His Mountain Miss (Smoky Mountain Matches)

by Karen Kirst

  “Hey, pretty lady, can I have a moment?”

  She smiled back. “Of course.”

  At the bottom, she stepped off to the side to avoid the stream of churchgoers heading to their wagons. He motioned for Jane and Nicole to join them.

  “What are your lunch plans?” His eager gaze touched each of theirs.

  “Leftovers,” Nicole said with a sigh, her displeasure marring her perfect features. Wearing her smart green ensemble, a feathered hat perched atop her shiny black mane, she looked like an angry china doll.

  “Why do you ask?” At nearly sixteen, Jane exhibited more maturity than her older sister. Her serene expression couldn’t mask the telltale loneliness in her eyes. Megan wondered how Jessica was handling this separation, the twins’ first. The more outgoing of the two, Jessica wasn’t as sensitive as Jane.

  Lifting his hat to fluff his hair, he hooked a thumb towards his wagon. “I took a chance and ordered a picnic lunch from Plum’s in the hopes you three ladies would agree to join me. I thought about heading over to the river.” He mentioned their family’s favored picnic spot.

  She’d planned to pay Lucian a visit immediately after lunch, but Tom had already purchased the food, and the look Jane shot her was hope-filled. Besides, a tiny part of her dreaded seeing Lucian. He had an awful lot of time on his hands. Time to think, to replay yesterday’s events and the consequences. What if he’d finally come to the conclusion that she’d caused nothing but trouble for him since the day he’d first arrived? What if he was angry? What if—

  “So what’s it going to be, Megan?” Tom stood with his hands on his hips, waiting expectantly.

  She took a deep breath. “We’d love to join you.”

  “Great.” White teeth flashed in a wide grin that had no effect on her whatsoever. Nothing like Lucian’s potent smiles.

  She surreptitiously studied her friend, trying to study him objectively as a girl new to town would do. Dressed like the locals in pants, band-collared shirt and suspenders and boots, he was tall and lean and sturdy-looking. He was a tidy man, both in appearance and practice. He kept his barbershop spotless. His home, too. Attractive in an understated way, his green eyes were his only intriguing feature. Tom may not be the kind of man that would stand out in a crowd, but he was nice-looking in his own quiet way.

  Why, oh why, wasn’t she drawn to him? A local with no plans to leave. A man who knew where he stood with God, who lived to honor Him. A man who wanted to court her, who wanted a wife and children.

  Why couldn’t she be practical-minded? At times like this, she despised her romantic nature, her idealistic dreams of how her life should be.

  Tamping down her frustration, and a childish desire to stamp her foot, Megan refocused on the conversation.

  Jane was smiling shyly up at Tom. “It was very thoughtful of you to plan this outing, Tom.”

  His wink caused a blush to spread along Jane’s cheeks. “I must admit to selfish motives, Janie-girl. It’s not every day a man is blessed with the company of three lovely ladies.”

  “Don’t you mean three of the loveliest ladies in Gatlinburg?” Nicole smirked.

  “Tom,” Megan interjected to save him from having to reply, “will you mind stopping at the cabin long enough for us to change?”

  Amusement dancing in his eyes, he nodded, and, taking her hand, he placed it in the crook of his arm. On the drive out to her place, he made casual mention of Lucian’s accident. Even if he hadn’t heard it through the town grapevine, he would’ve learned about it in church this morning as Reverend Monroe had spoken of it from the pulpit, asking the congregation to pray. She skirted the issue in an effort to deflect personal questions. No way did she want to discuss her and Lucian’s relationship—or lack thereof—with Tom.

  Kind man that he was, he allowed her to steer the conversation into safer waters. He waited patiently in the wagon while the girls changed out of their Sunday best and into everyday dresses. Nicole, in particular, was happy to have a reprieve from kitchen duties. The only chore she enjoyed was sewing clothes, and she excelled at it. Everything else that needed to be done around the farm she considered beneath her. One would think she believed herself royalty rather than a simple mountain girl. Megan loved her sister, but sometimes she didn’t understand her.

