by Linda Ford
He sidled closer. “I care about you, Jane. I know exactly how you’re feeling right now. Megan’s rejection may not have been a public spectacle, but everyone in town heard about it.” His fingertips grazed her knuckles. “It must be difficult dealing with the attention. You were brave to come here tonight. I’m proud of you.”
He had no idea of the true reason for her distress.
“I don’t love Roy.” She threw her hands up. “I was marrying him because…” Because I was desperate to get over you. “We were well suited. But not in love. Not like my sister and Lucian.”
He was quiet a long time. Then he tipped his head to one side. “You think I’m still crazy about her.”
Glad of the cover of darkness, she folded her arms across her middle. “I think it’s going to be tough for any other woman to measure up to her in your mind.”
He let loose a surprised laugh. “We were close once upon a time, and I will always admire her. She’s built a good life with him. I couldn’t have made her happy. Not like he has.”
Jane heard the conviction behind his assertion yet found it hard to fully accept. For years she’d told herself he’d never love anyone else, that no other woman stood a chance with him.
“For what it’s worth, I’m relieved your feelings weren’t engaged,” he said quietly. “At least you were spared a broken heart.”
Oh, her feelings were engaged, all right. Just not with Roy.
Laughter trickled through the foliage on their right. Whispers followed.
Tom stiffened, moved to block Jane with his body. “Who’s there?”
They heard what sounded like a hushed male voice. Then unrushed footsteps.
Jane’s jaw dropped when she recognized the approaching pair. “Jessica!”
Even in the faint light, she could make out her twin’s sheepish expression. Holding tight to her hand, Lee had the nerve to grin, teeth flashing.
“Sorry to disturb you,” he said. “Jess and I were enjoying a private conversation.”
Unspeaking, Tom moved so that he stood shoulder to shoulder with Jane, his hand coming to rest lightly against her lower back. The contact both comforted her and left her wanting.
Jane wasn’t sure what to say. The courting couple had surely been indulging in more than mere conversation. The deserted woods were the perfect place for a few stolen kisses. And that led her thoughts to that ill-conceived water fight and what had happened afterward.
“We’re going to get some food,” Jessica said at last. “Will you join us?”
“No.” Jane wasn’t ready to return. “The barn’s stuffy and crowded. I’m staying out here for a while.”
They didn’t try to change her mind. As they passed hand in hand, Lee winked at Tom. “Enjoy your privacy.” Jane’s cheeks heated. “Sorry about that. I don’t know what she sees in him.”
“Have you told her you have reservations?” He put distance between them, sliding his hand in his pockets.
“She’s smitten with him. If I were to say something, her defense would be that we have different taste in men.”
“Makes sense that she would be attracted to a charismatic man like Cavanaugh.”
“What bothers me is that we don’t know much about him. Like Roy, he doesn’t have roots in Gatlinburg. There are no family members or friends of his around. Do you know she’s never been to his home? He could reside in a tent, for all we know.”
“Maybe he’s slovenly.” She sensed rather than saw his smile.
“You’ve seen how he dresses.”
“Good point. Why don’t you just ask her about it?”
“Don’t you think it’s odd that a farmer would have the money for such a wardrobe? Did you see his cuff links? They were gold with diamond studs.”
“Maybe his family has money.” With a soft laugh, he draped his arm about her shoulders, reminding her of how they used to be with each other. “Talk to her, Jane. You’ll feel better.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Come on, let’s go stand by the fire. I’ll get you something to drink.”
While Tom went inside to fetch them lemonade, Jane meandered past kids playing tag and young men tossing nuts into the fire. She found a secluded spot at the barn’s far corner and studied the night sky. Several sturdy toolsheds flanked a grouping of outbuildings draped in darkness. Above her, stars winked in interesting patterns.
Movement registered in her peripheral vision. A big man moved between the horses and wagons and crossed the night-cloaked yard. She recognized his profile instantly. Where was Lee headed? The outhouses were in the opposite direction.
