Читать книгу The Bachelor's Homecoming - Karen Kirst - Страница 14

Chapter Six

Jane had lied. She was ill. Very ill, indeed.

Her whole body felt as if it wasn’t quite tethered to the ground. Her limbs trembled. And a vise was squeezing her insides until she could hardly breathe.

In that initial moment when Tom saw Megan, his reaction had confirmed her suspicions...he still loved her. There could be no arguing the fact.

As they followed her sister down the long papered hallway to the back porch, Jane was once again confronted with a heartbreaking truth—she was not what he desired in a wife. The epitome of delicate beauty, Megan’s personality was such that people craved her company. She was comfortable reading storybooks to scores of children while their parents looked on. She even dressed like the characters! There wasn’t enough money in the world to induce Jane to do such a thing. No, she preferred solitude to crowds. Peace and quiet to outright attention.

It made sense that Tom would prefer a woman with well-honed social skills. He was open and friendly, able to strike up a conversation with anyone he came in contact with. That was part of why he’d been such a successful barber. He’d treated his customers like dear family members.

There were any number of such single women in Gatlinburg who’d welcome his interest. Best that she start preparing herself for that event. Once he got the farm situated, he’d be on the lookout for a wife. A daytime caretaker was merely a short-term solution for Clara’s needs.

As they exited the house, she stumbled over the doorjamb, and his hand came to rest against her lower back, guiding her over to the grouping of painted metal chairs with cushioned seats. The familiarity of his touch reminded her of old times, the weight and heat registering through her cotton dress and igniting a roaring inferno of longing within her chest. Such an innocuous gesture and yet devastating.

Urging them to sit, Megan waved to her daughters, who were inspecting a butterfly hovering above the patch of bleeding heart flowers. Seventeen-year-old Lillian said something to the small child at her side and, taking her hand, walked her over to the steps. Tom remained standing, his focus on the girls.

She knew what he was thinking. Lillian, with her waist-length blond curls and pale skin, could pass for Megan’s sister. Rose, on the other hand, had dark brown hair and olive skin like Lucian.

As the girls neared, Clara tucked closer into Tom’s side. He gently stroked her curls and murmured encouraging words. Jane winced. This was the reason she couldn’t be Clara’s caretaker. She couldn’t be in their presence every day, couldn’t witness his patience and affection without yearning to be included. To share in the care and nurturing of this sweet, vulnerable child. And, impossibly, to give him more children. Build a family with him.

Please, God, let this visit be brief.

Motherly pride on her face, Megan brought them over. “Girls, I’d like you to meet a dear friend of our family, Mr. Tom Leighton. And this is his niece, Clara.”

Lillian blushed and smiled. “How do you do?”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Tom said warmly.

Rose observed Clara with keen interest.

“Girls, how about you show Clara the gardens?” Megan said.

“Certainly. Rose has some dolls on the table there.” Lillian pointed to the white wrought-iron setting on the garden’s perimeter. “Would you like to come and play?”

Clara looked up at her uncle, silently questioning. He bestowed her with a bright smile. “Go ahead, little bird. I’ll be right here.”

Megan lifted the basket Jane had given her. “I’ll have our treat dished out in a few minutes. I’ll prepare tea for you, sis. Tom, would you care for coffee?”

“I’d love some.” Striding to her side, he relieved her of her burden. “I’ll help you get everything ready.”

Jealousy flushed her skin hot, then cold. Jane hated that she was jealous of her own sister. Forgive me, Lord.

“I’ll stay with Clara,” she scraped out, throat burning. He’d invited her here to smooth things between them. Apparently he didn’t require her presence, as he’d initially thought.

Megan flashed her a look of apology. Tom thanked Jane, already leading the way to the door, holding it open like a proper gentleman.

Clara tugged on her sleeve. “Let’s go, Miss Jane.”

Gazing down into wide, solemn green eyes so much like Tom’s, she realized how immature she was being. This child had endured the loss of her mother. Her father had willingly abandoned her. She was in a new, unfamiliar town far from Kansas, surrounded by people she didn’t know. Jane’s shallow problems were inconsequential compared to Clara’s.

Summoning a smile, she squeezed her hand. “What shall we do first? Play dolls or explore the gardens?”

* * *

Two days later, Tom couldn’t get the image of Jane and Clara out of his head. He and Megan had emerged carrying trays brimming with pie and hot drinks and there, in the midst of the stone path flanked by a profusion of pastel blooms, sat Jane, his niece on her lap, heads bent as they studied a caterpillar in her cupped hands.

A rare smile had graced Clara’s rosebud mouth. She’d been relaxed in Jane’s arms. Content. And when they’d lifted their heads, he’d been struck by the compassion on Jane’s face.

He shouldn’t be surprised at the evidence of his friend’s maternal instinct. Jane was one of the most kindhearted, loving people he’d ever met. That’s why he was here on her doorstep unannounced, ready to get down on his knees and beg if need be.

