His Mountain Miss (Smoky Mountain Matches)

by Karen Kirst

  Anger tinged with despair thrummed through her. He wasn’t playing fair! Complimenting her in that smooth-as-velvet voice, touching her when he’d rebuffed her less than twenty-four hours ago.

  “Can I get you a glass of water or something?” he asked, subdued. As if she’d given voice to her rebuff.

  “No, I’m fine.”

  Closing her eyes, she recalled the expression on his face as he’d insisted he was trying to protect her. He’d been torn, conflicted. It hit her then. He was as drawn to her as she was to him. Oh, she was under no illusion that he loved her. He wouldn’t be that reckless, not when he’d clearly outlined his goals and the way he expected his life to go. For him, the attraction was merely physical. The fact that she was different from the young socialites he was accustomed to made her interesting. A passing fancy.

  Anguish wrapped its tentacles about her heart and squeezed, the pressure almost too much to bear.

  He came up behind her but made no move to touch her. “Megan?” A thousand questions in one word.

  Opening her eyes, she lifted her chin, determined he not discover her true feelings. Ever.

  Turning, she shot him a smile that hopefully appeared genuine. “It’s time to start the recital. Are you coming?”

  His gaze narrowed. “I—”

  “I don’t mean to be rude, Lucian, but I don’t want to keep everyone waiting.”

  She left him there, not stopping to see if he followed. It would be amazing if she made it through this night.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Lucian followed several steps behind, slipping into a vacant seat in the back row as Megan made her way to the front to welcome everyone and introduce the first speaker. He studied her as he’d done since the moment she’d arrived, captivated by her beauty and her innate sweetness. Her smile was fragile, the customary sparkle in her blue eyes conspicuously absent. Was she always this nervous before an event? He hadn’t noticed her this way with the children, but adults were a different audience. Or was it something else entirely? They hadn’t exactly parted on good terms the night before. He’d planned to speak with her before the recital, to share with her the good news of D’Artagnan’s return, but there hadn’t been time.

  The matter plagued him as one by one, the people stood up and recited their selections. He tried to listen, really he did, but his gaze kept straying to Megan seated in the first row in between Nathan and a young lady he hadn’t met before. Candlelight glistened in her curls, diamonds sparkling with every tilt of her head, the intricate beading on her bodice gleaming in the golden light. Her skin, he knew, was as soft as the silk dress she wore. He wished he was sitting there beside her, wished he had the right to cradle her small hand in his and reassure her fears.

  At long last, it was her turn. The final speaker of the night. Standing there looking like a woodland princess in that gauzy, flower-embellished creation, her chin tilted in unspoken defiance of he knew not what, she cleared her throat and began to speak. Speaking quietly at first, her voice gained strength as she quoted Shakespeare’s “Sonnet.” He was familiar with the poem, of course, but hearing the words of love spoken in her lyrical voice affected him deeply. Made him wish love like that truly existed, love that didn’t try to alter the other person, love that was unbending, unmovable, never shaken no matter what storms may come. She spoke with conviction and emotion, holding the room in silent thrall.

  She didn’t look at him. Not once.

  He knew then that he was the cause of her discomfiture. He’d made her unhappy. How was he supposed to handle that?

  When she’d finished, the audience burst into applause. With a strained smile, she thanked everyone for coming and invited them to help themselves to the refreshments laid out in the dining room. Lucian longed to go to her, to apologize for hurting her feelings, but he held back. How could he explain that, while he liked and respected her, he found it difficult to be near her? Megan made him forget lessons learned from childhood about love and the heartache that inevitably followed.

  He clenched his right hand, gritting his teeth as razor-sharp pain radiated up his as-yet-unhealed forearm. This delay was going to cost him. The longer he stayed here, the less appeal his old life held for him. A dangerous thing. He needed to go home and begin his search for a suitable wife. Once he was married, he would banish all thoughts of Megan. Bury his memories of her. Erase Gatlinburg, Tennessee, from his consciousness.