Sticking close to the outer wall, she stood very still in the hopes he wouldn’t see her if he looked back. Intent on his destination, he hurried to the nearest shed and disappeared behind it. A match flared. She stretched her neck for a better view. There was another man, an elderly bachelor who lived alone on the outskirts of town and didn’t often participate in town activities. Something small and shiny—coins, perhaps?—passed between the two. And then Lee pushed a mason jar into the man’s hands.
What in the world?
The light flickered out. Seconds later, a large form separated from the shadowy buildings.
Jane sucked in a sharp breath and ducked around the corner. Had he seen her?
Not sure why her heartbeat was so out of control, she walked along the exterior in search of Tom, unaware of the activity around her.
Be reasonable, Jane. Lee’s actions are likely innocent.
She had no cause to suspect him of wrongdoing. She couldn’t let her poor opinion of him cloud her common sense. Still, worry lodged in her chest and refused to go away.
*
In the days since the dance, the strain between him and Jane had all but disappeared.
She’d apparently put the kiss behind her. He wished he could. The entire episode frequented his dreams, the memory of her response branded on his brain, replaying again and again.
She must not have been as affected as he’d originally thought.
He should be glad. Not miffed that his kiss had been so easily dismissed.
Tom let himself in the cabin midafternoon and was immediately enveloped by a rich, berry-sweetened aroma. Emitting a good-natured groan, he removed his boots and hat and, hands on his hips, soaked in the sight of his messy kitchen and the two females in the midst of it.
“Please tell me you have extra of whatever it is you’re making.”
Behind the high work surface separating the table from the cookstove and dry sink, Jane was helping Clara roll out dough. Flour dusting her nose, the little girl’s grin was wide. The happiness in her eyes elicited a smile of his own.
Jane was responsible for that happiness. No question she cared about Clara. Watching the pair of them together, he wondered how she’d be able to bring herself to leave. Admit it, Leighton. You’re hoping she’ll change her mind.
“We’re making cobbler,” Clara announced proudly.
“What kind?” he said.
“Blackberry.”
Jane’s tender smile transformed her. He’d glimpsed a number of those smiles lately, and he rejoiced that her guardedness around him had receded. See? This is a good thing.
Tom walked across the worn floorboards toward her, consumed suddenly with the wish that she was a permanent part of their family. He had no trouble picturing her here every morning, noon and night, a nurturing and compassionate mother for his niece.
Get that crazy notion out of your head, he told himself. She didn’t see him as husband material. Besides, he wouldn’t be content with a marriage based on anything but true, abiding love. As for Jane, he was sadly lacking answers. While she didn’t strike him as the type to settle, she’d admitted that she hadn’t loved Roy. What, then, had been her motivation?
Quickly washing up, he moved closer to survey their work.
“I believe I should sample that one.” He pointed to the golden-crusted dessert near the stove behind h
im. Deep purple juices were visible beneath the latticework.
Merriment danced across Jane’s features. “That’s for the café. You’ll have to be patient.”
He reached past her to snag a berry from the bowl, a movement that brought their faces within inches of each other. “I’m not a very patient man when it comes to cobbler.”
Grinning, he popped the fruit in his mouth and chewed. Her gaze snagged on the motion and stayed there. His grin faded, and all his nerve endings stood to attention. She was right in front of him. So close. And so beautiful his common sense fled.
He’d dipped his head a fraction when she sidled sideways, reached for the flour sack and flicked the fine powder at him with both hands. He glanced at the white dots peppering his shirt and, when he looked up, Clara’s mouth formed an O.
“You want to play?” he said in a mock threatening tone. “We’ll play.”
Before Jane could react, he smashed a berry in his fingers and smeared it across her cheek. Her jaw dropped. “You didn’t just do that.”
He laughed and repeated the action, this time targeting her other cheek. A glob of mashed fruit hit the floor. Her luminous eyes flared, promising retaliation.
