Where The Heart Is

by Sheridon Smythe

  He frowned, sensing she wasn't telling everything. “She told you about her past?” Another hesitation deepened his conviction that she was hiding something. He watched her shrug those stiff shoulders, wishing he could see her face.

  "Not really. Just a hint here and there."

  Fine. If she didn't want to confide in him, then he couldn't force her. He shifted into a more comfortable position and swallowed the angry, demanding words he wanted to say.

  "There's a shortcut through those trees yonder,” she said coolly, pointing to a grove of pines a few yards from the road.

  Obligingly, he guided Rico into the grove of sparsely populated pines. The temperature seemed to drop another ten degrees as they rode into the shadows. He saw her shiver. With an exasperated oath, he pulled her against him and wrapped his arms around her. “You're cold—so stop being stubborn,” he growled in her ear when she struggled to pull away.

  "I'm not cold,” she lied, but stopped struggling.

  He pondered the inevitable as Rico weaved his way through the trees. Her earlier affection toward him had cooled, it seemed. What would she feel when she learned that they had even less time than he'd first thought? After leaving the boarding house, he'd gone straight to the bank and talked to Mr. McCormick. The banker had been surprised by his quick decision, but overjoyed at the opportunity to look at Ivy House.

  The appointment was for next Tuesday at one o'clock.

  A shaft of pine needles spiraled lazily down from the tree above them and landed square in the middle of Natalie's bonnet. He plucked it away before tightening his arms, ignoring her half-hearted protest. Finally, he was rewarded as she sighed and relaxed against him.

  Of course she blamed him for Brett and Cole running away, and for Jo's misfortune in town. She had every right. If he'd stayed away, neither incident would have happened. They would have managed without him, because he had no doubt about her ability as housemother.

  How could he have prevented it? Maybe if he'd stayed closer to his grandfather, he would have been able to talk Gill out of that last, catastrophic investment.

  And maybe if he had, he'd be here courting her in the style she deserved instead of tearing her family apart and kicking her out of her home. He closed his eyes against the futility of it all. No use thinking about what might have been. There was only now and he had come to terms—or thought he had—with the way it would have to be.

  He'd sell Ivy House and pay his grandfather's outstanding debts, along with the loan at the bank. With the little money left he'd buy a small house in town for Natalie, Jo and Lori. It was the only alternative left.

  Then and only then would he think about his own future. Once he set a course in that direction, he would find employment and begin the long uphill climb to reestablish himself. When the time came, he would return to Natalie and talk about their future.

  Pray God she'd wait for him. He had no reason to believe that she would, but he could pray and hope. He also had no valid reason to believe she'd forgive him, but in that, too, he could hope. Perhaps in time she would realize that he'd had no choice.

  As for the doll houses, yes, they could become a profitable sideline, but now that he knew the truth about who made them, he couldn't take a penny of that money. It belonged to Natalie and the children. All of it. No matter how close the hounds nipped at his heels, he could not and would not lean on Natalie or the children to get himself out of this mess.

  "We're here."

  "Hm?” He blinked and looked around him in amazement. He'd been so engrossed in his thoughts and plans that he hadn't realized they'd arrived at the Hacket's farm.

  Smoke rose from the chimney of the little cottage-style house with its sagging roof and rough-hewn stones; chickens fussed, pecked and cackled as they strutted around the yard. An enormous barn situated several hundred yards from the house appeared in better shape than the house itself. Somewhere in the distance, a cow mooed as if in agony. Probably waiting to be milked, Elliot thought as he dismounted then reached for Natalie. All in all, it was a simple, peaceful scene.

  It made him envious.

  His hands closed around her tiny waist beneath the cloak. Their eyes met, held. He slowed his movements and brought her closer, sliding her along his body as he lowered her to the ground. Her eyelids drooped to hide her expression, but when she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, he knew she wasn't as unmoved by the contact as she wanted him to think. The realization sent his body pounding with need and his heart to aching. He wanted her to look at him once more with wonder and love, as she had in the cave.