  As it turned out, he didn’t get a chance to share his good news. Or apologize. She made certain they weren’t alone and bade him good-night with Nathan by her side.

  “Thank you for everything, Lucian,” she told him with her arm linked through her cousin’s. “The flowers were a nice touch.” Her appreciative gaze wandered about the room, lighting on the freshly cut bouquets he’d asked Fred to assemble.

  “I would call the evening a success, wouldn’t you?”

  Her eyes touched his only briefly. “Yes, I would.” She addressed Nathan. “What did you think?”

  “It wasn’t a bad way to spend the evening.” He winked at her.

  “Good night, Lucian,” Megan said softly, finally allowing her blue gaze to linger on his face. But he couldn’t read her expression, and it bothered him not to know what she was thinking or feeling.

  “Good night.” Mon bien-aime. My beloved.

  But he mustn’t say that or even allow himself to entertain such a thought.

  He shut the door behind them, leaning back against the polished wood and stained glass. After such a lively evening, the stillness of the house seemed magnified. Despite his reservations, he hadn’t minded having a houseful of strangers. The townspeople had accepted him into their fold without question, most of them friendly.

  As the silence settled over him like a heavy blanket, he felt his aloneness acutely. More than anything, he wished Megan could’ve stayed a little longer and discussed the night. He enjoyed their conversations, was intrigued by her intelligence and insight and wit.

  Her leaving with Nathan was probably for the best, however. Might as well get used to not having her around.

  This time, the heaviness in his chest had nothing to do with not getting enough rest and everything to do with the prospect of leaving her.

  * * *

  At the conclusion of Reverend Monroe’s prayer, Megan turned to exit her pew and was stunned to see Lucian’s familiar form slipping out the door. He hadn’t indicated he would be here today. Surely this was a good sign.

  Outside in the sunshine, she spotted him in the hillside cemetery, a solitary figure outlined against the blue sky studded with clouds. The stout breeze ruffled his hair and tugged at his coattails.

  Nicole stopped beside her, pulling wayward raven strands away from her face put there by the wind. “Are you going to talk to him?”

  “No, I don’t think so.” Although she wanted to. Badly.

  Hadn’t she made enough of a fool of herself around him lately?

  Jane rushed up, breathless, gray skirts swirling about her boots. “The Nortons invited me to lunch with them. Do you mind?”

  Jane, Jessica and Tori Norton were close friends. “Sure. What time do you expect to be home?”

  “Tanner offered to bring me home later this evening.”

  Megan had long suspected Jane was nursing a crush on Tori’s older brother. He was a nice young man, but at twenty a bit too old for her fifteen-year-old sister. Jane had a good head on her shoulders, but Megan worried she might get hurt.

  “Fine, just be home before dark.”

  “Thanks, Megan.” Jane bussed her cheek and dashed off in the direction of the other family’s wagon. The Nortons waved to her. She waved back, then turned to Nicole.

  “Well, I suppose it’s just you and me.”

  “We could always invite Lucian to join us.”
<
br />   Risking another glance at the cemetery, she saw that he hadn’t moved from his spot. What was he thinking? What did he think of the sermon?

  “Not today.”

  Thankful Nicole didn’t question her further, they walked in silence the rest of the way home. They spent a restful afternoon reading and playing chess. Lucian was never far from her thoughts, however. While she’d managed not to look at him while standing in front of the audience, the words she’d spoken had been all for him. Her love for him was like that poem. Unshakable. Accepting of their differences. A love that time could not erase.

  That’s why she hadn’t wanted to risk being alone with him last night, why she hadn’t approached him after church today. She was afraid he’d be able to see it in her eyes, this all-encompassing love. A love he would reject in a heartbeat.

  She stayed away all that week.

  And, although she had every intention of leading story time Friday night, she was stricken with a terrible headache shortly after lunch that afternoon. Nicole begrudgingly agreed to go in her place, not because she liked the kids but because she liked Lucian and his fancy house. She planned to live in an even grander house than that one day, she’d declared. When she returned later that night, she told Megan that Lucian had been even more reserved than usual. Downcast, even.

