by J. L. Jarvis
About Secret Hearts
Clashing classes, forbidden love,
and the flood of the century
Maggie MacLaren longs to leave her hometown, even if she must quell her attraction to rugged steelworker Jake O’Neill. He is handsome and as solid and dependable as the town they grew up in, but Maggie want more. When refined Andrew Adair walks into Maggie’s library, he sweeps her into his world of wealth and power, where at last her dreams seem possible. However, Andrew’s world is not all it appears to be.
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High above town, reclusive young widow Allison Kimball arrives at her family’s exclusive mountain retreat to find tucked into her carpetbag a love letter. So begins a series of secret epistles and midnight trysts.
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As the two love stories unfold, their world is about to come crashing down in the Johnstown Flood of 1889.
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Originally published as Watermarks
Also by J.L. Jarvis
Christmas at Cedar Creek
* * *
Pine Harbor Series
Allison’s Pine Harbor Summer
Evelyn’s Pine Harbor Autumn
Lydia’s Pine Harbor Christmas
* * *
Holiday House Novels
The Christmas Cabin
The Winter Lodge
The Lighthouse
The Christmas Castle
The Beach House
The Christmas Tree Inn
The Holiday Hideaway
* * *
Highland Passage Series
Highland Passage
Knight Errant
Lost Bride
* * *
Highland Soldiers Series
The Enemy
The Betrayal
The Return
The Wanderer
* * *
Highland Vow
* * *
American Hearts Romances
Secret Hearts
Runaway Hearts
Forbidden Hearts
* * *
For more information, visit jljarvis.com.
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Sign up for the J.L. Jarvis Journal.
Secret Hearts
An American Hearts Romance
J.L. Jarvis
Copyright © 2011 J.L. Jarvis
All Rights Reserved
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author's rights is appreciated.
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Originally published as Watermarks
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Print Edition ISBN: 978-1-9427670-2-2
Ebook Edition ISBN: 978-0-9858554-4-4
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Published by Bookbinder Press
www.bookbinderpress.com
Contents
Chapter 1
2. Chapter 2
3. Chapter 3
4. Chapter 4
5. Chapter 5
6. Chapter 6
7. Chapter 7
8. Chapter 8
9. Chapter 9
10. Chapter 10
11. Chapter 11
12. Chapter 12
13. Chapter 13
14. Chapter 14
15. Chapter 15
16. Chapter 16
17. Chapter 17
18. Chapter 18
19. Chapter 19
20. Chapter 20
21. Chapter 21
22. Chapter 22
23. Chapter 23
24. Chapter 24
25. Chapter 25
26. Chapter 26
27. Chapter 27
28. Chapter 28
Author’s Note
Thank You!
About the Author
Chapter 1
Summer 1888 - Johnstown, Pennsylvania
He was there, but she didn't see him. Like a watermark on paper, it would have been so clear if she had looked, but her eyes were on the lake. Maggie MacLaren sat on a fence at the edge of the South Fork Fishing and Hunting Club, like an indigenous specimen perched in repose. A young woman, barely nineteen, she wore comfortable brown shoes caked with dirt, a sensible gabardine skirt, and a crisp shirtwaist fastened at the neck with a cameo pin she had purchased from Woolworth’s. Honey brown curls hung untended over forehead and cheek as she gripped the rail with her fingers. Miles from the rumble of the iron mill below, she could see clearly enough to envision a life far from billowing smoke.
The windless surroundings soothed her senses as she observed the ladies across the lake. Skimming along the boardwalk under sheltering parasols, their movements were facile, their days uncomplicated. Up here in the mountains, above the masses, they were buoyed by power flowing from wealth. Maggie longed to be one of those ladies whose brows were as smooth and translucent as lake water.
As she drew in a cool breath and exhaled her cares as if they were vapor, a man crept up behind her.
“This is private property, Miss.” He grabbed hold of her waist with strong hands that were far too familiar.
Maggie started and nearly fell in the process. “Get your hands off me!” She struggled, then, turning, she saw him.
“Jake.”
“Afternoon, Maggie!” He touched his cap with mock formality. His smile lit that familiar spark in his eyes. She believed she could hide its effect upon her, unaware her eyes bore its reflection.
“You can let go now,” she said.
“I’m just trying to protect you.”
“From what?”
“From falling.”
“But you made me lose my balance.”
“Maggie, nobody makes you do anything.”
Maggie scowled, but Jake’s grin was impervious.
“Look at you—sitting on that fence rail like you’re posing for target practice.”
“And what concern is it of yours?”
“You could have been shot.”
“Shot.” Maggie nodded skeptically.
