Natalie peered into the basket, masking her dismay on viewing the pitiful contents. “Potatoes? Does this mean I need to go to the market?” Come to think of it, she couldn't remember the last time she had gone to replenish the pantry.
Jo shrugged. “We have plenty of potatoes in the garden, and there's still a lot of apples to be picked. I'll gather the eggs later for supper. We're not starving, Natty."
Not starving.She winced. No, they weren't starving, but the children needed something besides potatoes, apples and eggs! She should have been more observant, more responsible ... But right now, they were off for a swim; tomorrow she would buy what they needed. Smiling brightly at the gloomy faces surrounding her, she rubbed her tummy and attempted to bring a little sunshine into the house. “Roasted potatoes—my favorite."
"I hate roasted potatoes,” Cole muttered.
"I hate potatoes of any kind,” Brett added. He shot Jo a sour look as if she were responsible. “How come she gets to stay and we have to go with you?"
Natalie sighed, wishing she understood their reluctance to take a break from their work. Most children would be anxious to go for a picnic and a swim on such a beautiful day. “Jo is older. She doesn't want to go with us."
"Neither do I,” Cole responded.
Lori poked at one of the crackling skins of the potatoes and made a face. “Can't we have something else? And I don't want to go with you—you said I couldn't swim anyway!"
Patience, Natalie. “No, you can't swim because you've been sick, but you need the fresh air and sunshine just like Cole and Brett do. Jo works in the garden, so she gets out of the house."
Despite their rumblings along the mountain trail, by the time they reached the creek they were hot and thirsty—and the boys were eager to jump into the refreshing water for a swim. She sat on the bank with Lori making mud pies; she didn't have the heart to swim without her.
As children sometimes do, they soon forgot their worries. Cole and Brett made a game out of splashing the girls. She and Lori squealed in pretend outrage, secretly enjoying the sprinkling of water.
No one seemed to be hungry.
When they headed for home, Natalie noted with satisfaction that they all looked refreshed and happy. She, on the other hand, felt like a limp rag. Her hair was damp, prompting the curls to spring into tiny ringlets from her thick single braid; her dress front was soaked through, and her bare feet were caked with mud.
They'd had fun.
She was very pleased with herself for not thinking about that rotten Elliot Montgomery. Not once in the last two hours had she wondered why he hadn't returned to Ivy House since early last week. He was still in town, she knew. Marla kept her informed.
Eyes on the trail ahead, she thrust out her chin.. Maybe Elliot was a coward, and was spending his time gathering his non-existent courage.
After all, it must take a lot of courage to close an orphanage and leave four helpless orphans homeless!
"Natty, I'm tired. Will you carry me? Just for a little bit while I rest?"
Jolted from her reflections about Elliot, she blinked and gazed down at Lori's upturned face. Her heart melted. “Sure I will, honey.” Before she could shift the basket and her shoes to the arm and oblige the child, however, Cole volunteered to ride Lori piggy back.
The moment Lori was settled, he took off down the trail at a mad gallop, mimicking a horse with remarkable likeness. Natalie laughed as Lori held on for dear life and began to scream in mock terror. Brett jumped out from behind a tree and began to growl ferociously, stalking them like a wild bear.
She vowed to plan outings like this more often. The children needed serenity and happiness in their lives, not fear, lack of proper nourishment, and hours of hard work.
They should never have to worry about someone taking their home away.
Following the noisy children, she vowed that someday they would never, ever have to suffer this agonizing suspense again.
When they reached Ivy House she dropped her muddy shoes on the porch and entered the foyer. Her nose twitched. Something smelled wonderful! Not chicken, but ... beef? How on earth—!
"Jo? What are you cooking?” She ventured into the kitchen, a keen feeling of foreboding skimming her nerve endings. Jo stood by the ancient cook stove stirring something in the heavy iron pot they used to make soups and stews. With each stroke, the smell of beef wafted upward in the air, filling the kitchen with its rich aroma.
Not chicken, but beef. How long since they'd had the luxury of beef? Ages and ages. Last Christmas, if her memory served her right.
