by Karen Kirst
Slipping the paper in his pocket, he asked as casually as he could manage, “Were they a happy family? Charles and Beatrice and my mother?”
Lifting her head, she gave him a surprised smile. “They were very happy.”
“Good.” Bittersweet relief curled through his body. At least they’d had a taste of happiness before...well, before his grandmother died and his father came and ruined it all. “I’m glad.”
He left then, before he peppered her with more questions. Waving to Fred, he went to the barn to hitch up the wagon. His valet was there mucking out stalls.
Lucian stopped short. Laughed at the sight of the normally fastidious gentleman sweaty, his hair mussed and bits of hay clinging to his pant legs. “You must be as in need of a diversion as I am.”
Smith didn’t stop what he was doing. “You would be correct, sir.”
Still smiling, Lucian went about his business, glad to be doing something as simple as hitching horses to a wagon. He had to admit, it beat sitting in the stuffy shipping offices pushing papers across his desk and having his father assess his every decision as if he hadn’t a clue what he was doing.
It didn’t take long to reach Main Street. Pulling up in front of Clawson’s Mercantile, he glimpsed a flash of blond hair through the window. Megan? Setting the brake, he jumped down to the dusty ground and stepped up on the weathered boardwalk. Who else could it be? No one else in this town had hair the color of moonlight.
Anticipation humming along his veins, he opened the door. The bell clanged above his head and she looked up, full lips parting. The eager welcome surging in her wide eyes buoyed his spirits. Apparently she’d set aside her irritation.
“Lucian?”
“Good afternoon, Megan.” Sweeping off his black hat, he tucked it beneath his arm and, shoving his unruly hair out of his eyes, approached the wooden shelves lined with personal items such as combs, mirrors and shaving supplies.
Refreshingly lovely as always, her simple, unadorned dress would have been deemed boring were it not a pleasing aquamarine, its exact hue putting him in mind of the sea he loved but couldn’t handle. Dratted seasickness.
“What are you doing here?” Her quizzical gaze slid to the wagon outside.
“I’m running errands for Mrs. Calhoun.” He lifted a finger to touch the porcelain doll she clutched to her chest. “I didn’t realize you still played with baby dolls,” he teased, arching a mocking brow.
The witty retort he expected didn’t surface. Instead, regret pulled at her mouth as she replaced the frilly-dressed doll on the shelf. “I’m on my way to Owen Livingston’s to deliver food. I’d like to purchase this for Sarah, but it will have to wait.”
He finally noticed the cloth-lined crate at her feet. “Are they ill?”
“No, but it’s hard for him to manage the farm chores and still find time to cook. From what I understand, he’s not an experienced cook, anyway. Ever since Meredith died, the ladies of our church have taken turns taking food to them twice a week.”
“How long ago did she die?”
“Six months.”
So the loss was still fresh. What a nightmare for Livingston and his small daughter. To have lost not one, but two cherished loved ones at the same time. A wife and mother. An innocent baby.
Sympathy clogged his throat. “It appears your townsfolk take care of their own.”
“You’re right about that.” She lifted her chin a notch. “Like any other small town, we have our not-so-great moments, but I have to say I’m proud to be a part of this community.”
He could tell she meant it. Unlike Nicole, who’d made it clear she found small-town life confining, often declaring her intention of leaving it behind, Megan loved her life. She didn’t care about fashion or fancy houses or money. She cared about people. That much was plain in how she chose to spend her time...whether it was entertaining little children or preparing and delivering food.
How could he have ever doubted her integrity?
Heart beating out a warning, he forced his attention away from her. It wasn’t easy. Not now that he’d come to his senses and could see her as she truly was...compassionate, sensitive to others’ needs, a heart full of love.
He picked up the doll. “How about I purchase this for Sarah?”
“I can’t ask you to do that.”
“You didn’t.” He guessed she didn’t have enough money for such a splurge. How to put this to her without hurting her pride? “I think a little girl who’s missing her mommy might be cheered by a gift such as this. You’re right to want to give it to her.”