“Didn’t you see the sign?”
She glanced toward the sign, which in fresh paint indeed stated, “TRESPASSERS WILL BE SHOT.”
“Who would shoot me?” she said, donning a smile artificially demure.
“Oh, I wouldn’t trust any of those rich city boys with a shotgun in their hands. They might take you for a loon.”
“Or you for a boar.”
Jake stepped toward her. “Now, Maggie darlin’—”
“Don’t Maggie darlin’ me.” She pushed herself from the fence and stood up to face him.
His grin lost its mischief. A breeze stirred up scents of sweet grass and soil.
Her eyes softened. “What?” Maggie asked, looking lost.
His smile faded. “I didn’t say anything.” He was standing too close.
“But you wanted to.” She studied his face. It was hard, with marked planes at sharp angles—a working man’s face, roughened ahead of his years by unexpressed anger and melancholy, which he thought he kept hidden. The air stilled as if to allow an inviolable silence to hover.
“I was just wondering.” His eyes searched hers for some understanding.
“Don’t,” she said softly.
“I can’t help it.” Jake watched her as she looked anywhere but at him, at the metal gray creek, and the sky it mirrored. “Those clouds don’t l
ook good. You’ll be caught in the rain.”
Inner warmth tempered her aspect. “I won’t dissolve.”
“I know.” A fence and a lifetime lay between them. She could get beyond neither.
Maggie turned to pick up her bicycle. Walking beside it, she steered it toward the road. Jake hopped over the fence and caught hold of the handlebars.
“I could sure use a ride.” His usual mirth had returned. It set Maggie at ease.
“A ride? How did you get up here?”
“Will dropped me off,” he said, walking beside her.
“I’ll be sure to stop by and tell him you’re up here,” said Maggie. She tugged at her bike, but Jake kept a firm grip with hands bronzed by work at the open-hearth of the Cambria Iron Works.
“He’s at work. Now, you wouldn’t make me walk, Maggie,” he said with that cajoling way of his that so bothered and charmed her.
She stopped and stared. “Well, I don’t see how you intend—”
He stepped around and stood blocking her path with his unwieldy physique, too strong to be stylish. Unable to see past his shoulders, she looked up at his smile, although she knew better. She had lost. She shook her head, lifting her hands in an invitational shrug, and let Jake take the bike.
“Here.” He straddled the bicycle, and lifted Maggie with ease to a seat on the handlebars.
Maggie let out a shriek and a laugh, and then hung on for dear life as they coasted down the mountain far too quickly.
“What about your fish?” she said, turning slightly back toward him.
“My fish? Oh, my fish, well—”
“You didn’t catch any, did you?”
“You’d better keep your skirt away from that wheel.”
She abruptly looked down and grabbed her skirt, already soiled by the spokes brushing past it. Her sudden movement threw the bicycle off balance. The front wheel wobbled, nearly tossing Maggie to the ground. With strong arms and good reflexes, Jake kept them from falling.
“I’m sorry,” she said, looking back to him and once more nearly causing them to fall.
“There’s something wrong with that front end,” he said, pausing as his eyes lowered long enough to take in the round hips on the handlebars. “It doesn’t balance proper.”
“—ly.”
“What?” Jake looked up, startled.
“Doesn’t balance proper—ly.” As soon as she spoke, she regretted her words. He hid his discomfiture well, but she sensed it. She began to apologize, but it only made things worse.
As they neared the town, the factory smoke rose to meet the dark clouds. A few drops of moisture fell on their faces, and then a few more, until the sky opened up to deluge the pair.
“It’s raining,” said Jake.
“Oh really?” Maggie looked back at Jake, causing the bicycle to swerve again, but this time Jake was ready. He leaned forward. His lips touched Maggie’s ear as he said, “Look, darlin’, you just have to stop looking at me or we’ll end up sprawled all over the road together. And then what would people say?”
“They’d say, ‘Next time don’t follow the path of the horses.’”
But people did talk. There had been rumors among the wide open-eyed ladies in town. But Maggie ignored them. If she wanted to marry Jake, she would—Irish Catholic or not, and the women at the Presbyterian Church could go hang. She would marry whomever she chose, but it just so happened it wouldn't be Jacob O’Neill.
As they neared the town, they were on level ground, no longer coasting with ease down the mountain. Maggie listened to Jake’s deep and rhythmic breathing.
“If it’s too much for you, we could switch places for a while,” said Maggie, as they pulled into her yard.
