After the Storm

by Jo Ann Ferguson

  “Yes.”

  “I think so, too.” He took her hand again and curved her fingers over his. Raising them to his lips, he kissed them with a light touch that contradicted the craving in his voice. “Like I said, this would all be so much easier if you didn’t look as if your dress might fall apart at any time. It keeps taking my attention from what I need to think about, because I’d be a fool not to watch to see when the tatters win.”

  With a laugh, she shook her head. “Such words are sure to turn any woman’s head.”

  His fingers tightened on hers. “The way you look is sure to turn any man’s. You’ve got a softness about you, Cailin, that belies the steel within you. Your eyes are filled with a sensuality that’s hard to ignore.”

  “Can you?”

  “I don’t know.” He released her hand and sighed. “I honestly don’t know.”

  “The children—”

  “Forget the children.” He pulled her into his arms and claimed her mouth with a feverish kiss.

  She surrendered to the pleasure of his lips on hers, his arms sweeping up her back, his strong legs hard against her skirt. Yet, even as she ran her fingers along his shoulders and up into his hair, she knew they had simply traded one lie for another. Neither of them could ever forget—not even in the midst of a kiss—the children neither of them wanted to lose.

  Eight

  Samuel expected the looks when he arrived at the next meeting of the library committee and walked into the schoolhouse with the children … and Cailin. Why wouldn’t everyone be curious about the woman who had followed her children and the orphan train to Haven?

  Maybe he had been wrong to invite her here tonight. He wanted her to see Haven was a good place for her kids. Bringing her to the school would be a reminder of what her children had not had in Ireland.

  Beside him, she was silent while she surveyed the room and the people gawking at her. He felt her hand brush his leg when she tugged carefully at her dress to twist the skirt enough to hide the line of patches down the left side. That was his other reason for asking her to come here tonight. He had hoped she would realize she needed to set aside her pride.

  She had held tightly to that blasted pride when he had taken her with him to Emma’s store two days earlier and picked a bolt of emerald green fabric off a shelf. He had asked, “Do you like the color?”

  “I like any color as long as it isn’t black,” she had answered as they stood near the back of the store, where a woodstove was flanked by two rocking chairs.

  He laughed. “Or pink?”

  “Pink isn’t one of my favorite colors either.”

  Looking past her, he said, “All right, Emma, we’ll take the bolt, too.”

  Cailin gasped, “What?” She tugged on Samuel’s sleeve and whispered, “I don’t have the money to pay for that.”

  “I didn’t say you were going to have to pay for it.”

  “I can’t take it as a gift.”

  “Then consider it an advance on your earnings.”

  She hesitated, and he thought she would be sensible. Then she shook her head. “No, I can’t agree to that either.”

  “Because you’re saving every penny to take the children back to Ireland?”

  “Why are you making it a question? You know that’s why I’m working in your house.”

  He exchanged a long look with Emma, then said, “We won’t be taking it.”

  “Are you sure?” Emma’s face was lined with dismay. “I can’t promise how long it will be here. It’s such a lovely fabric.”

  “It is, but no thank you.” Cailin picked up the newspaper and handed it to Samuel. “Good afternoon, Emma.”

  Bidding Emma a good day, Samuel followed Cailin out onto the porch and helped her onto the wagon seat. He was not sure if she would be furious or chilly, but he had not guessed she would be quiet with sorrow.

  It might have been easier to insist she be sensible if he were not so uneasy about asking the questions that had been banging around in his head since she had fallen into his arms at the door. One thing he knew for certain—it would be a whole lot simpler if Cailin Rafferty was not so easy to look at. A man could get lost in her eyes, which were the brown of plowed earth on a rainy day. When they were sad, as they were now, he found himself longing to bring a smile back to her face.

  A knife seemed to slice into him when, as they left the village, she said softly, “I thought you’d understand.”