  He needed her as desperately as a starving man needs water and food. She had become his sustenance in life, clouding his every thought, and sometimes his reasoning.

  Holding his breath, he watched her gaze travel along his chest, onto his neck and finally lift to his face—

  "Natty! Mr. Montgomery!"

  Together, they turned to watch the boys approach from the barn. Elliot continued to lower Natalie, then reluctantly stepped away. What would he have seen in her expression? Pity? Love? Yearning? Hate? If not hate, then it would be after he brought the banker to Ivy House.

  Of that he was certain. With a heavy heart and a smile that felt stiff on his face, he waited for Brett and Cole to reach them.

  * * * *

  Marla set a slice of warm apple pie in front of Elliot, pushing the small pitcher of heavy cream within reach before taking a seat at the table. She and Noah exchanged worried glances before she looked at their guest. “Are you certain Brett and Cole are happy, Elliot?"

  Elliot nodded, toying absently with his fork but not touching the pie. “They seemed to be. Brett's building Mr. Hacket new stalls in the barn to replace the ones an old bull took down, and Cole's milking the cows. According to the Hackets, both boys are heaven sent. The feeling appears to be mutual."

  "As long as they don't work the poor babes to death,” Marla muttered. The mental picture her comment produced brought a frown to her face. She knew how Cole and Brett loved to please. It would be so easy for the Hackets or anyone else to take advantage of their gratitude.

  "They aren't babes anymore, Marly,” Noah scolded. “They're nearly men."

  "Babes,” she argued, digging into her apple pie with gusto. “And speaking of babes.” With a glance, she dared Noah to dispute the fact again. “How's Jo doing? Did you ever find out what happened in town yesterday?” Busy chasing an apple slice around on her plate, it was a moment before she realized that Elliot didn't answer right away. Her gaze shot to his; her eyes widened at his guilty expression. “Elliot, what's the matter?"

  As if coming to a decision, he placed his fork by his uneaten pie and steepled his hands. “I think I need to tell you and Noah what's going on,” he began, sweeping his intent gaze between the two. “In the remote possibility that something happens to me."

  Her heart jumped in reaction to his serious tone, but she managed to hide her quick panic before Noah noticed. He'd order her from the room and then she'd never find out what was going on. She cleared her throat. “Nothings going to happen to you, Elliot, but you know anything you say won't leave this room.” Beneath the table, she crossed her fingers.

  As he began to fill them in on the most recent development, it took more and more effort for her to remain outwardly calm. When he told them of his suspicions about Randal Evans and explained who he was, she forgot herself and let out a horrified gasp. “Poor Jo! From the way you describe him, I'm sure just the sight of him would scare the wits out of her! And if he said—if he touched—” she fell silent, refusing to voice the ugly possibility. Poor, poor Jo!

  Elliot's eyes were hard. “If he touched her, I'll make him regret it. You can count on that."

  "Amen,” Noah echoed. He pointed his fork at him. “So, they've found you."

  "You knew about this?” Marla squeaked, glaring at her husband and feeling irrationally betrayed.

  Unrepentant, he nodded. “I did and I wasn't at liberty t
o share it with you.” He reached out and patted her cheek, his soft expression belying his stern tone. “Besides, we know you can't keep a secret. Elliot didn't want to make it easy for those men to find him, and you're not exactly the best at keepin’ secrets, Marly."

  If only he knew, she thought, batting his hand away. “So why am I suddenly so lucky?"

  "Do you want the man to continue with his story? Or should we take the rest of this conversation outside with our pipes?"

  She swallowed her irritation at the threat and looked at Elliot. “Please go on, if you're sure you can trust me,” she added without blinking. He rewarded her with a faint smile. It faded all too quickly for her peace of mind.

  "I'm taking Mr. McCormick to look at Ivy House on Tuesday."

  Lord. She closed her eyes and muttered a quick prayer. She prayed that she hadn't heard him say what she thought he'd said, and that if he had, that it didn't mean what she was afraid it would mean. Heaven help them when Natalie found out! “You're not going to sell Ivy House so soon, are you?” she asked hopefully.

