Where The Heart Is

by Sheridon Smythe

  "Yes, I do."

  A small fire burned brightly in the grate, keeping the room warm and adding cheer to the gloomy afternoon. On a small table by the bed sat an untouched bowl of broth Jo had brought her earlier. Natalie frowned severely at her, forgetting the men for a moment as her mothering instincts took over. “Jo's gonna be mad if you don't eat, Lori. You've got to keep up your strength to fight this nasty cold."

  Lori managed an elfin grin—then promptly went into a sneezing fit. When she finished, she rubbed her red nose and croaked, “It was too hot. I'll eat it later, I promise.” Her watery eyes fixed on the banker with unabashed curiosity. “Are you going to buy Ivy House for us, Mr. McCormick?"

  Embarrassed, Natalie intervened before the flustered banker could answer. “No, Lori. Mr. McCormick's thinking about buying Ivy House from Mr. Montgomery.” For Lori's sake, she managed to sound matter-of-fact about it. Inside, the pain continued to build. How would the Nolens feel about boarding Lori with her sick more often than not? They might be afraid she would spread the sickness to the other tenants...

  Something she hadn't considered. She bit her lip, then risked a glance Elliot's way. He was staring at Lori with such an obvious expression of anguish, she felt a moment's shame. True, she hadn't known he was bringing the banker today, but Lori being sick definitely added to the revenge.

  "Oh,” Lori said. She lowered her eyes and plucked at the covers. Then suddenly, her face brightened. She looked eagerly at Elliot. “But that's okay, isn't it Mr. Montgomery? You're going to find me a ma and pa, aren't you?"

  Natalie wondered if he was thinking of how difficult it would be to find someone willing to take Lori. The shame returned ten-fold. He had proved how much he cared about the children, yet she stood by with her mouth firmly closed, letting him suffer. Did that make her any less heartless than him? If she was wrong and he truly didn't have a choice—as Marla seemed to believe—then she was mean and spiteful for making him feel even worse.

  So she found herself saying, “Don't worry, Lori, you'll be staying with me until we can find you a ma and pa."

  "But where will you live?"

  Hm. She hadn't anticipated that question. How would Lori feel when she learned she would be living in a boarding house after the space and security of Ivy House?

  "Excuse me,” Mr. McCormick said, speaking for the first time. He sounded as if he'd gotten a frog stuck in his throat.

  Lori giggled. “You sound like me, Mr. Banker."

  "Hm. Yes.” Mr. McCormick cleared his throat. He looked behind him at the make-shift wall they'd stepped through, then back to the small, defenseless girl in the bed. “I don't think I need to hear—see anymore.” He turned a stony face to Elliot, who looked as if he'd blow any second.

  Natalie searched for the sweetness that is said to come with revenge and found nothing but shame and remorse.

  "Elliot, could I speak with you downstairs, please?” The banker gritted the words, his face glowing with righteous anger.

  With a stiff nod, Elliot strode through the door. He never glanced her way, Natalie noted, her heart sinking and her guilt increasing.

  "They looked mad, didn't they Natalie? Do you think Mr. Montgomery's mad ‘cos we tore down his walls? You said he'd be mad."

  Mad? Oh, she'd have to say furious would better suit the way he looked. “Um, no, Lori. I don't think they're mad. I think that's the way men look when they're going to talk business."

  Lori accepted her well-meaning lie and buried her reddened nose in the book again.

  Her feet dragging, she slowly left the room. Now she knew how lambs felt on the way to slaughter. But if there was ever a lamb that deserved to be slaughtered, then she was it.

  Guilty as charged.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  "I wouldn't have taken you for a thief, Elliot, but I don't know what to think. The shape this house is in—why, it isn't worth half the amount you quoted! And furthermore,” the banker ranted, gathering steam, “You can't begin to know how much it disturbs me that you're turning these helpless children out into the street.” His face turned a frightening shade of purple as he fought to keep his voice down. “I've got seven granddaughters, and that little girl reminds me of—"

  "Then buy Ivy House and give it to Natalie and the orphans,” Elliot interrupted to say harshly. He'd never been more embarrassed, more furious in his life.

