Although he didn’t want to, Ethan smiled.
“And there’s another one.” Fiona stood and walked toward the stove. As she picked up the coffee pot with a towel on the hot handle, she turned back. “I’m originally from North Carolina. My pa hadn’t fought in the conflict because he and my ma were just too old. They had me in their late forties. I was a wee babe when they were killed for their food stores in the root cellar. I became one of thousands of war orphans.”
Ethan could hardly believe she told the story so matter-of-factly, as if her parents hadn’t been murdered.
“Don’t look at me like that. I was only a few months old. Mama had hidden me in a basket. After the soldiers left, a neighbor came over and found me.” She shrugged. “It wasn’t bad at first. Then the neighbor who’d taken me in, an older woman named Mary Foster, died. Then it got bad.”
She poured him a cup of coffee, and he saw in her eyes that she knew what pain and suffering were. A bond between them was formed—fragile and tentative, but it was there.
“Now you tell me yours.” She sat down with a biscuit and a cup of coffee, watching him expectantly.
Ethan didn’t want to talk about Bonita, truly he didn’t, but she was right. They were two strangers on a snowy, late-winter afternoon. Why not confess some secrets?
“Bonita and I were married when we were very young and starry-eyed. Life was good the first years, but she never got with child. We talked to Dr. Brighton, but he just told us some women weren’t meant to be mothers.” He closed his eyes and pictured the devastated look on Bonita’s face. “It was hard, real hard. You see, my brothers and sister started having kids, and I could tell it was killing her.”
He paused to take a hot gulp of coffee, and it was good. No, it was damn good. “Is there anything you can’t cook?”
She winked. “You may never find out, cowboy.”
Ethan should have been shocked, but he wasn’t. Fiona had a way of putting him at ease with her wit and charm, not to mention her forthrightness. To his surprise he felt comfortable with her.
“When she took sick, Bonita started by just feeling weak and tired, then it progressed until she couldn’t walk.” He swallowed, knowing the damn invalid chair was still in the barn. After she passed, he couldn’t get rid of it. It reminded him of what he’d lost, and damned if he wasn’t a stupid martyr. “It was like her body just stopped working right. She didn’t live long after she stopped walking, six months maybe.” He met her gaze. “She died on Christmas Eve two years ago.”
Fiona didn’t blink, didn’t look away, surprising the hell out of him. She must have seen the misery in his eyes, yet she endured it, in heaping handfuls no less.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Malloy. It sounds like you loved her very much.”
“Ethan. Please, call me Ethan. And, yes, I did love her. She was an amazing woman.” This time when he smiled, it was genuine. Just talking about Bonita made his heart and his conscience a bit lighter.
“Thank God. I have a hard time calling folks by their full name. Or maybe I just have a hard time with authority.” She picked a piece of the biscuit. “You can call me Fiona or Fee, whichever you prefer.”
Ethan shook his head. “Fee?”
“After Miss Foster died, I ended up in an orphanage in Raleigh. The little ones had trouble with Fiona, so they shortened it.” She dipped the piece of biscuit in her coffee. “The name sort of stuck for a while.”
“A while?”
“Okay, for twenty-five years.” She dipped another piece of biscuit. “When I’ve worked as a housekeeper at the orphanage and a few other places, there’s been young’uns, and they always call me Fee.”
When her blue gaze met his, Ethan felt as though he had finally met Fiona. The knot that had taken up residence in his stomach many years ago began to loosen.
“I’m pleased to meet you, Fiona.” He was surprised to realize he actually meant it.
The bigger surprise was the shock on her face.
“Has no one ever said that before?” Ethan sipped his coffee, wondering exactly when his life had decided to take a left turn.
She swallowed audibly. “I don’t think so. You know, most times the fact is I was always trying to please everyone.”
“Like making fresh biscuits?”
Her cheeks blossomed into a light pink color beneath her freckles. “Apparently.”