  “I understand you’re too proud to accept what you see as charity. It’s not charity. I wanted you to have something decent to wear.” He plucked at her skirt. “This is going to fall apart one of these days.”

  She turned slightly on the seat so he could see her profile. “So this was just a way to persuade me to stay longer by having me work to repay you for the cost of the fabric?”

  “If you’ll recall, I told you that I intended to buy the fabric for you as a gift, but you were too stubborn to accept.”

  “It’s not that I’m stubborn. I … I just can’t.”

  “Now I don’t understand.” His eyes narrowed. “Or do I? You think I’m only pretending to be nice to you. Why?”

  “You’re wrong.”

  Samuel had not been able to get her to explain further. So he had brought her to this meeting, where she would have to look the facts in the face. Just as the others in the crowded room were looking at her.

  “Samuel! Glad to see you here.”

  He smiled when he saw Noah Sawyer walking toward him. Noah’s hair was several shades browner than Cailin’s, and sawdust clung to one leg of his trousers. He must have come directly from working in his wood lot to this meeting.

  “Noah, good to see you.” He shook his friend’s hand. Like Samuel, Noah was a relative newcomer to Haven, another who had been welcomed and made to feel so much at home that he cared deeply about what happened in the small town. “Noah, this is Cailin Rafferty. Cailin, Noah Sawyer.”

  “How do you do, Mr. Sawyer?” Cailin asked quietly.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Rafferty. Sean has told me how pleased these youngsters are to have you back with them.” He ruffled Brendan’s hair and smiled at the girls.

  All three children giggled.

  “Just a warning,” Noah said, looking back at Samuel. “Some folks are already hot under the collar. Tonight might be the night to say what you told me when we last talked. It’s no night for you to stay mum. I know you don’t like adding fire to an argument, but the library’s future may depend on some common sense, and you’ve got that, along with the respect of some of these hotheads.”

  Samuel did not need to glance at Cailin, for her shock pierced him. He never withheld his opinions from her or avoided any exchange of heated words. Later he would have to explain how sometimes his words carried too much weight, because nobody forgot he had practiced the law before he came to Haven.

  “I’ll say what I have to say when the time’s right,” he replied. “I suspect tonight will be the night, Noah.”

  “If you don’t speak up, there may not be another night to discuss a library for a very long time.”

  Nodding, Samuel steered Cailin toward the front of the room. All the seats at the back were taken. No one tried to hide their stares as they walked toward empty desks. He could hear Cailin’s unspoken questions as if she shouted them, but now was not the time to explain her misconceptions.

  She was not what he had imagined from the few comments the children had made. But, then, he could not expect a child to notice how all her curves were in the right places and the right proportions. For a moment, he enjoyed the gentle sway of her skirt while she listened to Brendan and Megan pointing out aspects of the classroom to her. Her skirt’s motion complemented her reddish hair bouncing down her back, where it was tied with a bright green ribbon.

  Megan tugged on her mother’s hand and said, “This is where I sit, Mama!” She slid quickly onto the middle of the bench behind the long, low desk. “Brendan is on the other si
de and back a row. Come and sit with me, Mama.”

  “Me, too?” asked Lottie.

  Before Megan’s pout could be put into words, Cailin said, “I think there’s room for everyone. Brendan, I hope you don’t mind having to sit in this seat as well.” She smiled. “Unless, of course, you’d rather go back outside and play with your friends.”

  Brendan nodded eagerly, gave her a kiss on the cheek, and ran out, with Megan close at his heels.

  Taking Lottie’s hand, she sat where Megan had been. “Lottie, let’s sit where you’ll be sitting when you go to school in a year.”

  “So you’re planning on her going to school here?” Samuel could not keep from asking.

  “I won’t have fare for all of us by the time she’s ready for school.” Cailin’s smile wavered as she helped Lottie onto the bench.

