by Karen Kirst
His fingers dug into her flesh, and she flinched. “Please,” she whimpered, “let me go.”
Somewhere behind her, she heard the click of a gun hammer. “I’d advise you to get your hands off the lady.”
She couldn’t see Mr. O’Malley, but his voice rang with deadly promise.
Uncertainty flickered in the glazed eyes. “My wife is my business.”
“The booze has scrambled your senses, Matthews.” He came closer. “Kate Morgan just arrived today. Look at her fancy clothes. She’s from New York City. A Yankee.”
This man was Tyler Matthews? Charlotte’s son was a dangerous drunk?
“I don’t understand.” His grip loosened, but he didn’t release her. His bloodshot gaze roamed her features. “You aren’t Lily?”
Her mouth suddenly dry, she croaked out a response. “No.”
His hands dropped abruptly to his sides. Immediately, Mr. O’Malley took her elbow and eased her to his side so as not to draw the other man’s attention. Her knees felt like gelatin. Unsteady, she held on to his arm as if it were a lifeline.
He appeared calm, but Kate sensed the tension humming through his body. His jaw was set in rigid lines. “Why don’t you go back inside and sleep it off?”
Head bent, Matthews rubbed the back of his neck. “I, uh, haven’t been sleepin’ too good lately.”
“Then maybe you should lay off the drink.”
Mr. O’Malley obviously knew this man and his history. What had happened to his wife? And why had he mistaken Kate for her?
“Yeah.” Turning, he went inside without another word.
Her rescuer angled his face down toward hers. “Are you all right?”
His low, easy drawl flowed over her like decadent, sugary caramel.
Kate gulped. She avoided all sweets, in particular caramel. One taste was never enough.
Suddenly conscious of her viselike grip on his arm, she let go and took a quick step back.
“I’m fine,” she said, tugging her snug-fitting jacket down. Her arms smarted from where Matthews had held her prisoner, but she wouldn’t mention that to him. “Thank you for intervening.”
Mr. Crandall rushed forward. “I second that sentiment, Mr. O’Malley. Are you quite certain you’re unharmed, Miss Morgan?”
“Yes.”
The brim of his black hat shading his eyes, Mr. O’Malley slid his weapon back in its holster and nodded to the carriage. “Let’s go before he has a change of heart.”
“Go where?” It suddenly dawned on Kate that she had no place to stay.
“My house.”
Chapter Two
This was not the day he’d had planned.
He should’ve been acquainting his intended with her new home. Instead, he was saddled with her sister. Troubled and pale after her ordeal, Kate stared out the carriage window, seemingly a million miles away.
“Where do you suppose Charlotte is?” Her gaze settled on him, seeking answers.
He hitched a shoulder. “I don’t know.”
“I thought everyone knew everyone else’s business in small towns.”
“That’s true to a point. However, I personally don’t keep track of everyone’s comings and goings.” He shifted on the swaying seat. When a worried crease appeared between her brows, he added, “We’ll ask my mother. She’s friendly with Mrs. Matthews, so there’s a good chance she’ll have an idea where she’s gone, if anywhere. For all we know, she could’ve been visiting a friend or picking up necessities.”
Her expression brightened, then dimmed an instant later. “Even if she is nearby, I can’t possibly stay there. Not with her son.” The fingers plucking at the lace edging her sleeves stilled. “Where is Lily Matthews?”
“Dead.”
Her lips parted. “I don’t understand. Then why—”
“You resemble her.” He shoved a hand through his hair. “Matthews used to be a productive member of this town, but he hasn’t been the same since the accident.” He’d heard of the man’s tendency to drink, but he hadn’t realized the severity of the problem. If he had, he wouldn’t have taken Kate out there.
“Does Gatlinburg have a hotel? Or a boardinghouse?”
“No hotel. No boardinghouse. The Copelands occasionally have rooms to let, but their son and his family are visiting from out of town.”
Again, she got that worried look.
“My parents may know of somewhere you can stay,” he tacked on. “Or you could go back to New York.”
She stiffened. “That’s not an option.”
“Why not?”
“I came here to do a job.” At his puzzled expression, she sighed. “The book, remember?”
“Ah, yes. I remember. You’re a photographer.” While he had no issue with working women, he couldn’t picture this elegant, delicate young lady as anything other than a privileged socialite. “Your coming here proved to be very convenient for Francesca, didn’t it? Why not let you deal with the unnecessary groom?”