  They weren’t the only ones at the river. When they arrived, they discovered a handful of families scattered along the riverbank, enjoying the fine spring weather before it turned hot and humid and far too uncomfortable to lounge about in the noonday sun. Waving to familiar faces, they selected a spot in the flower-strewn field and set out their quilts and the mouthwatering food Mrs. Greene, the Plum Café’s owner, had prepared for them. Ravenous now, their prayer of thanks was a brief one. Companionable silence reigned as they ate.

  Children’s delighted shrieks carried on the wind, punctuated by adult laughter. The meandering river trickled over rocks and occasional fallen logs, birds chirped and whistled. One family in particular caught Megan’s eye—a sharply dressed man and his wife and their small toddler, a boy with a shock of dark hair the same hue as Lucian’s.

  Her heart constricted. Longing for the impossible sliced through her, left her bleeding and sore. She and Lucian didn’t have a future together. They would never be that family—a loving husband and wife and children filling their lives with laughter and joy.

  Despite this delay, Lucian would eventually return home. He would choose a suitable bride, perfect in every way, one who would dutifully provide him with his sole heir. Irrational jealousy gripped her, soured her stomach. She set aside her plate, sipping her lemonade in the hopes it would wash away the bitter taste in her mouth. It would serve him right if his future wife gave him a passel of daughters. How many until he gave up hope for a son? Six? Nine?

  “I’m going for a walk,” she abruptly announced, heartsick at the image of him and his ice queen surrounded by rosy-cheeked girls with black eyes.

  Tom’s forehead bunched in concern. Eyes crinkled at the corners as he squinted against the sun. “You haven’t finished your lunch.”

  “I wasn’t as hungry as I thought. I’ll finish it later.” She covered her plate with a cloth and placed it back in the basket, safe from flies and ants, then strolled down to the river’s edge.

  Watching the water flow past, she trailed a line in the damp earth with her boot.

  Tom joined her after five minutes. “Want to tell me what’s on your mind?”

  She shrugged. “Nothing interesting.”

  He took both her hands in his. “We’re friends, remember? No matter what happens between us, we’ll always be friends first. I can tell something’s bothering you. You haven’t been yourself lately, and frankly, I’m a bit worried.”

  While his words indicated one thing, in his eyes she saw the hope for something more. “I’m just concerned about the girls. Jane mopes about the house missing Jessica, and Nicole...well, you know how she can be. Multiply that by ten. It’s a big responsibility Ma placed in my lap, and she hasn’t yet sent word what’s happening with Juliana. We don’t know if she’s had the baby yet and if so, how they’re both faring.”

  All of that was weighing on her mind. And it was all she was willing to share with him.

  “I’m sure your sister and the baby are just fine. I don’t know much about females, but I’ll help with your sisters in any way I can.”

  “That means a lot to me.” She lightly squeezed his hands before pulling free.

  A loud splash, followed by a woman’s alarmed cry, startled them both. Tom whirled around. Lunged for the little boy who’d landed on his rear in the water. The one who’d reminded her of Lucian.

  Noticing the tears welling in his eyes and the curl of his bottom lip, Tom picked him up and, heedless of the water dripping everywhere, hugged him against his body. “Hey there, little buddy. What
’s your name?”

  Before he could get a word out, his mother rushed up. “Lenny! Are you all right?”

  He wiggled to get down. Tom lowered the tyke to the ground so he could toddle over to his mother.

  “Thank you,” she said, taking hold of the boy’s hand. “Stay close to Mama from now on, Lenny. Let’s go dry you off.” She led him back to their quilt.

  “Cute little guy,” Tom said with a grin, seemingly oblivious to his damp clothing.

  “How many kids do you want?” Megan blurted, her gaze still trained on mother and son.

  His brows lifted. “I think four is a good goal. What about you?”

  “Ten.”

  “I can see that.” He smiled and slowly nodded. “You’re good with kids. You’ll be a wonderful mother someday.”

  She didn’t comment and, after moments of silence, he ventured, “Why do you ask, Megan? Are you...? Have you thought more about my courting you?”

  Her gaze shot to his face alight with anticipation. Oh, no. What had she done? Thoughtless girl.

  “Oh, Tom, no, I—I was simply curious. A friend and I were discussing the matter the other day, and Lenny reminded me of the conversation. I didn’t intend to imply that I’d made a decision.” Seeing his crestfallen expression, she decided she couldn’t leave him hanging any longer. Not only was it unfair, it was cruel. “Actually, Tom, I don’t need to make a decision. I—”

  “Wait.” He stepped closer. “I can see you’re upset and worried about hurting my feelings. Let’s not rush things. Like you said, you have a lot on your mind right now. I think it would be best if we waited until things have calmed down a bit to discuss this.”