  He sat next to her, although there was little space for his legs. He wondered how she managed to sit as primly as a lady overseeing a tea tray when she must be cramped, too. As he stretched his arm along the back of the bench, because he had nowhere else to put it, he heard a rustle of whispers behind him. Cailin’s shoulders stiffened, so he knew she had heard it as well.

  Noah sat behind them just as Reverend Faulkner walked up to where Alice Underhill usually stood when she was teaching. A man Samuel had never seen before walked behind the minister.

  He stared at the stranger, just as the others had at Cailin. The man was shorter than most of the men in the room, although he was a head taller than the minister. His light brown hair was brushed back from his forehead, and his clothing clearly had been made by an excellent tailor of expensive material. Beneath his wool trousers, the toes of his boots had a sheen that suggested he had never worn them before.

  “Who is that?” he asked over his shoulder.

  “Lord Thanington,” Noah replied.

  “Excuse me?” Lord Thanington? He turned in his seat, wondering how he could have heard Noah so wrong.

  Noah frowned. “Lord Thanington. He bought what was left of the River’s Haven property last week.”

  “An English lord here in Haven?”

  “Apparently he wants to get out from under his father’s thumb. His brother will inherit the baron’s title, so Lord Thanington decided to come here.”

  Before he could ask another question, Cailin said, “Then he isn’t a lord.”

  “Excuse me?” he asked again.

  Her gaze was focused on the man beside Reverend Faulkner. “Mr. Sawyer—”

  “Noah,” his friend corrected.

  “Noah mentioned his father and older brother. His father is the holder of the title, and his brother might have a courtesy title as the heir. This man would not.” She smiled tightly. “Save for one he gave himself to impress you.”

  Samuel glanced from her to Lord Thanington, who was holding court among the others crowding the front of the room. “He seems to believe he’s Lord Thanington.”

  “He can’t be.”

  “You seem very sure of that.”

  She met his eyes steadily. “I am. You Americans may have forgotten the intricacies of the British peerage, but in Ireland we’re well-acquainted with them. As a baron’s second son, he can’t claim the title of lord.”

  Samuel said nothing, but stood and walked toward the self-styled Lord Thanington. That the man had come to this meeting might mean something more than just a chance to get to know his new neighbors. If so, Samuel wanted to know what.

  He listened while others gushed over Thanington. People who should have known better were almost falling over each other and their own feet to ingratiate themselves with the man. Thanington offered a cool hauteur that suggested this was his due, but Samuel noted how his eyes glittered with pleasure.

  Standing back, Samuel did not have to wait long for Thanington to take note of him. The man proved he was no fool, because he immediately tried to appraise Samuel, as if he could not comprehend why Samuel was not joining in with the fawning.

  The minister motioned for Samuel to come closer. “Samuel, I know you’ll want to meet your new neighbor. This is Lord Thanington.” He glanced at Thanington. “Milo Thanington, correct?”

  “Yes, that’s correct, Vicar,” the Englishman said with a cultured accent. His smile was exactly the right warmth when he added, “Forgive me. Vicar isn’t an American term. I should have said, Reverend Faulkner.”

  “Lord Thanington,” the minister gushed, as if he had invented the whole situation, “this is Samuel Jennings, who owns the farm on Nanny Goat Hill Road right on the border of your land.”

  “The farm between my land and the river?” Thanington asked, still looking at the minister.

  “Yes.” A bit of Reverend Faulkner’s smile faded.

  That and Thanington’s curt question were all the warning Samuel needed. This man who had given himself a title had his eye on Samuel’s land. Samuel could tell Thanington right now not to contemplate an offer for the farm. He was not leaving Haven. But if Cailin left with the children, would he want to remain in the empty, too silent house?

  “Welcome to Haven, Thanington,” he said, with smile he had not worn since the last time he had appeared in front of a judge. “It’ll be good to have someone using what’s left of River’s Haven’s property.”

  “Ah, so you are Mr. Jennings.” Thanington did not hold out his hand. “You are the one who has been behind this little project.”