She hopped off and dashed up the steps, while Jake hoisted the bicycle next to his shoulder and followed. They laughed to look at each other’s rain pasted foreheads as, side-by-side, they leaned their backs against the clapboard house and caught their breath under shelter of the covered front porch. Jake flashed a smile, then reached over and took Maggie’s hand. They looked straight ahead and watched the rain pour over the eaves.
His hand fit about hers, and the bulk of his shoulders pressed against her with each inhalation. As it slowed, she stole a glance. His hair hung from his forehead in sections of dripping brown strands. He wiped moisture from his stippled cheekbones and uneven nose, and then glanced at Maggie with troubling eyes. They deepened from an overcast hue to twilight gray. She could lose herself beneath such a sky.
He said, “I’ll be by tomorrow to take a look at that wheel. It’s not pointing straight—ly.”
She avoided his eyes. She wanted to smile. “It was fine until you got on it,” she said.
He cocked his head and furrowed his brow. “Must be the load was too heavy in front.”
With sharp eyes, she released his hand and pushed it away.
“Now, Maggie,” he said through his laughter. “You know I’m just joking.”
In an instant, Jake’s humor changed to concern. Turning her face, Maggie saw through the sheer curtain the silhouette of Beth, her older sister, at work in the kitchen.
“Maggie?”
She refused to acknowledge him. Jake stepped around to face her.
“Darlin’, I was only joking—”
“So was I!” she said, looking at him with sparks of mischief in her eyes.
Jake took an impulsive step forward. “Maggie…”
She stepped back and bumped against the door. The rebound brought her closer to Jake.
“Is that you, Maggie?” Beth called from inside.
She eased back toward the door, while he slowly advanced with a vengeful grin. Defiant, amused, Maggie knew she had triumphed—until she saw in his eyes something true.
“Maggie.” Jake broke the silence that filled the air between them. His face warmed and invited.
Maggie looked past the yard, through the rain in the darkness. The leaves shivered. “We really shouldn’t tease,” she said, looking downward.
“Who’s that you’re talking to?” Maggie didn't hear Beth’s footsteps on the hard wood floor.
The door opened and threw Maggie off balance. Jake reached out to steady her, but she grabbed hold of the door frame and righted herself. He took a step back.
“Jake? How are you?” Beth’s voice broke through.
He lowered his arms.
Maggie slipped past, went inside, and tried hard to look poised, but, failing, diverted her attention to her sister.
Beth ushered Jake into the kitchen. “Look at you! I’ll get some towels and put on some coffee.”
It was dry, filled with firelight and a faint scent of yeast. But the warmth of the room came from Beth. By twenty-seven, life with Hank Garvey had drained her of freshness. Yet her kindness imparted a subtle beauty, like an abalone shell on the shore of a rough sea.
“On second thought, you two need to get out of those wet clothes. Jake, you come with me. We’ll find some of Hank’s clothes for you, then we’ll warm you up with some coffee. Go on upstairs, Maggie. You’ll catch your death.”
When Maggie returned, she found Jake seated at the round oaken table, wearing an outgrown pair of Hank’s waist overalls and a cable knit sweater. While he filled out the shoulders and arms with a body as hard as the steel he fashioned, the remainder of the sweater hung loosely, the ribbing having been stretched beyond hope by Hank’s bloated belly.
Beth watched Jake’s deep-set eyes follow Maggie into the room. Maggie pulled her damp curls from beneath her cardigan, and then left them to fall where they would on her shoulders. Then she wrapped the brown worsted wool around her with folded arms and a shudder. She looked best in plain clothing. Her features were almost too large for her face, so that feminine frills on her looked frenetic, as though hopelessly trying to vie for attention. There was depth in her countenance, and yet she appeared unconcerned with herself.
Maggie glanced at Beth, hesitated, and then asked, “Where’s Hank?”
Maggie knew where “out” was. After Beth and Maggie’s parents had died, Beth and Hank moved into the MacLaren home along with two-year-old Robin. Soon the pattern was set. By now, Hank would have stopped on his way home from work, for a beer at a saloon. There were dozens to choose from. “A beer” seldom meant one. He would come home late tonight, a volatile bundle of conflicting emotions that would likely erupt for no obvious reason.
Jake observed the women’s exchange with tacit concern. He had seen Hank in action and could muster little tolerance and less respect for the man.
“More coffee?” Beth asked.
Jake finished a gulp. “No, I shouldn’t.” He glanced toward the door. “But you do make the best coffee in the valley.”
Beth grinned. “Save your flattery, Jake. One day you’ll need it for—” She caught herself. “—For some lucky girl.”
“On second thought, one more cup wouldn’t hurt,” he said, standing to walk to the stove.
Beth caught Maggie’s eye with a look both knowing and questioning.