Jo removed the spoon and replaced the lid. “Supper should be ready in about a half an hour. Did y'all enjoy yourselves?"
Natalie frowned, frozen in the doorway. Jo was avoiding not only her question, but her eyes as well. “Jo, where did you get the beef for the stew?” she asked quietly.
With a typical shrug, Jo tried to make light of her answer. “Someone gave it to us."
She gripped the door frame. “Someone?"
Tilting her chin, Jo finally faced her. “All right, Mr. Montgomery brought the beef."
"But, Jo—"
"And I invited him to dinner."
"What!” Natalie felt faint. Elliot was coming to dinner!
"He was nice enough to bring us the beef, so I asked him if he'd like to eat supper with us. He said he'd be delighted."
She swayed. Elliot apparently suffered a guilty conscious, but did he really believe an offering of food would soften the blow? No one could be that naive, she thought with angry amazement. Licking her dry lips, she asked hoarsely, “When did he say he would be back?"
"He should be here anytime now. Natty, you're not mad at me, are you? Wasn't it the right thing to do, since he brought the beef?” Jo brushed her hands nervously across her apron. It was the most feminine article of clothing she would allow herself to wear. “He looked kinda lonely."
Lord! It was worse than she thought. He had managed to make Jo feel sorry for him. Her gaze went to the painting of the Last Supper hung on the wall above the kitchen table. Would this supper be any different? He'd eat with them, tease the children, make them laugh, pretend to be their friend—then calmly take their home. Yes, Elliot was a Judas amongst them, smiling and seemingly innocent.
Natalie had never been so certain of anything in her life.
And this certainty filled her with incredible sadness for what might have been, had he been anyone other than the man that controlled their very future.
* * * *
"The stew is delicious,” Elliot complimented as he dipped a second helping into his bowl. “Best I've ever eaten.” Amazing that a girl so young could work such wonders in the kitchen, he thought, savoring a spoonful of the rich broth and hearty pieces of carrots and onions. Strangely, there were no potatoes in the stew.
Jo gave him a shy smile, her youthful cheeks blooming with color. “Thank you, Mr. Montgomery. It wasn't hard to fix."
"Did your grandfather really build Ivy House with his own two hands?” Brett asked.
Turning to answer his question, he caught Lori staring at him, her expression awed. He smiled gently at the pale, freckle-faced girl, remembering the doll house and how badly he'd wanted to purchase it for her.
He transferred his gaze to Natalie, who sat across from him, seemingly engrossed with her meal. She hadn't spoken more than three words to him since they sat down to eat. He found himself looking forward to finding out why. To Brett, he said, “Well, I'm sure he didn't do it all alone. Perhaps the neighbors helped.” His grandfather had often reminisced about the advantages of living in a small town. “Sort of like a barn raising,” he added, recalling the tale. “Do you have those in Chattanooga?"
Both boys nodded. Natalie didn't look up from her meal, as if she hadn't heard his question. He frowned. What had he done to deserve such ill-mannered treatment? Deciding to test the waters, he directed a question at her. “Natalie, have you ever participated in a barn raising?"
&nb
sp; He nearly choked on a bite of stew as she suddenly lifted her blazing eyes to look at him. With little effort, he could imagine streaks of lightning shooting from the dark storm clouds of her eyes. Yes, she was furious. Because of the beef? Or was it because he'd wheedled an invitation to dinner from Jo? And why did she keep glancing at the painting on the wall of the Last Supper?
Her tone held the chill of an early winter morning. “We are never invited to social functions, Mr. Montgomery. The townspeople aren't cruel to us, but neither are they overly friendly. Most fear that our parents were murderers or thieves, and that makes us their spawn."
Elliot reached for his water, suddenly noticing that he was the only one with a glass. Everyone else drank from a tin cup. Spurred by his own embarrassment and the pity her statement aroused, he felt his own anger rising. She knew damned well he wasn't one of the townspeople. “Should I have left my valuables at the hotel, then?” he asked in mock alarm.
She gasped in outrage, her face going pale.