  "I don't have a choice."

  "But didn't you promise Natalie—"

  "Don't badger the man,” Noah interrupted. “Elliot doesn't have a choice in the matter. You heard him say his debtors found him. If he doesn't sell before they find out about Ivy House, they'll take it. The house is worth more than he owes, but it won't matter if they get their hands on it. By law they can take it as part of his grandfather's estate."

  The ominous meaning behind Noah's reminder quieted her. She felt a fresh burst of sympathy for Natalie. “But what about the doll houses? Any day now, your friend could need more. Couldn't you take your earnings and make a deal with this Evans person? Explain to him—"

  "No.” Elliot spoke the word gently, but with finality. “Don't you think I haven't thought of every conceivable plan, Marla? A man like Evans doesn't make deals, and he won't wait."

  She couldn't give up, although she suspected Elliot had already set his mind. “But what about Mr. McCormick at the bank? Won't he loan you the money to pay them back?"

  He lifted his brows. “And how would I pay the bank?"

  "With the money you earn selling the doll houses—"

  "Marla,” he interrupted patiently. “Even if the doll houses started selling like Phonographs, I won't take nickel of the money now."

  His glance was significant. She cringed, thinking he meant to tell Noah about her little fabrication. Noah would lecture her for hours if he found out how she'd convinced Elliot a hermit had created the doll houses. But Elliot didn't rat on her, bless him.

  "I'm asking your advice; you know Natalie better than anyone else. Should I warn her about the appointment?"

  "No!” The two men looked at her in surprise at her vehemence. She flushed. “I mean, I don't think you should. She wouldn't sleep a wink if she knew, and she's not been sleeping well as it is.” When Elliot looked pained at the reminder, she hastened on, “In this case, I think it would be kinder to just surprise her.” Hanging on to her composure by a thread, she scooted the chair back with a noisy scrape and jumped to her feet. “I'm just gonna go check on Hickory. He should be getting up from his nap soon."

  Once clear of their view, she stopped and leaned against the wall. She pressed her hand over her pounding heart before dropping it to her burgeoning belly, wondering if pregnancy caused a woman to go temporarily insane. Because of her impulsive advice to Elliot, Natalie would have no warning.

  On Tuesday, he would discover that Ivy House had depreciated considerably in value since the very first doll house.

  He would be furious at Natalie, she thought, warming to the idea. Her friend would no longer have the market on anger. Best of all, this would perhaps make her dear friend realize that everyone makes mistakes, and that sometimes people have no choice but to make them—just like Natalie didn't have much of a choice when it came to using the lumber to build the doll houses. They might have starved had she not thought of the idea.

  Marla stepped away from the wall, her heartbeat slowing to normal. An enlightening smile spread across her face. After Elliot discovered what they'd done to the upstairs, Natalie could hardly point an accusing finger at Elliot, now could she? She had destroyed someone else's property. Oh, not maliciously, but then Elliot wasn't taking their home out of meanness, either.

  Natalie had done what she had to do.

  Elliot was doing what he had to do.

  Her smile growing wider, she sauntered in to check on Hickory, feeling decidedly proud of herself. Sooner or later—hopefully sooner—those two stubborn fools would realize that they were perfect for each other.

  Seeing that Hickory was as sound asleep as she suspected he would be, she crept from the room and headed back to the kitchen. She had one more harmless suggestion to make to ensure the couple didn't spend too much time apart.

  Very harmless, she assured her skeptical conscience.

  * * * *

  The sound was faint, but Natalie's eyes shot open as if she'd heard a gun shot. She'd been lying in the dark trying to will her exhausted body to sleep, knowing it was a useless mission. She hadn't slept more than three hours in one night since making love with Elliot.

  Elliot. Oh, God, how she loved him and oh, God, how she hated herself for loving him. Why did she have to go and fall in love with someone she couldn't be happy with? Why not a nice, stable, compassionate man like the one Marla had found?

  The sound came again. She strained her ears in the dark, trying to identify the noise. It sounded as if someone were attempting to walk across the floor without stepping on the boards that creaked, she decided. And that someone wasn't very good at guessing.