At his knock, the door swung open and there she stood, an apron over her nut-brown skirt and buttercup-yellow blouse. Shiny strands had slipped from her simple twist to form a halo about her appealing features, the hair at her temples damp from the afternoon heat. One hand clutched a small towel. He’d interrupted her baking.

“Tom.” Varying emotions surged and waned in her shadowed eyes. She dusted flour from her apron. “I wasn’t expecting you today.” She looked beyond his shoulder to where Clara was crouched in the grass, picking dandelions. “Is everything okay?”

Of course it wasn’t. He was overwhelmed with the massive task of setting the farm to rights while trying to keep an eye on Clara, not to mention taking time out to prepare meals. He hadn’t even addressed the issue of Clara’s new wardrobe yet.

“Do you have a minute?”

Draping the towel over her shoulder, she opened the door wider. “Sure. Come on in.”

Inside the main living area of her family’s two-story cabin, the tempting aroma of apples and cinnamon curled around him. The low-ceilinged rectangular room looked pretty much the same as he remembered it—a stacked-stone fireplace dominated one wall. Oval-backed chairs surrounded one long chocolate-brown settee and a yellow-gold fainting couch. Sewing baskets, fabrics and supplies occupied a low table in the far corner. A cramped dining space led to the kitchen.

“Smells amazing in here.”

“I’m working on a stack cake for Hattie Williams’s wedding tomorrow. Do you mind if I give Clara a treat?”

“She’d enjoy that.”

He followed her to the kitchen, attention on her hair and her exposed nape. She’d nearly caught up with him in the height department, the crown of her head about even with his nose. The twins were tall and slender like their eldest sister, Juliana, and shared the same flame-colored hair.

Being in her kitchen was like being in the bowels of a bakery. The pie safe’s doors were open, the shelves crowded with baked goods. A five-pound sack of flour, containers of sugar and fresh butter occupied one end of her work surface, while bowls and spoons of various sizes fanned out around the stack cake in the middle. Even the table had been put to use. Spice bags and a crate of eggs lined the nearest edge.

“Where’s Jessica?” Tom propped a hip against the counter, wishing he could have a taste of the towering confection.

“At the mercantile. I ran out of vanilla extract.” Removing the covering on a large plate, she counted out four ginger cookies the size of his palm.

“Are all of those for Clara?”

Humor played about her generous mouth, and she started to replace the top two. “I thought you might like to indulge your sweet tooth, but if you’d rather not...”

For a moment, he was struck dumb by her almost smile, the first true glimpse of the lighthearted girl he used to know. One long stride had him at her side. Chuckling, he swiped them from her hand and took a huge bite. “Mmm. You, Janie girl, are the best baker in the state. Maybe even in the east.”

Her green gaze clung to his, something akin to fascination in the mysterious depths, as if she was loath to look away from his enjoyment of her creation. Clearing her throat, she moved away to pour milk into a pair of mason jars.

“I’ll be right back.”

His mouth full of cookie, he watched as she carried the jar and a small plate out to the front porch. Clara came running. Jane bent to her level, a full-fledged smile transforming her face into something so pure and lovely he nearly choked as he fought to catch his breath.

She had to agree to his request. Her affection for Clara had surely grown greater than her reasons for refusing him the first time.

Taking up her spot behind the waist-high work space, she resumed her work, carefully slathering apple butter across the top layer. “What did you wish to see me about?”

“You’ve seen my kitchen.”

“Yes.”

“It’s not as large as yours, but it has everything you’d need to do your baking there. Jessica, too.”

Slowly lowering the spoon, she stared at him. “What are you suggesting, Tom?”

“I’m asking you to reconsider watching Clara for me. I understand it would be a bit of an inconvenience for Jessica to have to come to my home every afternoon, but I’m willing to pay her what I can.”

“I don’t know—”

He lifted a hand. “Please, hear me out. Clara’s had a rough year. After Jenny died, Charles and I couldn’t make her understand why her ma wasn’t coming back. We struggled to console her during those first weeks.”

“I’m sorry.” Her voice dropped to an almost whisper. “I can’t imagine how hard that must’ve been for you.”

He recalled the many sleepless nights. In the beginning, they’d taken turns comforting her after yet another bad dream. “Months passed, and she started improving. Charles, on the other hand, got worse. He and Jenny, they shared a love few people get to experience. He was furious with God for taking her. Couldn’t handle the loss, so he started drinking. I tried to stop him.”

And had gotten a handful of black eyes in the process. Knowing the depth of his brother’s despair, Tom hadn’t had the heart to put up much of a fight. He’d merely wanted Charles to snap out of it.

“Charles disappeared. I waited for him to return. Had the sheriff contact nearby towns looking for him. I have no idea if he’s alive or dead.”

“Oh, Tom.” Coming around to his side, she clutched his forearm. Sympathy rendered her eyes the color of the dusk-darkened forest.

“I didn’t tell you this to guilt you into agreeing. The fact is, I don’t want just anyone to be her caretaker. I want you.” Ignoring her quiet gasp, he continued. “I trust you. And she does, too. You’re the first woman she’s taken a shine to since her ma passed. You’d be good for her, Jane. Please say yes.”