Jo laughed, realizing his jest for what it was, despite the anger behind it. Soon Brett, Cole, and Lori joined her. The noise of their combined laughter nearly deafened Elliot, but their mirth was contagious. It was impossible to listen to their genuine belly-hugging laughter and stay angry.
He smiled.
Natalie didn't. She rose from her seat, raked a scathing glance around the table—with no results—and stalked from the room.
He stared in fascination at her rigid back and swaying hips until Jo gave his arm a good-natured punch.
"Go after her,” she gasped, wiping her streaming eyes. “You—you—” She couldn't finish, breaking into fresh laughter.
He found her on the porch, gripping the railing and staring out into the gathering dusk as if she wasn't aware of his approach. But Elliot saw the tell-tale tightening of her shoulder blades and knew she was perfectly aware of his presence.
"I'm sorry,” he said softly.
"It doesn't matter."
"Liar.” From his position behind her, he could see her hands gripping the wood railing. Her fingers turned white. He moved closer, itching to touch the baby fine curls at the nap of her neck, or trail his finger lightly along the enticing curve of her spine.
Whenever he was near her, he wanted to touch.
She took a deep breath, but didn't turn. Her words came out in a soft explosion. “Liar, thief, murderer. Maybe all three."
He ignored the taunt, sensing the pain and heartache behind her bitter words. He longed to enfold her in his arms and soothe the hurt of a lifetime, yet he hesitated, fearing she would mistake his comfort for pity. “I don't care if your father was Jesse James, Natalie.” Daringly, he turned her around and pulled her close. He looked directly into her widened eyes. “It doesn't matter to me at all."
"Why don't you just get it over with?” she whispered. “Why are you keeping us in suspense?"
His gut twisted at her words. She struggled to break free of his hold, but he held tight. If he let her go now, he feared he would lose her forever. “Natalie, I—"
"Is it some cruel game you enjoy playing? We know why you're here, so stop being a coward and just say it!"
Elliot stared at her trembling lips. He could hardly think with her mouth so close to his. The memory of that sweet, devastating kiss in the moonlight rattled his brain and made his blood hum in his veins. If he didn't kiss her now, he might never get the opportunity to taste her again.
A selfish reason.
He ignored his conscience and buried his fingers through her hair, pulling her mouth to his before she could think to resist. This kiss wasn't gentle. It wasn't sweet. It was a wild, passionate claiming that should have satisfied his craving.
It didn't. Instead, it made him hunger for more. With a primitive growl, he drew her lower body against his, snuggling his hardened arousal into her soft haven. The intimate contact—even through layers of clothing—shot heated arrows of desire coursing through him, nearly buckling his knees.
She brought him closer by clutching his head, her tongue seeking his with a fevered urgency that exhilarated him. Her hips moved against him, rocking against his hardness. Yes, Natalie wanted him as much as he wanted her—
With a sudden, shocking shove, she broke the kiss, dousing the inferno just seconds before it consumed him.
Chest heaving, mouth swollen and glistening, she glared at him. Pain darkened her eyes to black in the dusky light. “My mother was a school teacher,” she rasped. “I don't know who my father was because he disappeared after he planted his seed in my mother's belly. Only hours after I was born, she left me on this porch before hanging herself from the school house rafters."
Stunned by the self-loathing in her eyes, Elliot stood frozen. She lifted her hand to her mouth as if to touch her swollen lips, then slowly dropped it.
"He refused to marry her. So you see, Elliot, I'm not the spawn of a murderer, or a thief, or even a liar. I think it's pretty obvious that I'm the daughter of a who—"
"Don't say it,” he warned softly. “You don't know what you're saying.” Her soft, bitter laugh made him flinch.
"Don't I?” With a sad, mocking twist of her lips, she lifted her hands and touched her breasts, drawing his attention to the hardened peaks of her nipples visible through the straining material of her dress.
He was disgusted by the sudden flare of heat in his groin. She was in pain, and he was getting aroused!
"I didn't know that I was like her until you kissed me in the moonlight.” She cocked her head to one side and Elliot wanted to throttle her and kiss her at the same time. “It seems Mrs. Boone was right all along."