  "What?” Mr. McCormick looked at him as if he'd lost his senses.

  He hadn't lost his senses, but he'd lost the last of his patience with one Miss Natalie Polk. “I said buy the house and give it to them."

  "Why, I can't do that!"

  "Neither can I,” Elliot hiss in frustration. “This house isn't mine to give or to keep. The moment my grandfather's creditors find out about Ivy House, they'll take it—and believe me, they'll care a whole lot less about what happens to the inhabitants than I do!"

  Mr. McCormick stared speechlessly at him.

  Elliot, far beyond thinking before he spoke, went on. “They're waiting at Clyde's Boarding house as we speak. Waiting to pounce the moment they find out exactly what property I do still own. I've been trying to get the children adopted out so they wouldn't be on the street. Evans won't give a damn—and he won't wait."

  The banker opened his mouth like a fish gasping for air. His entire manner underwent a sudden, startling change. Pity flickered in his eyes. “I apologize, Elliot. I didn't know you were in dire straits."

  "It isn't something a man likes to brag about,” he snapped, disgusted with himself—and with Natalie for embarrassing him this way. She'd snatched his heart; now she would snatch his pride. Had he been blind to her true nature all along? As pretty as you please, she had led them upstairs, knowing—knowing what his reaction would be, and knowing what the banker would think.

  Good God.

  "When you—when you applied for the loan, I just assumed you needed some quick cash for investment purposes. Your grandfather was known for his expertise in making money."

  "His expertise is the reason I'm in this position,” Elliot snarled, past the point of worrying about what was left of his pride. He shoved his weary hands through his hair and followed the banker to the door, forcing himself to calm down. It wasn't the banker's fault in any way. “I apologize, Mr. McCormick. I had no idea the house was in such disrepair. For one reason or another, I never got around to inspecting the upstairs.” He knew all of the reasons—and what they meant—now. That conniving little witch!

  The banker clamped his hat on his head, shrugged into his coat and looked hard at him. Lowering his voice, he said, “Don't be too hard on Miss Polk, Elliot. When she needed the fire wood, she probably didn't have the slightest idea she was using prime cypress.” Glancing around, he shivered. “I imagine it takes a lot of fuel to heat this house, and with Mrs. Boone running off the way she did ... you get my meaning?"

  Oh, he understood the banker's meaning, but he knew something the man didn't know; the cypress hadn't been used for fire wood. He'd figured that out the moment he saw what remained of the upstairs walls.

  "About those men. Rest assured they won't get any information from me."

  "Thanks.” Elliot shook the banker's hand, wondering if the man could feel his simmering rage. But the banker didn't seem to notice anything unusual, much to Elliot's amazement.

  "And if you need any more, um, help, you just come in and we'll talk. If you're half the man your grandfather was, then you're okay with me."

  He nodded, only half-listening to the banker. He shut the door after him and slowly turned. “You can come on down now, Natalie.” How in the world had he managed to say those words so calmly?

  He wanted to throttle her.

  He watched as her shadow grew on the stairwell wall. Finally, she came into view, head bowed, body tense. He could see it in the way she walked downstairs. When she was halfway across the wide foyer, he held up his hand. “That's far enough.” She stopped,
her nostrils flaring in alarm like some skittish mare sensing the lurking presence of a wolf. “I'm not sure I trust myself right now, so just keep your distance."

  "Elliot, I—"

  "No. No, let me speak. Then, I promise you, I'll expect you to try your damnedest to explain.” He doubted she could manage such a miracle. Linking his hands behind his back to keep them from her pretty throat, he began softly, “You allowed me to carry around an enormous amount of guilt over something I could not avoid. You accused me of lying for my own gain when I attempted to explain why I had no choice but to sell Ivy House. You continuously reminded me of what a heartless bastard I was for wanting to secure the children's future.” He could feel his neck veins protruding and forced his anger down. There was time enough to explode—after he put the puzzle together. “And all the while, you were happily destroying Ivy House—the house you so desperately want to keep—to build doll houses?” His voice rose abruptly as his control slipped. “And not only that, you didn't tell me when you had opportunity after opportunity. Instead, you continued to take Ivy House apart."