Ethan reached out and touched her hand. A jolt of awareness slammed through him, and he pulled back so fast, he almost fell off the chair. She looked as surprised as he felt.
“What was that?” She sounded a bit breathy.
“I don’t know.” His mouth dried up like he’d swallowed cotton.
A log snapped in the fireplace and both of them jumped. Fiona let out a nervous laugh.
“This is turning out to be an odd day.” She met his gaze, and Ethan knew then something, or someone, had led Fiona to his door.
Goosebumps raced up his skin at the thought. The question was, why?
Fiona busied herself clearing the table while Ethan went into the other room. Thank God. She needed a few minutes to figure out what had just happened.
Two people who were alone in the world, who had suffered personal tragedy, had somehow found each other in a snowstorm.
Was it a coincidence she had stumbled onto his doorstep? Somehow she doubted it. Ethan was a Malloy—a huge family in the area, from what she’d been told by the nosy lady at the depot in town—but he was alone. Apparently, he was still grieving over his wife, who had been dead two years. Even the house itself was lonely. The cheery blaze in the fireplace was the only welcoming part of Fiona’s time there.
When he’d touched her hand, things had gone topsy-turvy. She’d already considered Ethan to be handsome, but her body had reacted as if she’d already known him. Intimately.
How was that possible?
Her mind went round and round over the same questions. By the time she’d wiped the table down four times, she couldn’t put off seeing him any longer. The dishes would wait until they sorted out what was happening between them. She squared her shoulders and walked into the living room.
Ethan knelt by the fireplace, a necklace strung with pink and black beads in his hand. When he looked up at her, surprise shone in his eyes.
“This was Bonita’s favorite necklace. She wore it nearly every day. When she died, I couldn’t find it. I tore the house apart looking for it.”
Fiona swallowed. “Where was it?”
“It was lying on the mantel.”
Every hair on Fiona’s body stood on end. She stared into Ethan’s eyes, wondering why she felt as if something monumental was going to happen.
“On top of your gloves.”
Fiona sank to the floor beside him and stared down at the necklace. Her eyes pricked with tears as she thought of the implications of how the necklace had come to be on top of the gloves she’d put on the mantel to dry an hour before.
“Was there someone else in the house?” Her voice was barely a whisper.
He shook his head. “No. No one is here but the two of us. It’s not big enough for someone to hide.”
“I didn’t see a necklace when I came in.” She wanted to touch it, glowing in the firelight.
“The fire was burning, wasn’t it? And the lantern lit?” Ethan finally looked as if he believed her.
“Yes.” Fiona wasn’t surprised to see a sheen of tears in his green eyes. Her throat closed up as she recognized what he was trying to say. “You think her spirit brought me here.”
Ethan nodded as his fingers closed around the necklace. “I think she was watching over me and found you wandering in the snow.” He met her gaze and smiled. “She saved your life and mine.”
Fiona was afraid to ask what he meant. She’d spent so much of her life alone, it seemed nearly impossible to imagine a ghost had directed her to Ethan’s house. As if they were meant to find each other.
“How did she save your life?” Fiona wiped her e
yes, her throat tight with emotion. She barely knew the man, but there was a connection there already. It was like magic.
“I turned myself into a hermit who forgot how to live. Life is meant for the living, not the grieving.” He opened his fist and held the necklace out to her. His hand shook with the slight weight of it.
She reared back. “You can’t possibly think to give that to me.”
“Why not? I think she wanted you to have it.” He took her hand. “I want you to have it.”
Fiona touched a finger to a pink stone, tempted. “It’s beautiful.”
This time when Ethan smiled, she felt it as though he had physically caressed her. The fire popped again, sending a shower of sparks onto the floor.
She laughed. “You know, I was joking when I said I was getting a present.”
“Looks like we both got something.” Ethan looked out the window. “The snow stopped.”
She glanced outside to see the snow had stopped just as suddenly as it had begun. An eerie stillness had descended in the steel-gray light of the late afternoon. Perhaps he’d been meant not to come home when he did. Perhaps her rented nag was supposed to run off. Instead a storm had trapped them together. That same chill snaked up her spine.