If Mrs. Boone were here right now, he vowed he would throttle her for causing Natalie this pain and confusion. But at the moment, convincing her she was wrong took precedence. “Natalie, have you responded to other men like you respond to me?” He was certain she was innocent, but just the thought that he could be wrong made him clench his jaw until it ached.
She slapped him hard across that clenched jaw.
"No! You're the first man that's ever kissed me!"
With a rueful smile, he said, “I guess I deserved that. I apologize, but I think I made my point. Has it occurred to you that maybe you like me, and this is the reason you enjoy ... kissing me?"
It was obvious by her surprised expression that it hadn't occurred to her. Her brow puckered. “Of course I like you, but that doesn't explain why I want to—want to—"
"Make love?” he supplied huskily. He made an instinctive move in her direction, but she stepped out of reach, her huge eyes wary. He sighed. “Kissing doesn't necessarily lead to love-making."
She arched a disbelieving brow, then lifted her fingers to trace the hardened peaks again. Her gaze dropped deliberately to the swelling in his trousers.
"Stop that,” he growled. “What I meant was, kissing doesn't have to lead to love-making. There's a lot of pleasant steps in between.” Very pleasant. In fact, he was throbbing right now because he wanted to take that next step.
He wanted her to touch him where he ached the most. He wanted to touch her and thrill to the sounds of her moans of pleasure, feel her moist heat.
"Kissing won't help, you know. It won't make me hate you any less."
Elliot frowned in confusion. “I'm not following you."
She braced her back against the porch post, her dark eyes boring into his with such intensity he wanted to look away.
Solemnly, she said, “You came here to close the orphanage, didn't you?"
"What does that have to do with kissing?” he asked, avoiding the question.
She began to fiddle with her braid, faltering uncertainly. “You thought—you thought to soften the blow by—by—"
"Flirting with you? Kissing you? Dreaming of you?” He advanced, his voice growing harsh. “Thinking of you every moment of the day? Worrying myself sick about you and the children?” He didn't stop until his body touched hers, relishing the way her eyes fluttered closed a
t the contact. Reaching his hands up between them, he covered her breasts. Her nipples pebbled against his palms. Her lips parted in response.
He groaned. “Do you really believe I have to have an ulterior motive for wanting to touch you?” he whispered softly as he rubbed his thumbs across the sensitive peaks. He brushed his mouth lightly against her parted lips. “The truth is, Natalie, you make me lose my sanity. The urge to kiss you, to caress you—” he filled his hand with her softness “—comes over me and whatever I was going to say becomes lost in a fog of desire ... for you."
Her lashes fluttered open to reveal passion-glazed eyes. But it was the naked shame he saw that gave him pause and brought him to his senses.
Natalie, ashamed. The realization washed over him like a sudden downpour of cold rain. His desire ebbed. He dropped his hands away and stepped back, holding her shadowed gaze.
"It's time I told you everything,” he said. And this time nothing would stop him.
[Back to Table of Contents]
CHAPTER EIGHT
"What's he doing now?” Cole whispered, trying to move Jo aside. For his efforts, he got a sharp elbow in the chest. “Ouch!"
"Shush! Do you want them to hear us?” Jo's heart beat a rapid tattoo as she watched the couple on the porch through the window. Natalie had moved to the porch post and Elliot was standing before her—close, very close—with his back to Jo, blocking her view.
She'd never seen anyone kiss before, not the way Elliot and Natty had kissed. Were they kissing again? she wondered.
"Jo, if you won't tell us what's going on, we're gonna drag you away from the window and see for ourselves.” It was Brett, his fierce whisper blowing hot air against her neck.
She relented, knowing Brett meant what he said. With Cole on one side, Brett on the other and Lori behind her, she wouldn't stand a chance against the three of them. “I can't really tell what they're doing—it's so dark. Elliot's standing in front of Natalie, real close. I think he's talking.” Or kissing her.
"Do you think he's telling her, Jo? Is he?” Lori tugged at Jo's shirt sleeve for emphasis. “Is he taking away our house?"
Where The Heart Is Page 9