  She opened her mouth. He held up his hand for silence.

  "You then allowed me to bring a potential buyer upstairs without any forewarning whatsoever. Have I got this straight?"

  Natalie stood frozen, her face pale, her eyes dark and stunned as he dramatized the facts. Finally, she nodded. “Yes, you're right. But Elliot—"

  "Wait. I'm not finished.” He advanced several steps, a smile twisting his lips as she backed away. But he was far from amused. “Smart girl. Very smart. So smart that you used your body to get what you wanted?” He ignored her outraged gasp. “But it backfired, didn't it Natalie? I didn't give you Ivy House, because I couldn't.” His gaze swept her from head to toe. “Believe me, it was worth it, if only Ivy House was mine to give."

  "Are you finished?” Her chin angled out. There was a glitter in her eyes that warned him, but he was beyond heeding.

  "Am I? Is there anything else you're hiding from me, sweet Natalie? A tribe of Indians in the attic, perhaps? Or do we have an attic left?"

  She ignored his mocking sarcasm, her voice matching his in temperature. “I'm not hiding anything else. You've said it all, but you're wrong. I didn't give myself to you in the hopes of getting Ivy House. You can think whatever you like—I'm sure you will regardless, but it isn't true. I made love with you because I—” Her gaze faltered with her words. After a moment, she jerked her chin up again. “It doesn't matter. As for Ivy House, I tried to tell you about the lumber, but before I could you mentioned how expensive the cypress was. I couldn't after that.” She shrugged, a hint of apology flickering in her eyes. “After a while, I justified what I was doing because I didn't believe you had to close Ivy House. I thought you were being selfish, greedy, that you just didn't want the responsibility."

  "And now?” Oh, she was convincing, and oh so beautiful as she stood there in the foyer like a prisoner before the judge, he thought. Ruthlessly, he braced himself against any and all weakness. Loving this woman had been his downfall, it seemed.

  "And now ... I heard what you said to Mr. McCormick, and I realize that you weren't lying about having to sell Ivy House."

  "A little late for revelations, don't you think?” He snapped his teeth together in frustration. “I can't sell a house that isn't complete. When I realized you were responsible for the doll houses, I should have figured it out."

  She took a step forward, then stopped. “I was going to replace the walls before you found out, but I didn't have time."

  She came closer. He stiffened. When she placed a tentative hand on his arm, he felt some of the anger seep out of him. She looked very sincere, but still—

  "When Mrs. Boone left, I didn't know what else to do. The children needed food and clothing. We—we couldn't afford to buy the lumber. I had no choice.” Her head tilted at a proud angle. “At first it was just a silly idea, a pitiful hope. But when the first doll house sold, I couldn't believe our luck. Then we sold another, and another—"

  "Then I came along, and with Marla's help, we managed to convince you there was even more hope,” he concluded. His gaze collided with hers as awareness hit him. She'd had no choice, just as he'd had no choice.

  They were both responsible for transgressions beyond their control.

  She nodded. “So what do we do now?"

  Rubbing his jaw, he turned and began to pace, thinking. Yes, what did they do now? Evans was like a burr caught in a dogs’ fur; he wouldn't shake loose easily, but they had to do something to buy more time.

  "I've got an idea, Elliot.” When he speared her with a hard glance, she flushed and added, “That is if you want my advice."

  "Please.” He forced any lingering anger aside. He needed all the help he could get, and who knew better than he just how inventive she could be? To his surprise and disgust, he nearly grinned at the thought.

  "We could ask Cole and Brett to come home for a few days—I'm sure they would. If we all pitched in, we could have those walls back together in no time."

  "And then?"

  She paused a telling beat. “Then we put the house up for sale."

  He saw that it cost her to say those words and felt a surge of admiration. Could he really blame her for what she had done? Wouldn't he have done the same in her place? Yes, he suspected he would have. “Your plan makes sense,” he said. “But I don't know how long we have before Evans finds out."

