Cassie Hayes

that? Bruised knuckles?”
    She spoke to them like they were children, and they — or at least he — deserved it. He’d been so consumed by his anger for the last few months that simply seeing Vinchenko’s smug face sent him over the edge. Except, thinking back, Vinchenko hadn’t looked all that smug. More than anything, he looked genuinely upset.
    “Now it appears you both have a grudge. Aren’t either of you at all interested in why you each think the other is a scoundrel? I know I can’t wait to find out.”
    He wanted to kiss the mirthful grin right off her face, but he suspected her next response to a surprise kiss would leave him crippled. Instead, he stood and turned a baleful eye on Vinchenko, who sported much the same look.
    “Why you call me ‘thief’, Matthew?”
    Again with the denials. Matthew shook his head in exasperation.  
    “Because, according to my father, your friend , you ran off with our family fortune. We’re ruined. Father is going to have to sell the family home if I don’t bring home what’s rightfully ours, which I fully intend to do.”
    A dull, pained expression settled on Vinchenko’s face.  
    “He say dat? Dat I ruin him? ”
    A tingle of doubt pierced the rage that had built up in Matthew’s heart, but he’d made it this far. He needed to stay the course.  
    “Indeed he did.”
    Vinchenko swiped a big hand across his face, his salt-and-pepper stubble scratching loud enough for Matthew to hear. “Come,” he said, stomping toward the back room. “Wood-ka.”
    Matthew hesitated. What on earth could ‘wood-ka’ possibly mean? Perhaps it was a weapon, or a curse, or a threat. He didn’t know, and didn’t want to take the risk of blindly following the man into the back room. Poppy rolled her eyes at him and followed the beast into his lair, trailed by the boy.  
    “Fine,” he muttered, moving cautiously into the cramped room.
    Far from wielding a weapon, Vinchenko poured clear liquid from a spirits bottle into three small glasses, then passed them to the adults. Lifting his glass, he said something in Russian and threw the drink down his throat in one swift movement.
    “Wood-ka,” Vinchenko repeated, motioning for Poppy to drink. “Drink. Good for you. Wake you up.”
    It was Matthew’s turn to roll his eyes. Vinchenko obviously believed her fainting ruse. Before Matthew could point it out, she shrugged and mimicked Vinchenko. Then all eyes were on him.  
    “Matthew, now you. Drink. Vashe zrodovye!”  
    “What’s that mean, anyway?”
    “To your health, my friend.”
    Friend? Vinchenko wasn’t his friend. He almost threw the ‘wood-ka’ in the man’s face, but Poppy’s wicked grin dared him to drink. He rarely went in for the hard stuff, only occasionally joining his father for an aprés-dinner Scotch. In fact, drinking never held much appeal, but Poppy’s unspoken challenge lay at his feet. She’d bested him enough today; he couldn’t let her win this one. Besides, she’d barely flinched at the liquor — it couldn’t be very strong.
    Only as the cool liquid burned a trail of fire down his throat and into his stomach, and a coughing fit buckled him in half, did the truth become clear: Poppy had won again.
    Vinchenko slapped Matthew’s back until the fit passed and he could breathe again, then settled his large frame onto a stool, motioning for Poppy and Matthew to pull up crates to sit on.  
    “Alexander, come,” he said, waving over the boy. “I talk with these people alone, da ? You go play. Be careful.”
    Alexander gave Poppy a shy smile before running out of the shop.
    “Alexander is my nephew. He is my life.”  
    Envy gnawed at Matthew over the pride and love Vinchenko showed his nephew. Maybe if he returned to Boston with their fortune restored, his father would finally be proud of him.  
    “Now, tell me what all dis about, Matthew.”
    Matthew swallowed his anger and did everything he could to keep his voice calm.  
    “You