“But it won’t be from me if you pay for it.”
Leaning closer, he suggested softly, “Why can’t it be from the both of us?”
“You have a soft spot for her,” she stated with sudden clarity. “Don’t try to deny it.”
“If I do have one—and I’m not saying I do—it’s because she reminds me of a certain sassy storyteller,” he said, gently tapping her nose.
The bell clanged as another patron, a skinny, awkward girl who looked to be in her teens, entered the mercantile. Straightening, Lucian dipped his head in greeting as Megan offered her a quiet hello. The girl smiled shyly before darting to the fabrics’ section.
Get a hold of yourself, Beaumont. Have you forgotten your surroundings? No wonder the girl acted embarrassed...you were too near Megan, touching her in a familiar manner right here for all the world to see.
Megan was looking far too pleased with herself, like a cat with a big bowl of cream.
“What?”
“I thought you said you didn’t like children.”
Wagging a finger, he passed the doll to her and lifted the crate. “No...I recall saying I have no experience with them.”
Walking beside the shelves towards the long counter where the Moores measured out goods and calculated totals, Megan fell into step with him, a huge smile on her face. Her eyes sparkled with friendly challenge. “If it’s to be from both of us, that means you’ll need to come with me to give it to her. I’m heading over there now.”
“We can take my wagon,” he agreed smoothly, sliding the crate onto the counter so that he could retrieve the paper from his pocket. “Let me give them Mrs. Calhoun’s list and have them wrap up Sarah’s doll, and then we can go.”
“Fine with me.”
Ruthanne Moore exclaimed over the doll, chattering endlessly as she wrapped it in crisp white paper. At long last, they escaped outside, the humid heat that made it difficult to breathe preferable to the stuffy confines of the mercantile and the speculative glances of the proprietress. He stowed their belongings in the back. Ran a finger beneath his stiff cravat where it stuck to his damp throat.
“Today seems hotter than usual.”
Megan huffed a laugh as he assisted her up onto the wooden seat. “This is nothing. Wait until July. You won’t want to go outside after eight o’clock in the morning.”
He wouldn’t be here come July, he wanted to remind her. But that would only chase away her smile, and what was the point in that?
* * *
At the turnoff leading to the Livingstons’ homestead, the front wagon wheels hit a dip that jostled Megan. Pitching sideways, she very nearly landed in Lucian’s lap. Without a moment’s hesitation, he put an arm around her. Anchored her to his side.
“You all right?” His warm gaze assessed her, strong hand settling heavily on her waist.
Licking suddenly dry lips, she nodded. He was looking at her as if seeing her for the first time...the same look he’d given her in the mercantile. There’d been a flare of something in those shrewd black eyes. Insight maybe? Whatever it had been gave her hope. Was he finally coming to realize she wasn’t out to gain possession of his house or anything else that belonged to him?
She would have gla
dly remained this way for the rest of the afternoon. Tucked in the shelter of his arm, inches away from his firm jaw shadowed by a hint of a beard and his generous mouth, infused her with tingling delight. His nearness was more exciting than any adventure she’d ever read, more thrilling than any romance put down on paper. This was real. He was real. Better than any hero her imagination could’ve constructed.
You mustn’t think that way, Megan. It isn’t wise. While Lucian was certainly hero material in the minds of New Orleans socialites, he wasn’t her idea of a hero. Her hero would marry for love instead of duty. Her hero would want children to love and cherish, not simply to carry on a family name. She couldn’t afford to forget that.
As the cabin came into view, she pulled away, the heat of his hand lingering long after he’d removed it. Sarah emerged from the darkened doorway dragging a bucket behind her. A black dog trotted beside her, pink tongue lolling. Lucian frowned at the little girl’s untidy braid and smudges of dirt on her cheeks.
Sarah stopped and stared. Her mouth formed a little O. “Miss Megan! Mr. Lucian!”