  Natalie shrugged, her eyes glinting in a mischievous way that made him chuckle. “If he does find out, I'm sure one of us will think of something."

  He was reminded of their first encounter, and of how she'd fooled him into believing she was Nelda Boone. And what about all those times he'd attempted to go upstairs and she'd fabricated some convincing excuse? And, if not for Hickory's innocent slip of the tongue, he might still believe a hermit had made the doll houses. Of course, that was Marla's doing. Or was it? And what did it matter now? He had more important things on his mind, such as how to avoid Evans—damn the man and his bloodhound ancestors, anyway! His blood heated up again just thinking about the bastard. He smacked his fist into his open palm. “If only whoever was responsible for scarring his face had finished him off, then we wouldn't have to worry about Evans—” He halted his vengeful tirade at the sound of Natalie's horrified gasp. “What? What is it?” he demanded.

  She knew something—something momentous, but what?

  * * * *

  When Elliot grasped her arms in a painful grip and shook her, Natalie remained silent. She was thinking, making absolutely certain of her suspicions. If she told him her thoughts, he might go off in a rage ... possibility get hurt, or at the most end up in jail. She couldn't bear the thought of either possibility.

  Jo had described the man as having a funny scar that twisted his mouth into a grimace. She had been terrified of Evans, claiming he only reminded her of the man who killed her mother. Could it be...? She licked her lips, staring into Elliot's expectant, impatient face. “What—what kind of scar, Elliot?"

  "Why do you ask?"

  She saw it then, realized that he had already suspected and didn't want her to know. She jerked loose, the spark of anger igniting. “You suspected, didn't you? You suspected that Evans was the same man Jo remembers."

  Nodding, he said, “I suspected, but I wasn't certain. Did she mention a scar, then? Is that what this questioning is all about?"

  "Yes.” She thought about clamping her lips shut, but realized that not only would that be immature, it would be dangerous. “She described him to me, and he has a scar that twists his mouth like a—like a—"

  "Snarl? Why didn't you tell me?” With a muffled oath, he shoved his hand in his pockets.

  She glared. “I didn't think it was important—and I wanted to make the story as short as possible so you'd leave.” She caught a brief flash of hurt in his eyes, and it was enough to melt her heart. “That was before,” she added. “Before I realized I had been wrong about you
and you weren't the greedy, selfish—"

  "Bastard?” he supplied, edging toward her. He stopped suddenly, out of reach, flinging his proud head back and closing his eyes as if to regain his control.

  The action shot a quiver of desire right into her belly. She pressed her hand there, silently berating her own lack of control. It was over. “I've said it once, and I'll say it again; I'm sorry, Elliot. I was wrong.” She loved him, and because she loved him, she wanted him to believe that she fully intended to right the wrong she'd done him. “We'll fix the house, don't worry."

  He opened his eyes. “I wasn't thinking about the house,” he growled, then gave his head a wry shake before adding, “Although I should have been. I was thinking about you ... and me. How I wish things had been different—"

  "We're wasting time.” She felt her throat burn with unshed tears. Did he have to keep reminding her? They weren't suited, and never would be. She climbed mountains to accomplish what she believed in; he preferred to live in the flat lands where the going was easy and unencumbered.

  It was perfectly clear that he wasn't the man for her and she wasn't the woman for him. There, she had admitted it.

  And now that she had, would the hurting ever stop?

  * * * *

  "Do I have your solemn promise you won't breathe a word of this to Natalie? I'd like to tell her myself.” Elliot lounged against the counter, the letter from Warren tucked away in his coat pocket. The news was good—much better than he could have hoped. Warren needed a dozen doll houses, and he had enclosed a substantial advance in the form of a bank draft. Now all he had to do was convince Marla to keep a secret for a few days.

  He had a plan.

  Rubbing her protruding stomach with an absent hand, she avoided his gaze—and his question. “This baby's got to be a boy,” she groaned. When he continued to stare at her, she sighed. “All right, I won't tell her."

  Satisfied, he turned to leave.

  "Where are you going?"

  When he quirked an eyebrow at her, she blushed and stammered, “I mean, I was just asking because I thought you might like to have supper with us tonight."