  Guilt and worry immediately assailed her. Was Nicole exaggerating? Questions pummeled her mind. Was he getting enough rest? Was his arm healing properly? What must he think of her absence this week? Was she right to avoid him?

  Saturday morning, his valet delivered a bouquet of delicate pink roses and a note. With trembling fingers, she opened it and read his fine script.

  Dearest Megan,

  While the children and I were grateful for Nicole’s presence last evening, we missed you.

  I hope this morning finds you much improved. If you have need of anything, please do not hesitate to call on me.

  Your humble servant,

  Lucian

  By the time Sunday morning rolled around, she was desperate to see him.

  Like the previous week, he occupied the last pew, slipping out at the final amen. Megan impatiently wound her way through the crowd and down the steps, relieved when she spotted him in the cemetery. She told her sisters not to wait. Walking up the hill with her skirts lifted off the ground, her pulse quickened in anticipation.

  His back to her, he stood before two headstones, dark head bent.

  “Lucian?”

  He pivoted, the soles of his boots squeaking against the grass. “Megan.” His obsidian eyes raked her from head to toe, searching for...something. His face creased in concern. “Are you well?”

  Warmed by his gaze, she smiled. “I am.” Lowering her skirts, she took an involuntary step closer. “I didn’t have a lot of extra time this week. We stayed busy working in the vegetable garden.”

  “I see.”

  The line between his brows indicated he didn’t. Was trying to work out if she’d stayed away for another reason altogether.

  Before he could pursue the subject, she pointed to where he cradled his arm against his stomach. “How is your arm?”

  “It’s healing. More slowly than I’d like. On doctor’s orders, I’ve been taking off the sling a couple of times each day and exercising my shoulder and biceps. He warned me I’d get stiff if I didn’t.”

  His fawn suit coat hugged his athletic build to perfection, the pale hue lending his sun-bronzed skin a healthy glow. The noonday sun picked out highlights in his hair.

  “Does it pain you?”

  “Only if I make an unexpected movement or forget and clench my fingers.”

  Hating that she had put him in that cast, she only nodded. Gazed at Charles’s headstone and that of his wife, Beatrice, who’d died years before Lucinda left Gatlinburg. Megan came here sometimes to place flowers at his grave, to read to him and imagine him listening from his eternal home above.

  Lucian followed her gaze. “When I was very young, I often wondered what they were like. Like Mother, my father was an only child and his parents died before their marriage. Charles was my only other living relative, and I was quite curious about him. My friends all had these wonderful tales of fun-loving grandfathers who took them fishing and hunting and grandmothers who plied them with chocolates and pulled them onto their laps for hugs and stories. As I grew older, I became more persistent in questioning my mother about him. I wanted to know why he never came to visit. Why we didn’t visit him.

  “When she told me Charles didn’t want to meet me, I couldn’t believe it. Why wouldn’t a grandfather want to know his grandson? I thought something was wrong with me.”

  Hurting for the little boy that he had been, Megan slipped her hand into his larger one. His lean fingers closed around hers, mouth twisting in regret.

  “On occasion, she’d relent and tell me about this place.” He gazed out over the valley, the forested mountains seemingly close enough to touch. “I think...it’s entirely plausible that my mother refused Charles’s requests. It makes sense. She wouldn’t have wanted to upset my father by coming back. Because of her feelings for him, she would’ve denied herself the chance to see her home again, to mend her relationship with Charles. If that meant lying to me— She would’ve done anything, anything at all, to make my father love her.” Bitterness crept into his voice. “Love. Pointless, futile emotion! It got her nothing but misery.”

  Pulling his hand free, he shoved his fingers through his hair. Frustration hummed along his rigid muscles, so intense he almost shook from it. This was why he spurned love. He’d only ever witnessed its destructive power.