Megan climbed down without bothering to wait for Lucian’s assistance. “Hi, Sarah.” Bent with her hands perched on her knees, she pasted on a smile for the little girl’s benefit. The sight of the two crude grave markers beyond the barn had sucked the joy from the day. “Where’s your pa?”
“Fixin’ a fence.”
Her blue eyes were large in her thin face as she watched Lucian pat the dog’s head. Lips pursed, his sharp gaze swept their surroundings. The farm was showing signs of neglect. Weeds threatened to choke out the vegetable plants in the small patch of garden beside the cabin. Dirt streaked the window panes. Without Meredith to help him, it appeared Owen was falling steadily behind.
Megan held out her hand. “Why don’t you take us to him so we can let him know we’re here?”
Dropping the bucket, Sarah placed her tiny hand in hers. So solemn. Megan wished there was something more she could do to help the devastated family.
“Are you coming, Mr. Lucian?” Sarah held out her other hand.
A startled look, quickly masked, flashed across his face as he took her hand. The trio bypassed the barn and passed through the wide field to where Owen was struggling to do a chore better suited to two men. Shrugging quickly out of his coat and looping it over the fence, Lucian rushed to assist him, grabbing hold of the other end of the heavy post.
Surprised, Owen’s puzzled gaze shot between Lucian and Megan. The men had met at story time but hadn’t spoken at length. From his reaction, he plainly hadn’t expected the smartly dressed gentleman to willingly assist in menial labor.
“You looked as if you could use some help,” Lucian grunted by way of greeting. “Just tell me where you want this.”
Owen barked instructions. Together, they worked to repair the fence. Nonplussed, Megan stood there and watched. If one were to discount Lucian’s green paisley vest, tailored shirt and extravagantly tied cravat, which were more suited to a well-appointed drawing room than an isolated mountain farm, one would have no trouble believing he was accustomed to getting down in the dirt and working with his hands. His back and shoulder muscles rippled beneath the taut cotton; his biceps strained the material. This was no idle aristocrat.
Realizing she was gawking, Megan suggested to Sarah that they return to the cabin so she could bring the food inside out of the direct sun. The one-room dwelling wasn’t filthy, exactly, but it needed attention. And, since Lucian was occupied, Megan immediately set to work, sweeping the floors while waiting for the water to heat, which she’d use to clean the work surfaces and stack of dirty dishes in the basin. She settled Sarah at the table with a slice of buttered bread and a glass of milk. The little girl didn’t chatter like most five-year-olds. Instead, she sat silently observing Megan, her gaze occasionally lighting on the wrapped package. Megan bit back a smile, anticipating Sarah’s reaction to Lucian’s gift.
Beneath his aloof demeanor beat a compassionate heart.
By the time the men returned, the kitchen fairly sparkled and not a speck of dirt lingered on the floors. When Owen’s gaze settled on Sarah, nestled in Megan’s lap with a book, her face scrubbed clean and hair brushed and rebraided, embarrassment, guilt and gratitude marched across his rugged features. The ever-present sorrow lurked in his eyes.
“You didn’t have to do this, Megan,” he said gruffly.
“I didn’t mind.”
He worried the hat in his hands. “Appreciate it.” Nodded to Lucian, who was standing slightly behind him. “You too, Beaumont. I was about ready to give up when you arrived. Thanks.”
Lucian’s smile eased the austerity of his features. “I ought to be thanking you. You saved me from yet another tedious day of staring at the walls. I’ll be back tomorrow, if you don’t mind.”
Both men’s clothing were dirt-stained, but they’d washed up at the outside well. Their faces and hands were clean, their hair wet and slicked back from their foreheads. Lucian’s cravat was now stuffed into his pocket.
Owen’s mouth turned down. “I can’t afford to pay you.”
“I don’t want your money.” He held up a palm. “Trust me, I’d be doing it as much for myself as for you. I need the distraction.”
“I don’t know.”