“Mr. O’Malley, I’m sorry—”
He held up a staying hand as the driver halted the team outside of the livery. “It’s not your place to apologize. Forget I said anything.”
Kate didn’t speak as they exited the carriage. Replacing his hat on his head, he gave instructions to the driver and footman.
“We’ll leave your trunks here until we figure out where you’ll be staying.”
She glanced up and down the busy street. “I thought we were going to your house.”
“We are. It’s not far. I thought you might like to stretch your legs after being cooped up much of the day.”
Surprised that he cared one whit for her comfort, she fell into step beside him.
Passing the last business on the right, Leighton Barbershop, he led her across a quaint, wooden bridge overlooking the river.
The shaded lane enveloped them in a vibrant cocoon, leaves hanging mere inches from their heads. To the right and left stood an endless parade of stately trees reaching for the Heavens, the thick, dark trunks anchored in a sea of gold created by the shorter tulip trees’ golden leaves.
What beauty! How many are your works, O Lord! In wisdom You made them all; the earth is full of Your creatures.
She wished suddenly for a cushioned chair, a steaming cup of Earl Grey and a copy of Scientific American. She’d stay here in this lane for hours if he’d allow it.
Around the bend, the trees opened up to an expansive clearing, the green grass a lush carpet leading to a two-story cabin with a long, narrow front porch and beyond, a weathered barn and several outbuildings. It was just as he’d described, but of course the reality far surpassed her imaginings.
Pigs squealed in the distance. The sizable garden was bursting with jewel-toned vegetables—plump orange pumpkins, glossy eggplant, striped squash of different sizes and shapes, and green peppers.
Temporarily forgetting her dilemma, Kate grinned, ecstatic to see a real farm up close for the first time.
Pointing to impressive rows of trees, she asked, “Are those apple trees?”
He nodded. “McIntosh apples. They’ll be ripe in about a week.”
“That’s a lot of apples.”
“We won’t eat them all fresh. They’ll be used to make cider, vinegar, applesauce and apple butter, not to mention pies and other desserts.”
“You have a beautiful home,” she breathed, a note of wistfulness in her voice.
He glanced over at her. “The good Lord has blessed us.”
As they drew nearer to the house, Kate’s nerves assailed her. How would his parents react to her presence once they learned her awful news? Mouth dry and palms damp inside her buff-colored lace gloves, she slowed her steps.
The front door opened. A man and woman emerged, their faces alight with anticipation. “It’s about time, Joshua!” the woman exclaimed. “We were beginning to think something had happened.” Advancing down the steps, she crossed to meet them, her husband not far behind.
“Sorry to worry you, Ma,” Josh said. “This is—”
“Francesca!” To Kate’s surprise, Mrs. O’Malley clasped her hands in hers. “I’m so pleased to meet you!”
Oh, no. This was not good.
“I—”
“This isn’t Francesca.” Josh ran a finger beneath his shirt collar as if to loosen it. “May I present Kate Morgan? My ex-fiancée’s little sister.”
“Ex-fiancée?” his mother repeated, brow wrinkling in disbelief. “What’s happened, Joshua? Isn’t Francesca coming?”
More than once during her long journey to Tennessee, she’d faced Josh in her imagination. Rehearsing what she’d say. Envisioning what he might say. She hadn’t considered his family’s reaction. Standing here with Mr. and Mrs. O’Malley regarding her as if she were a creature from another planet, she regretted the omission. Not a word came to mind.
Josh’s level gaze was on her as he spoke. “Francesca changed her mind about the marriage. Kate thought it best to bring the news in person.”
“I’m sorry, son,” said Mr. O’Malley, as he placed a comforting hand on Josh’s shoulder.
His mother approached, questions lingering in her eyes. Her tremulous smile lessened Kate’s apprehension a notch. “Kate, I’m Mary. And that’s my Samuel. It’s a brave thing you did, coming here in your sister’s place. Thank you.”
Kate released the breath she’d been holding. She wasn’t going to be berated, after all. “I regret to have to deliver such dreadful news.”
Unlike Georgia Morgan’s cool, aloof beauty, Mary O’Malley’s appearance was one of sweet femininity, her wavy brown hair styled in a casual upsweep and a simple gold chain with a cross to complement her blue calico dress. And tall, lean Samuel O’Malley, with brown hair much like Josh’s, had a pleasant face.