She stepped away, shoulders slumping a little. “I can’t.”

Disappointment swirled in his chest. Jane might not be as outspoken as her sisters, but she had the O’Malley stubborn streak. There’d be no changing her mind. If only she’d tell him why. She’d given him the impression she’d forgiven him for demanding Josh’s silence. Holding a grudge wasn’t in her nature, but it was the only valid reason he could come up with.

“I can’t say that I understand, but I respect your decision. I won’t ask again.” Heading for the exit, he forced his voice to remain upbeat. “Thanks for the cookie. Good luck with the cake. Hattie will no doubt love it.”

“Wait.”

Foolishly, hope surged as he pivoted in the doorway.

“There’s an elderly widow in town. You may remember her. Lorraine Drummond?”

Swallowing hard, he nodded. This wasn’t going the way he’d envisioned.

“She’s been saying recently how lonely she gets now that her husband is gone and her children have moved away. She’d be the perfect caretaker for Clara.”

“Thanks, Jane. I’ll look into it.” He hooked a thumb at the door. “I’ll let myself out.”

Outside, he discovered his niece wasn’t alone. A stranger stood with his hat in his hands, fingers worrying the brim as he turned it in a never-ending circle. Shorter than Tom, dressed much like the locals in pants, a band-collared shirt and suspenders, his black hair was rumpled and beads of sweat dotted his brow. From the looks of his mount, he’d been in a hurry to get here.

“Can I help you?” Crossing his arms, Tom deliberately blocked the steps. The man wasn’t sporting a holster or gun belt, but there could be a knife hidden somewhere on his person.

The man scowled. “I’m looking for Jane.”

“Who should I say is calling?”

“Roy Crowley.”

* * *

Jane hadn’t felt this low in a long time.

Seeing the hurt and confusion in Tom’s eyes, knowing there were things about his time in Kansas he wasn’t telling her, she’d come close to giving in to his plea. Whatever he’d endured was bad. So bad he wouldn’t voice it.

Tom was adept at masking his troubles with his carefree, upbeat manner, something she hadn’t recognized as a young girl. Interpreting his words and gestures through the eyes of a mature woman gave her fresh insight into the man she’d assumed she knew everything about. Just now, he’d attempted to hide his disappointment from her. To protect himself? Or was he doing what he’d always done—protecting her?

He wouldn’t want her to feel guilty for not helping him. But she did. Jane genuinely liked Clara. Ached for what she’d endured. She had it in her power to help her, make her life a little brighter, and she was choosing not to. That went against everything her ma had taught her.

Desperate times call for desperate measures.

Her future was at stake. Her peace of mind. She’d concocted a sensible plan to get over him, and she must stick to it at all costs. Even if it meant putting her own needs above a little girl’s.

The sick sensation in her middle belied such thoughts.

Mrs. Drummond will be wonderful for Clara, she reassured herself, like a substitute grandmother.

“Jane.”

Startled out of her reverie, she jerked her head up. “What is it?”

Anger blazed in Tom’s eyes, which glowed like the most brilliant peridot gems. Hands fisted at his sides, his jaw worked. “You have a visitor.”

“Roy?” Who else would evoke Tom’s murderous expression? The sick sensation intensified. This day was getting better and better.

“I’ll get rid of him if that’s what you want.”

His hard, lean body filling the doorway, tension coming off him in waves, he looked like a stranger. A lethal one.

Always her protector. If only... Stop. Wishing for the impossible has gotten you nothing but heartache.

Untying her apron, she hung it on a hook beside the back door. “I can’t avoid him forever.”

“You don’t have to see him today.”

She stopped in front of him. The temptation to seek refuge in his arms was strong. “Better here than on a street corner, with the townsfolk for an audience.”

“Fine,” he clipped out. “But I’m not leaving you alone with him.”

This was where she should point out she didn’t need him watching over her, that she could handle Roy on her own. Instead, she nodded her acceptance. His fierce determination to protect her, despite that it was motivated by friendship alone, made her feel cherished.

Tom had directed Clara to remain in the main room. She sat on the couch, big eyes taking in the paintings on the chinked-log walls, the photographs on the mantel. “We won’t be long,” he told her on their way outside.

The sight of her former fiancé in her yard evoked fresh waves of humiliation. Her cheeks burned. Maybe agreeing to Tom’s presence hadn’t been the wisest idea. Surely this fiasco called into question her sound judgment. Her ability to discern people’s true natures.

“Why are you here, Roy?” At least she sounded calm. Unfazed.

He came to the porch’s bottom step, brown eyes pleading. “I came to apologize. You ran out of the church so fast, you didn’t give me a chance to explain.”

Behind her, Tom made a sound of disgust.

Roy’s lips thinned. “Can we speak in private?”

“It’s too late for explanations. If you’d been honestwith me from the beginning, we would’ve been spared a public spectacle. Go home to your wife, Roy.”

“Laura.” He shook his head. “She’s been trouble since the day I met her. That’s why you were so refreshing, Jane. You’re sweet and biddable.”