“Much as I like it, I can’t take it. You should keep it for someone special.” She sat back. “I do appreciate you letting me stay here until the storm passes, though. I need to wash the dishes now.”
She jumped to her feet, smoothing her skirt with fidgety hands as she returned to the kitchen. His gaze burned into her back.
Chapter Three
Ethan watched her, puzzled by the sudden need to give her Bonita’s necklace. Was it his wife’s spirit that brought them together? Or was his imagination running wild because he had been out in the cold too long?
He shook himself and got to his feet. He had to remember his visitor wasn’t truly meant for him. She was a housekeeper for the Petersens. His life was set and he liked it the way it was. Being lonely wasn’t a bad thing. He’d gotten used to it after two years. His family made sure he wasn’t alone for long anyway. With four brothers and one sister, and a passel of nieces and nephews, they overwhelmed him every time he visited his parents’ ranch.
After this night, there would likely be no opportunity for him and Fiona to even speak. It shouldn’t matter to him that she was meant for something else, but somehow it did. She was the first person he had noticed as a woman in a long time.
Too long.
Ethan poked at the fire until the sparks settled and then added a few more logs. He might be forced to spend the night with a stranger in his house, depending on how much snow had fallen and whether he could get a rig through it. He would have to take her to the Petersens’ today or tomorrow. According to Fiona, she had lost the horse and buggy she’d rented.
It would be very awkward to explain how he came to be in the company of the redheaded housekeeper. People’s tongues would wag. She might even lose her position before she started it. Petersen was a bit of a stickler when it came to propriety. The German-born man was a nice enough fella, but not the kind that would dance or whoop it up.
Ethan frowned into the flames. Being stranded in a storm shouldn’t spell disaster for her new position. If that happened, he would have to step in and do something. He was a Malloy, for pity’s sake. They were a family who always did what was right, no matter how hard it was.
Exactly what he would do if he had to speak up for Fiona, he didn’t know. If Petersen didn’t hire her, well…Ethan could.
Fiona cleaned the dishes with a wee bit more force than necessary. She hadn’t dirtied much making the biscuits, and Mr. Malloy had a lovely pump right in the sink in the kitchen. There was even a hot water reservoir on the stove—a marvel! She scrubbed the pan with too much enthusiasm. And she knew why.
The necklace.
As a girl without a family, she’d not had occasion to receive gifts in her life. Now a man she had just met offered her the most beautiful necklace she’d ever seen. A present. For her.
She shook her head, dislodging a few curls from her unwieldy hair. With a huff to get them out of her eye, she tried to forget the sparkle of the jewelry. The lightest shade of pink had nestled beside the black stones that had small white stripes, fractures in the smooth darkness.
She sighed. It had been foolish to refuse the necklace. Worse to run away after the incident. For a moment there, she’d felt a connection with him. A first for her. Not to say she didn’t have people in her life that she liked, but Fiona had always been alone. That spark of awareness with another person was absent. Until she met Ethan Malloy.
He was a widower who obviously still loved his wife. Fiona was a nobody. Someone who broke into his house to take shelter from a storm after a fractious horse ran off and left her. It seemed to be an analogy to her life—no one stuck around, especially during rough times.
Self-pity did not become her. She shook off the maudlin thoughts and dried the dishes, placing them where she’d found them before she decided to bake biscuits. What had possessed her to do that, for pity’s sake? She did the dumbest things, many times to her own embarrassment.
“Miss Carmichael?” Ethan stood in the doorway to the kitchen and his broad shoulders filled the width. He was a handsome devil, with that wavy hair she itched to feel slide between her fingers and those eyes made of green glass. He nearly took her breath.
“Fiona, please, or Fee. I, uh, cleaned everything up. Now that the snow stopped, if you give me a direction, I can walk to the Petersens’.” It was already evening, but she could walk fast and beat the total darkness.