“Let’s get him, Clara,” she cried.
And suddenly he was ducking two pairs of hands tossing sugar and flour at him. He managed to fight back, getting flour on his niece’s cheeks and in her hair. Jane succeeded in smushing berries on his shirt. He and Megan hadn’t played like this. He’d been too busy trying to impress her.
Laughing, he seized her arms and pinned them to her sides, easily subduing her squirming.
“Now what are you going to do, Janie girl?”
White streaked her upswept hair, and tendrils had escaped to caress her cheeks. Breathing hard, she was laughing up at him, uncaring of her appearance and fully rooted in the moment—a poignant reminder of the lighthearted girl she used to be. Mystifying emotion locked him in its grip, more complex than fondness and far deeper than physical attraction. It jolted him.
Clara tugged on his wrist. “Let her go, Uncle Tom.”
He did as she asked, thankful for the distraction. He tugged lightly on one of her curls. “I wasn’t going to hurt her, birdie. You know that, right?”
“We were just playing,” Jane added softly, already wiping the mess from her face.
Clara seemed to have trouble understanding. “Adults play, too? Like kids?”
“Not as often.” Moistening a towel in the water pail, he crouched to her level and set about cleaning her up. “Adults have a lot of serious work to tend to. But we like to have fun, just like you.”
She was too young to recall her parents’ interactions. Charles had liked to tease Jenny and sometimes tickled her until she begged him to stop. Sadness barreled through him, erasing the frivolity of moments ago. Clara would never know her mother. And if Charles didn’t come to his senses, she wouldn’t know her father, either.
Quiet descended after that. They worked together to restore the kitchen to rights. When it was finished, he strode to the door and pulled on his boots.
“I’m going to work on the smokehouse.” The rear wall had been damaged during his long absence, possibly due to a storm, and he needed to fix it so he could hang hams and other meats in there. “Do you need anything?” He smoothed out his hat’s crown.
“No. I’ll have your cobbler on the table in about an hour.”
“Fine.”
Closing the door behind him, Tom stopped at the window and peered in, observing the pair through the wavy glass. If he were to marry, Clara would benefit in many ways. She’d experience what it meant to have both a mother and father. Problem was, he couldn’t picture any other woman in his life besides Jane.
Chapter Fourteen
“Will you stay for supper?”
Jane stirred the venison stew one final time and, setting aside the ladle, turned to Clara. “I wish I could, sweetheart, but Mrs. Greene’s customers will be disappointed if they don’t get dessert. Maybe another time.”
“Tomorrow?”
Smiling, she untied her apron and tucked it in a drawer. “We’ll see.”
Tom waited by the door with her crate in his arms. To ease his niece’s disappointment, he said, “After supper, you can show me the alphabet letters you practiced today. Jane told me your handwriting has improved.”
“Will you read me a story after?”
“Sure thing, little bird.” He looked at the mantel clock. “We’d better not keep Jane.”
Jane noted his resignation. He’d been quiet since their spontaneous food fight, which was unlike him. After saying goodbye to Clara, she gathered her things and followed him to the wagon waiting in the yard.
He met her on the far side and would’ve assisted her onto the seat if she hadn’t stopped him. “What’s bothering you, Tom?”
“I’ve a lot on my mind, that’s all.” He reached for her waist. She placed her hand flat against his chest, and his eyes delved into hers.
“I thought you trusted me.”
“I do.”
“I’ve shared my troubles with you.”
“Not all of them.”
The excursion to the cave reasserted itself. He’d been teasing her about the journal, and she’d reacted out of sheer panic. Overreacted, actually. Still rattled, she’d referred to an insurmountable problem. What would he say if he knew he was the problem?
“I guess I deserved that.”
Hands dropping to his sides, he frowned. “Guess I’m not used to having anyone willing to listen. I’ve been dealing with my problems alone for a while now.”
“I don’t like seeing you upset.”