  “But—”

  “No buts.” Smiling gently, he jerked his head towards the field where Jane and Nicole waited. “Let’s rejoin your sisters. I promised them an entertaining afternoon, and I aim to deliver.”

  * * *

  Megan woke before dawn Monday morning. Padding to the window in her bare feet, she pushed the curtain aside and peered into the silent darkness. Where are you, D’Artagnan? Josh and Nathan had stopped by after supper last night with unhappy news—two days of searching had gotten them nowhere. Lucian’s horse was still missing, and it fell to her to tell him.

  Her cousins couldn’t take any more time away from their work to search, which meant D’Artagnan—and Lucinda’s Bible—might never be found. Lord, this is important to Lucian. Please lead his horse back safe and sound.

  Wide-awake and restless, she tackled her chores and even made a simple breakfast of ham, eggs and toast, a task that usually fell to Jane. Then, unable to wait a moment longer, she set out for Lucian’s house.

  Mrs. Calhoun came to the door, wiping her hands on her apron. “He’s in the garden parlor. Go on back and say hello. I’m in the middle of fixing breakfast.”

  “Sorry to interrupt you.” Megan paused in the entrance hall to remove her bonnet and straighten her apricot skirts. “I know it’s early, but I was eager to check on him.” Only half-past eight. Not exactly proper visiting hours.

  “No need to apologize, dear. Company will do him good. Fred and I hung around yesterday to see to his needs, but I caught him watching the door off and on. Probably hoping for a visit from you.” Turning, she preceded Megan down the hall, stopping in the doorway leading to the dining room and, beyond, the kitchen. “I’ll be along shortly with breakfast. Will you be joining him?”

  “No, thank you. I already ate.”

  “A cup of coffee, then?”

  “That would be wonderful, Mrs. Calhoun. Thanks.”

  When the older lady bustled off, Megan went in the opposite direction. Situated along the back of the house, the garden parlor was a long, rectangular room with high ceilings and a row of windows overlooking the rear porch and gardens. Done primarily in hues of cream, gold and sage, with occasional bursts of poppy-red and apricot, it possessed an airy, open feel that Megan found inviting. Botanical prints dotted the papered walls, and potted ferns flanked the windows thrown open to catch the floral-scented breeze. Gauzy drapes fluttered softly.

  Advancing into the room, her steps muted by the sage-and-cream-swirled rug, she spotted Lucian stretched out on the sofa sound asleep. She rounded the carved mahogany coffee table. Edged closer. He was dressed more casually than she’d ever seen him. No boots, of course. His stocking feet peeked out from beneath chocolate-brown pants and beneath his sling, he wore a loose cream shirt open at the neck, giving her a peek of his smooth, tanned throat. A day’s worth of stubble darkened his jaw, his brown hair mussed.

  Had he slept here the whole night through? From the looks of him, he must’ve. Was Mrs. Calhoun right? Had he been expecting her yesterday?

  Bending at the waist, she carefully smoothed a lock of hair that had fallen on to his forehead. When he didn’t stir, she gave in to the temptation to repeat the action, trailing her fingertips lightly through the silky waves. He sighed. Nestled his head deeper into the feather pillow, a small smile on his lips. Lips that had touched hers, sparking dreams of a future.

  Leaning down, she kissed his cheek, smiling when his whiskers tickled her chin. She straightened, gasped when her gaze encountered his confused one.

  “Megan?” he said, voice raspy from sleep. “Am I dreaming?”

  Embarrassed, she acted as if he hadn’t just caught her kissing him. “Bonjour, Lucian. Did you sleep well?”

  “Bonjour,” he responded slowly, his brow wrinkling. “You speak French now?”

  Twisting her hands behind her back, she said, “Kate told me how to say that. Although, I can’t pronounce it quite like you do.”

  He struggled to sit up. Needing to distance herself from his irresistible male presence, she backed away, plopping clumsily into a nearby chair when her legs bumped against it. Lucian slouched against the sofa cushions, legs planted wide, one hand resting in his lap.