  “It doesn’t have to be like that, you know,” she said urgently, curling a restraining hand about his upper arm. “Love doesn’t hurt when it’s right...when God is the foundation.”

  “What does God have to do with it?” His gaze probed hers, sincerely conflicted.

  “Why, everything! God is love. Apart from Him, people are basically selfish, concerned only about our own interests. But with God’s help, we can put others’ needs and interests above our own. We can love sacrificially.”

  He studied her for the longest time, warring emotions marching across his face. Then he smiled such a sad smile it rent her heart in two. “My sweet dreamer, I wish I could believe in the kind of love you do. But I’m afraid I’ve seen too much, endured too much. I’m jaded and cynical and much too hard for the likes of you.”

  “No.” Her grip on his arm tightened. “No, Lucian, you just haven’t had the right kind of examples in your life. I know true love exists because I’ve seen it with my own eyes. My parents had that kind of love. Aunt Mary and Uncle Sam, too. Now Evan and Juliana. Josh and Kate. Their relationships aren’t perfect, of course, because none of us are perfect. But they share a genuine love and commitment to each other. It does exist,” she repeated, determined he see the truth.

  “I’m sorry. You won’t succeed in convincing me.”

  Megan bit her lip. It wasn’t enough to tell him so. He had to see the evidence with his own eyes. Spend time around couples who were committed to each other.

  “Hey,” he murmured, tipping up her chin, “you don’t have to look so sad.”

  “Come to my aunt and uncle’s with me.”

  His black brows winged up.

  “Please,” she added with a beseeching gaze. “Have lunch with my family.”

  “I am rather tired of my own company,” he said ruefully.

  “It will be crowded and noisy like last time. Nothing formal or fancy.”

  “Crowded and noisy sounds perfect.” Lowering his voice to a whisper, he confided, “And to be completely honest, I’m not all that fond of formal or fancy.” Covering her hand, he said, “Shall we?”

  Happy he’d agreed, Megan smiled and allowed him to guide her down t
he hill and along a nearly deserted Main Street. As they passed Tom’s darkened barbershop, she sensed Lucian’s perusal. If he’d noticed Tom’s absence this morning, he made no mention of it.

  They walked in amiable silence, nature’s springtime music a well-orchestrated symphony. Beneath the wooden bridge, the Little Pigeon River churned and crashed over mossy boulders, the hum of rushing water trailing them onto the tree-lined lane that led to her aunt and uncle’s farm and, a mile and a half farther down, her own home. The dense forest on either side popped and cracked, branches swaying in the breeze. Somewhere a woodpecker pecked. Thrushes and warblers whistled and cooed.

  Sneaking a glance at Lucian, she wondered what he was thinking. Wondered if he would ever change his mind about love. About marriage. Would he ever learn to trust again?

  And could she be the one to teach him how?

  Chapter Seventeen

  Rocking on the porch, Sam lifted his head at their arrival and gestured to an empty chair beside him. “Sit and rest a spell, Lucian. The gals will let us know when the meal is ready.”

  Grasping the door handle, Megan smiled her agreement. “It shouldn’t take long.”

  As she disappeared inside, Sam commented, “Hope you brought your appetite. They tend to go overboard for Sunday dinner.”

  Smiling, Lucian lowered himself in the rocking chair. “Since I overslept and had to skip breakfast this morning, I’d say that suits me just fine.”

  “How’s the arm?”

  His fingers grazed the sling. “It’s coming along. Doc wants me to wait two to three more weeks to travel home.”

  Sam gazed at him. “It’s awfully generous of you to leave the house in Megan’s care. Folks around here will be mighty grateful.”

  Lucian studied the older man, judged him to be about the same age as his mother. “How well did you know my grandfather?”

  “Charles? I knew him to be a fair man. Well liked. A responsible member of the community.” He nudged his spectacles farther up his nose. “You probably heard that in recent years he didn’t go out much. He came to church but didn’t attend any functions. Why do you ask?”