by Linda Ford
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.
“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.”
Biddable? He might as well have likened her to a sheep!
Tom moved to stand beside her, large hand curving against her spine. “Hit the road, Crowley.”
“I’m not finished here.”
“If you don’t leave of your own volition, I’ll be happy to escort you off the property.” Undeniable threat laced his words.
Jane shivered. She hadn’t known this side of Tom existed.
“We need to talk, Jane. Alone. Think about it.” With that, Roy smashed his hat on his head and stomped to where he’d left his horse grazing.
Tom turned to her the moment he was gone. “He’s a first-class idiot.” Running his hands lightly down the length of her arms, he studied her closely. “You okay?”
“I’m fine. I just wish he’d been honest with me.”
“Do you love him?”
They were moving into dangerous territory. He couldn’t know her reasons for accepting Roy’s suit. Besides, what right had he to ask?
“That’s not something I’m willing to discuss with you.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. “I’m asking as your friend.”
Pulling away, she hugged her middle. “You’ve been gone a long time, Tom.”
“I wish you wouldn’t shut me out. You told me once I was a good listener.”
Jane closed her eyes, recalling all too vividly how he’d sat and simply let her vent. Sometimes about some petty argument with one of her sisters or a problem at school. More rarely, he’d held her as she’d cried for her father, a man she barely remembered but whose absence she felt every day. Tom hadn’t ever made her feel as if her problems were insignificant, although to him they probably had been.
“Considering everything that’s happened, we can’t go back to the way things used to be.”
“Is that why you won’t watch Clara?” He passed a weary hand over his face. Bewilderment colored his tone. “Because of how I handled things?”
“No. I understand why you did what you did.”
“Then why?”
At a loss, she paced to the far end of the porch, not really registering the neat rows of vegetable plants and the line where the forest took over the land. “I think you should leave. I—I have a lot of work to do.”
Stilted silence met her words. “I won’t keep you from it, then.”
She flinched at the defeat in his rich-as-cream voice. When he’d beckoned his niece to join him, Jane managed a quiet farewell to Clara, all the while avoiding his scrutiny.
This is for the best, she told herself. Reclaiming their former friendship wasn’t a possibility. Creating distance was the wise, practical course.
She simply hadn’t anticipated the depth of pain such a course would inflict.
Chapter Seven
Jane entered the mercantile, wincing when the overhead bell trilled and customers in the aisles and at the long sales counter stopped what they were doing to gape at her. Seventeen days had passed since her almost wedding, and today marked her first foray into public. Jessica had tried to convince her to attend services again this past Sunday, but she hadn’t been able to summon the courage.
She was here this morning only because Jess had refused to come in her stead. Why be ashamed about something that was out of her control, she’d argued. Roy was the one who’d behaved badly, not Jane.
Her twin had a point. And so, she’d dressed in her most sensible frock, sturdy green calico trimmed in black ribbon, with a stiff high collar and three-quarter sleeves. Her scalp hurt from a brisk brushing, the thick mass pulled into a severe knot at the base of her skull. Not one hair was out of place.
Gripping her reticule in nerveless fingers, she took a bracing breath. I can do this.
Her favorite brother-in-law, Quinn Darling, was behind the counter tallying up his customer’s bill. He caught her eye and winked, a roguish grin brightening his handsome face. Sidestepping to the doorway that led to the storeroom and office, he called, “Nic. I need you out here.”
Ni
cole appeared, hands on her hips. “You bellowed, my dear?” Jet-black eyebrows arching above her stunning violet eyes, a sparkle of affection belied her dry tone.
Quinn tipped his head in Jane’s direction. “Your sister’s here.”
Jane approached the counter, gaze trained on Nicole, whose gently rounded tummy was barely visible beneath the ice-blue ruffles of her dress. They were expecting their first child, and Jane could hardly contain her excitement. Quinn would be a natural, of course. Nicole, on the other hand, hadn’t had much experience with children. It would be fascinating to observe her with a newborn.
“Jane, sweetie.” Coming around the counter, Nicole draped an arm about her shoulders and guided her right back through the entrance and onto the boardwalk, choosing an empty bench tucked up against the building. “We’ll have more privacy out here, believe it or not.”
They sat and fluffed out their skirts. “I’m glad to see you out and about,” she said, brushing an errant curl behind her ear.
“I’m done with hiding.”
An older couple passed, whispering together when they noticed Jane. The woman even glanced back over her shoulder and would’ve stumbled if her husband hadn’t caught her. Across the dusty street, a gaggle of young girls pointed their direction. What was she, a circus act? She fought the impulse to bolt.
Nicole covered her hand, an unusual display of affection. Marriage to Quinn had wrought many positive changes in her previously standoffish sister. “This will pass. A month from now, they’ll have forgotten. Moved on to the next bit of news.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“There’s no question,” she quipped with a smile.
“How are you?” Jane tried not to stare at her expanding waistline. “Still exhausted?”
“Not as bad as before. Quinn’s insisting I get off my feet every couple of hours. He’s being very careful with me.”
“And you love every minute of it,” Jane teased softly, truly happy for her sister.