  This rumpled version of him, unrestrained and a touch untamed, had a devastating effect on her equilibrium. Her heart jerked about in her chest in an uneven rhythm.

  “Are you here because you’re feeling sorry for me?” Raking her from head to toe, his gaze challenged her. “Or because your misplaced guilt became too much to bear?”

  She hadn’t expected an assault. “Why do you do that?” she demanded, chin lifting. “Why do you suspect everyone around you of ulterior motives? Couldn’t I have come simply because I wanted to see you? To find out how you’re feeling?”

  “You didn’t come yesterday.” The slip in his customary confidence dispelled her ire.

  “I wanted to, believe me, I—”

  He held up a hand. “That was out of line. Forgive me. There’s no need for you to explain.” Lowering it, he appeared both stern and thoughtful, saying, “I suppose it stems from a lifetime of people befriending me on account of my last name, the wealth and power associated with my family.”

  Leaning forward, she studied the shadows of past pain in his eyes. “There’s more to it, isn’t there?”

  Frowning, his gaze drifted to the floor. “There was a woman, Dominique. We traveled in the same circles, she and I, and crossed each other’s paths quite regularly. Shortly before my mother’s death, we were seated together at a friend’s musical and, throughout the course of the evening, found we had similar interests. We...became close.”

  Megan sat stock-still, hands locked together in her lap, insides withering. To hear Lucian speak of another woman in this manner was like walking barefoot across burning coals. Dominique. With a name like that, she must be lovely and soft-spoken and well dressed, not a single hair out of place.

  He had courted Dominique. Yet, he’d made it clear he wouldn’t court Megan. She wasn’t quite good enough, was she? Didn’t fulfill the lofty standards required of the wife of Lucian Beaumont.

  “I thought she w
as different from the rest. I believed the extras didn’t matter, that she was interested in me. After all, she came from old money and was in possession of a pedigree even more stellar than mine.” His scowl was directed more at himself than anyone else, as if he was to blame for the betrayal. “I misjudged her. About a month after my mother’s death, Dominique came to the conclusion that she would be better served if she aligned herself with my father. He’s the one who wields the reins, so to speak. The head of the family and the shipping empire.”

  Megan’s stomach dropped to her toes. This woman, this Dominique, had betrayed him in the worst possible way. And at the worst possible time. What kind of woman would do such an underhanded thing, especially when he was mourning the loss of his mother?

  “I had to wonder if she’d been using me the entire time to get to him.”

  Suddenly the pieces fit together like a well-written horror story. His accusations and suspicions, his inability at first to believe her motives were pure. Why discovering that Lucinda, the mother he’d adored, might possibly have hidden the truth from him was so hard to accept.

  “I’m so sorry, Lucian.” Her jealousy and self-pity seemed very pathetic in this moment. She ached for this lonely, stoic man. “Did your father— What I mean is, did he—”

  “Did he court Dominique?” he snorted. “No. And not due to any loyalty to me. No, he’d only recently rid himself of my mother. He wasn’t about to tie himself to another desperate female.”

  “Is she the reason you don’t want to marry for love?”

  “The truth is, I’d rather not marry at all. Dominique made me forget, for a little while, a decision I made many years ago—that if I must marry, it would be a marriage based on social compatibility and companionship. Not emotions as changeable as the sea, as unstable as shifting sand beneath your feet. Dominique’s betrayal turned out to be a blessing, really. Brought my goals back into focus.”

  He passed fingers over his injured arm beneath the sling and winced. “My parents’ marriage was a disaster. Enamored of my mother’s beauty and innocence, my father rushed them both into it without taking into account their differences. They had vastly different upbringings, as you know, which resulted in wholly different mind-sets. The physical attraction that had brought them together didn’t last, at least not for my father. When he realized my mother wouldn’t fit in his world, he made no attempts to hide his disdain. But no matter how ruthless he was, she never stopped loving him. Never stopped hoping they could recapture what they’d lost. She did everything in her power to change, to fit his idea of the ideal wife.... In the end, she only ended up losing herself.” His expression grew fierce and his eyes blazed molten fire. “I refuse to live that way, to hurt a woman like my father hurt my mother. That’s why when I marry, I’ll make certain there are no attachments on either side. No feelings of any sort beyond common respect. That way, neither one of us will suffer.”