“No.”
She started at the fierceness in his tone. “Pardon me?”
“I won’t allow you to walk to the Petersens’. From here it’s at least two hours on a good day with good weather. That storm dumped at least a foot of fresh snow on the ground.” He glanced at her boots. “While those are good, they’re not enough for a Wyoming winter, Miss Car—Fiona.”
Her mind raced through the possibilities of what she could do or should do. “I can’t stay here.”
He frowned. “It’s the safest thing to do. If I had a carriage, I could take you, but my brother Jack has it for, uh, repair.”
“I can walk. I’m sure my clothes are nearly dry.” She didn’t want to even think about what would occur if she stayed with Mr. Malloy overnight. There would be no job with the Petersens or any other family if that happened. Fiona might be an orphan, but she wasn’t stupid. Folks judged you by what they thought you might have done.
“I can’t let you walk ten miles in the snow.” He glanced out the small window above the sink. “With that cloud cover, it will be dark fast. You won’t make it even halfway there before then.”
Her heart clenched. “What am I supposed to do, then?”
“The way I see it, there are two choices. One, I ride over to my brother’s house tonight, you stay here and we can ride over tomorrow after I get the carriage back from my brother.”
“What’s the second choice?” She hated the tremor in her voice. Things had never been that complicated in the orphanage. Now it seemed every minute that passed, things grew more complicated.
“Both of us stay here tonight.”
The words dropped between them, rippling outward like he’d thrown a fist-sized rock into a pond.
“You know I can’t do that.” She pushed past him, upset and confused. She had nothing to return to in North Carolina. The orphanage had closed, which had served as her home most of her life. First as an orphan and then as a housekeeper. She had no family. No friends. Without this job at the Petersens’ ranch, she literally had nowhere to go.
“I won’t let you risk your life to prevent gossip.” He crossed his arms.
Fiona’s temper lit. What an arrogant ass. As if he had any stake in her future. They were strangers who had known each other for less than a day.
She poked one finger into his large chest. “And I won’t
let you tell me how to live my life. I have no choice here. I must get to the Petersens’ today.” She pushed at his arm and, to her surprise, he stepped to his right, allowing her to pass.
Fiona, fueled by her anger, marched into the living room and to her clothing. The wool was damp but no longer soaking wet. She yanked off the borrowed shirt and fought to unknot the rope she’d used to hold up the pants. A sliver of a sound tickled her ears.
Her gaze snapped to the doorway. To Ethan Malloy standing there, his gaze shocked, mouth open.
She looked down and wondered what he saw. Her threadbare chemise had holes and was thin as tissue paper from years of washing. Her too-big breasts pushed against the fragile fabric. Freckles decorated her skin everywhere. She used to use lemon juice to fade them, but each day they returned, and each year there were more of them. She’d given up trying to hide them.
Now Ethan saw them. All of them.
Fiona refused to cower under his stare, whether it was disgust or interest. She was too old for that type of nonsense. Certainly Ethan was no green boy. He was in his midthirties, maybe forties, if she had to guess.
“Um. You took your shirt off.”
“It was your shirt. I’m putting my clothes on and returning yours. If you’d like me to launder them, I can do that and return them to you.” She managed somehow to finally untangle the rope and the pants fell to her ankles.
Another strange noise from Ethan. He stared at her legs, and his gaze traveled up her body, stopping at her breasts, until he reached her face. Her blush started somewhere near her feet and ended on her heated cheeks.
“The polite thing to do would be to turn around and walk out of this room. Or at least turn your back.” She put her hands on her hips, which thrust her too-big breasts out even further. He stared at them and then licked his lips. To add fuel to that particular fire, her nipples hardened to painful points. A throb began between her legs.
What in the world was happening?
“I’ve gotta go ride to my brother’s and get the carriage.” He left the room in a hurry. No, he ran from the room like his ass was on fire.
The Present: The Malloy Family, Book 8.5 Page 2