  “I’m one of several residents who believe a library would be a great asset to Haven.” He would not let Thanington’s condescending tone irritate him. In Cincinnati, he had learned such a ploy put one on the defensive, a poor position to take while sizing up someone else.

  “I see.” He smiled. “That must be your little family in the front row. Three children and such a lovely wife? You’re a lucky man, Jennings.”

  Three children? He looked back. Cailin sat with Lottie on her lap and her arm around Megan. When Brendan sat where Samuel had, the boy leaned toward his mother. Protecting her? From what? Those were questions he might be better off leaving unanswered, along with why the older children were not outside with their friends.

  Hearing a rumble of thunder, he chuckled under his breath. At least one question was easily answered.

  Meeting Thanington’s eyes squarely, he suspected the Englishman knew the exact situation at Samuel’s farm. Thanington wanted to get Samuel off balance by having to explain that Cailin was not his wife even though she lived under his roof. Not sure what the man’s ploy was, for everyone in Haven must know of Cailin’s arrival by now, Samuel silenced his next chuckle. If Thanington thought he would embarrass Samuel, the man had a lot to learn about him, and about Haven.

  “I am a lucky man,” he said. Looking past Thanington with an expression that dismissed the Englishman as no longer of interest, he asked, “Reverend Faulkner, may I speak with you privately for a moment?”

  “Yes … yes, of course.” The minister excused himself, backing away with as much deference as if Thanington had abruptly ascended to the British throne.

  Cailin hushed her children as Samuel and the minister went to talk by a desk set at one side of the platform that was raised about four inches from the floor. She was interested in hearing how Miss Underhill listened to recitations at her desk, but she was more intrigued by what Samuel was saying to the minister. From where she was sitting, she had been privy to every word said when Samuel and the so-called Lord Thanington were introduced.

  “Madam,” murmured a voice in front of her.

  She stared at the Englishman, who had come to stand on the other side of the desk while she had been watching Samuel. “Sir?”

  “I was just speaking with Mr. Jennings and congratulating him on his fine family, so I thought I’d come over and introduce myself.” He plucked her hand from around Lottie and bowed over it. “Milo Thanington, Mrs.—”

  “Cailin,” she interrupted before he addressed her as “Mrs. Jennings.” The children would react to that, and Samuel must have
some reason why he had not told this man the truth. “We’re quite informal in Haven, sir.”

  “Irish, I hear from your accent.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  His eyes narrowed when she did not call him “my lord.” He opened his mouth to reply, but Lottie slid off Cailin’s lap and chirped, “Dahi! I—”

  “Shh,” Cailin cautioned. Before she could remind Lottie that this was not the time to interrupt, Reverend Faulkner hit a ruler on the desk to get everyone’s attention.

  Mr. Thanington went to sit by the opposite wall, near enough to the platform that no one could mistake his importance to this meeting.

  “Who is that?” asked Brendan. “Is he the high-and-mighty fancy lord everyone was talking about?”

  “Where did you get such words?”

  “Grandpa used to use them when he was talking about British lords.”

  Cailin smiled. “Grandpa wasn’t fond of anything British, but we’re in America now. You must be respectful to all your elders.”

  “He wasn’t too respectful to Samuel,” Megan muttered.

  “I’ll survive, Half-pint,” Samuel said, sitting on the bench again. As the little girl grinned at him, he added, “Cailin, I know you heard what he said about—”

  “Maybe it would be better to speak of that later.”

  He smiled and nodded.

  She doubted Samuel would be so grateful if he realized why she wanted to avoid the subject. Too many eyes had watched her while she sat here. She should have guessed what would happen when Samuel invited her to come to this meeting tonight.

  When Lottie shifted on her lap and she heard a thread snap on her dress, she tightened her hold around the little girl. Maybe she should have accepted the green fabric to make a dress. But how could she, when every kindness put her more in his debt? A debt she would repay only with grief at the moment she left with the children.

  Nine