  Hickory. With the thought came relief. It had to be Hickory. Throwing back the covers, she swung her legs to the side and stood. Her nose connected with someone's chin. Hands shot out of the dark and grabbed her arms to keep her from falling backward onto the bed. Small hands—

  "Natty! It's me, Jo. I hear someone downstairs."

  Natalie clutched her throbbing nose and just managed to stop her sharp remark in time. Jo sounded terrified, and the realization reminded her of what Jo had been through. Her heart softened. “It's probably Hickory. I was just going down to check."

  "No!” Jo grabbed her arm and whispered fiercely, “It's not Hickory."

  A violent shudder shook Jo's slim frame. Her nails dug into Natalie's arm. Alarmed at this uncharacteristic reaction from a normally tough Jo, she tried to calm her. “What makes you think it's not Hickory?"

  "Be—because I saw the man come onto the porch."

  "How?” She was lost. “Are you saying you were watching from the window?” In her concern, she forgot about the intruder downstairs. “Jo, it's the middle of the night! What were you doing up at this hour?"

  "Watching."

  If Jo hadn't sounded so serious, she would have laughed. But she was deadly serious and that tore at her heart. Before she could form a soothing reply, they heard another loud creak. The sound froze her. “I think I'd better go investigate,” she said as calmly as she could. Now she was beginning to be afraid, which was silly, wasn't it? Jo was imagining things. She'd find Hickory trying to sneak upstairs into her bed—

  "Take this. I'm coming with you."

  She automatically closed her fingers around the board as Jo thrust it into her hands. She started to chide the girl, but decided against it. If it wasn't Hickory ... “All right. Let's go. You stay behind me."

  As one they moved silently to the stairs. With any luck they'd reach the bottom before whoever it was started up. Unconsciously avoiding the creaking boards she knew by heart, she hugged the wall and descended the stairs. Jo followed so close she fancied she heard the girl's heart banging against her rib cage.

  Her own wasn't exactly quiet. Perhaps that's why she didn't hear the familiar creaks from the first and third stair, she thought, freezing against the wall as the shadow loomed before her.

  It was a big, dark shadow.
Not Hickory, certainly not Hickory. She registered the fact with the sharp jolt of fear, thrusting the impressive length of lumber in front of her. She opened her mouth to demand the intruder identify himself, but Jo, it seemed, had already decided on another form of communication. She screamed, an earth-shattering, ear-piercing scream directly into Natalie's ear.

  She threw the board and clapped her hand over Jo's mouth. The board tumbled down the few remaining stairs end over end, creating a clatter that was sure to awaken Lori. There was a loud, pained oath as the board came to rest, hopefully, Natalie thought, against the intruder's head. Jo struggled against her, clawing at her arms and then finally the hand holding her terror at bay.

  She dug her nails into Natalie's fingers and jerked her hand away. “Natty—"

  "Shush,” she whispered softly to the frantic girl. “I think the board got him. Maybe on the head—"

  "Unfortunately, it wasn't my head,” a deep, drawling voice interrupted.

  Natalie shrieked.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  "Elliot!” Natalie gasped out.

  "Mr. Montgomery!” Jo echoed.

  "One and the same.” He tried for mockery, but suspected he sounded more like a wounded dog. He definitely wanted to howl like one. The board had caught him squarely in the shin with enough force to buckle his leg. There would be a bruise tomorrow, if he wasn't actually crippled from the blow.

  "What are you doing here?” Natalie demanded.

  He could see nothing but a faint glow of white, but he responded to the breathless sound of her voice like the besotted fool he was. She was the siren and he was the ship, just like in the legends. “I'll tell you, if you'll be kind enough to lend me a hand. I don't think I can walk on my own.” He could, but he'd much rather have her near. Eliciting her concern would be the fastest way—possibly the only way.

  And his leg did hurt.

  She reacted as he expected, and since she couldn't see his expression in the dark, he smiled.

  "Jo—go fetch a candle, and hurry!"