“I worry, okay? About Clara. About whether or not I can give her everything she needs.” Pacing away, he sliced the air with his hand. “That scene in there today… She doesn’t remember what her parents were like together. Doesn’t remember having a mother who doted on her or a father who—” He hung his head. “Sometimes I get so angry at Charles I can’t see straight. If he were here right now, I’m not sure I could forgive him.”
Jane longed to hold him, to soothe away his hurt. “You’ve a right to be angry.”
“I understand he’s grieving. If you’d seen the two of them together…” Sorrow carved lines in his face. “Jenny was a wonderful woman. I miss her, too. And I hate that Clara won’t get a chance to know her. I just want him to come home. She deserves better.”
“Despite everything he’s done, he’s still your brother. You still love him.”
He passed a weary hand over his face. “Yeah.”
Unable to resist offering him comfort, she took his hand in between hers and held it. “You haven’t been alone all this time, you know. God has been with you, giving you the strength to do whatever necessary to care for that precious child. You are not only providing her with a good, safe home, you’re giving her what she needs most. Love. Acceptance. Guidance.”
The muscle in his jaw worked. Jane lost herself in the swirling emotion in his beautiful eyes. When he dipped his head to rest his forehead against hers, his body coming close and radiating heat, she closed her eyes and reveled in the brief moment of rightness, of connection. More than anything, she yearned to be the one he turned to in times of trouble, the one he rejoiced with during the good times.
You’re not the kind of woman he wants for a wife, she reminded herself. You’re too timid, too closed off. Too practical.
“I have to go,” she murmured, aching to remain here for the remainder of the day.
Pulling away, he nodded, countenance shadowed. “Thank you, Jane. You’re a good listener.”
“That’s what friends are for, right?” Her voice shook.
His brows drew together. Before he could speak, she grabbed the springs and hauled herself up. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
He waved as she set the team in motion, a lonely, solitary figure that tugged on her heartstrings. Already it hurt to leave them every night. It ha
d been difficult to refuse Clara’s request. What she wanted was to join them at the supper table, hold hands with them as Tom said grace in his rich voice, listen as Clara regaled him with all they’d done that day.
Giving him a time limit had been a wise move. A visit to her aunt’s was exactly what she needed to put her mind on something other than her thwarted dreams.
Mulling over their conversation, she drove into town and guided the wagon behind the row of businesses housing the café. Mrs. Greene noticed her distraction and commented on it. Jane apologized, citing fatigue. They briefly discussed her dessert order for the remainder of the week, and Jane exited out the kitchen door leading into the alley.
Male voices drifted from the trash barrels to her left. One of them she recognized as Lee’s. Rushing to the wagon, she kept her head down, using the high seat as cover. Peeking through the space underneath the wooden bench, she saw him with a couple of middle-aged men who looked as if they hadn’t bathed in weeks.
She watched as they handed him a handful of coins. In exchange, he gave them each a mason jar filled with clear liquid. Her stomach plummeted to her toes. Was that corn liquor? It wasn’t uncommon for families in the region to make batches of moonshine and sometimes brandy for themselves and neighbors—small operations that mostly went unnoticed by the government’s revenue collectors.
Jane’s great-uncle hadn’t escaped notice, however. Peter O’Malley had died in defiance of tax laws and in the name of independence. Not interested in giving up his property, he’d clashed with federal agents and gotten shot in the process. Illegal stills and trouble went hand in hand.
If Lee was operating one, Jessica needed to know.
The shortest man shook the jar and squinted at the contents.
“This batch is at least 115 proof,” Lee said, glancing impatiently around.
Apparently satisfied with what he saw, he gave a hearty nod. The other one shook his jar, as well, similarly pleased. Pocketing the money, Lee doffed his hat and strode in the opposite direction.
Jane debated what to do. Accusing Lee without solid evidence would not sway Jess. She’d demand proof. Part of her hoped her suspicions were wrong. While she wasn’t crazy about the man, her twin was enamored.