Lucian appealed to Megan. “I thought you said this community helps each other out.”
“We do.” To Owen, she said gently, “You know you’d do the same if the situation were reversed. You should let him help you.”
Kneading the back of his neck, he jerked a nod. “Okay. If you change your mind...”
Lucian stuck out his hand. “I won’t.”
Shaking hands, Owen remarked lazily, “You won’t be wearing clothing like that tomorrow, will you? I’d hate to feel responsible for ruining those fancy duds.”
Lucian chuckled. “I think I can find something more appropriate to wear.”
Megan urged Sarah off her lap and stood up. “Before we go, Lucian and I have something we’d like to give Sarah.”
Looking wary, Owen slipped his hands in his pockets as she waved Lucian over to the table and gave him the package. “You give it to her.”
“Why don’t you?” he whispered, brows raised.
“Are you afraid of a five-year-old girl?” she whispered back.
“Of course not. That’s ridiculous.” Taking it, he pivoted and, walking slowly to where Sarah stood with wide-eyed anticipation, crouched to her level and held it out. “For you.”
Gingerly, her tiny fingers peeled back the paper. Her gasp of wonder made all three adults smile. “A dolly!” Carefully, she touched the blond ringlets and the silky blue dress.
“Look, Papa!” Dashing to his side, she lifted it for him to inspect.
He cleared his throat. Smiled and smoothed a tender hand along his daughter’s hair. “She’s beautiful. What will you name her?”
Sarah bit her lip, staring intently at her new gift. “Megan.”
Pushing to his feet, Lucian arched a brow at Megan. Owen looked surprised. “Well, I suppose that’s a fitting name, seeing as how she brought it to you.”
“She looks like her.”
“Oh. Yes, I suppose she does. What do you say, Sarah?”
Hugging the doll to her chest, she looked at Megan and Lucian. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“We should get going.” Lucian looked to Megan. “I have that order to pick up for Mrs. Calhoun.”
As they made to leave, Sarah rushed over to give them each a hug. Although clearly discomfited, something like affection shone in Lucian’s gaze.
Once again perched high on the wagon seat, she gazed at his profile. “That was a nice thing you did back there.”
He shrugged. “What about you? From Owen’s reaction when we w
alked through the door, that cabin must’ve been in dire need of a cleaning.”
“Yes, well...I know him. You, on the other hand, are a visitor. Once you leave Gatlinburg, you’ll probably never see him again.”
He gave her a sideways glance. “So that means what? I should only help people I know?”
“No, of course not.” She spread her hands wide. “I just— It was unexpected, is all.”
“I was being honest back there. I’ll go mad if I don’t find something to fill the hours.”
He could remedy that if he’d only entrust the house to her and go home. But she didn’t say that out loud. The thought of him leaving, of never seeing him again, troubled her.
“You seemed to know exactly what to do. Have you fixed a fence before?” Doubt rang in her voice.
“More times than I can count. I have the estate, remember?”
“Don’t you have hired men to do that?”
“I do. However, I like fixing things. Working with my hands. I never aspired to manage our family’s shipping empire. I wanted to be a ship captain, toiling on the open sea, not cooped up in an office all day. Physical labor gives me a sense of accomplishment that signing a contract or reviewing ship inventory lists doesn’t.”
“Why didn’t you become a ship captain?”
“Seasickness. As a teenager, I spent a lot of time down at the docks and on the ships my father owns. My father didn’t approve of my wish to captain my own ship, but I was determined. Shortly after my fourteenth birthday, I snuck aboard a ship departing for New York. One long, agonizing day and night later, I realized the futility of my dream. I couldn’t move without getting violently ill.”
Megan stared at his profile, absorbed in this glimpse into his past. She could imagine him as a young teen, determined and intense even then, coming to grips with the loss of his dreams. “Was your father angry?”
His laugh was harsh. “Angry? He thought the whole thing quite amusing. Said I got my just deserts for defying him.”