“We appreciate your consideration of Josh’s feelings,” Samuel added.
The tips of Josh’s ears reddened. “I’m sure Kate would appreciate something to drink after her long trip.”
“Where are my manners?” Mary gasped. “Come on in! I’ve a fresh batch of crybabies already cooling on the table.”
Crybabies? What on earth?
Josh’s parents went inside first, and he gestured for her to go ahead of him. She felt the weight of his gaze on her back as they passed through the doorway.
Her first impression of the O’Malley home was that it could’ve fit inside the dining hall of her parents’ estate. Instead of silk damask wall panels, these walls were bare wooden planks. There were no ornate candelabras or wall sconces, only kerosene lamps placed in key areas about the room. Compared to her estate’s marble hallways, plush Oriental rugs and the finest furnishings money can buy, this home was indeed humble.
However, there was no denying it was an inviting space, cozy and cheerful and decorated with care. Blue-and-white gingham curtains hung at every window, and landscape scenes of mountains and meadows hung on the walls. A serpentine sofa with blue brocade cushions and walnut trim, along with two matching chairs, were situated around a charming stone fireplace.
“Not exactly what you’re used to, is it?” Josh stopped at her side.
“It’s lovely.”
He studied her, weighing her words and expression as if trying to gauge her sincerity.
“Please, make yourself comfortable.” Mary gestured to the sofa. “I’ll get the refreshments. Samuel, can you give me a hand?”
The couple passed through the dining area and rounded the corner into what she assumed was the kitchen. She couldn’t make out the words of their quiet conversation, but no doubt they were discussing her sister’s cowardice and lack of decency.
“Would you like to have a seat?”
Kate swallowed hard. Josh’s steady assessment set her nerves on edge.
“Yes, thank you.”
Moving to the nearest wingback chair, she sank gracefully onto the cushion and arranged her skirts with care. He didn’t join her. Instead he began to pace the length of the couch, hands in his pockets. Every now and then a muscle in his cheek twitched.
She could just imagine his thoughts. Wringing Fran’s neck, perhaps?
His parents returned at last with a tray of glasses filled with ginger water and a plate piled high with cookies, which they placed on the low coffee table in front of her. The sweet aroma of molasses teased her nose. Were these the crybabies, perhaps?
Mary handed her a glass. “Here you are.”
“Thank you.” The tart liquid washed the dust from her throat.
When they were settled in the sofa across from her, Mary said, “You’ve traveled a great distance, haven’t you, Kate? What are your plans now that you’re here?”
“I’m actually here to take photographs. And to visit my former governess, Charlotte Matthews.” Her gaze shot to Josh, who was still pacing. “Everything was arranged and she knew to expect me. She wasn’t at home, however.”
Absently, she rubbed the tender spot on her wrist where Tyler had held her.
“We thought you might know her whereabouts.” Josh had stopped pacing. Resting his weight against the sofa, his hands gripped the wooden trim. His gaze caught her movement and narrowed. Kate covered the spot with her hand.
“You know Charlotte? She’s a dear lady.” Mary frowned. “She’s been facing some hard times lately. Tyler isn’t coping well with the death of his wife. And now his sister, Carrie, is expecting and has been terribly ill. Charlotte left last week to be with her until the baby comes. I’m afraid she won’t be back for quite some time.”
Kate lowered her gaze to her lap. This wasn’t welcome news. Charlotte must’ve been too preoccupied to send her a letter explaining the situation.
“Miss Morgan needs a place to stay,” Josh spoke into the silence. “Do you know of anywhere?”
“You can stay here, of course.” Mary beamed. “With four males stomping around this house, I get lonesome for female company.”
“Mary, I’m not sure…” Samuel shot a meaningful glance at Josh.
Her smile faltered. “Oh, yes, I didn’t think—”
“She can sleep in my cabin,” Josh announced bitterly. “I won’t be needing it after all.”
“Are you sure?” Mary peered up at him, her eyes full of concern.
“Positive. It won’t take all that long to move my things back into my old bedroom.”
“Wait.” Kate hastily replaced her drink and came around the sofa to face him. “The last thing I want to do is push you out of your home.”
“A home I built for my future wife.” The pain of betrayal flashed hot in his eyes. “But she’s not here, is she?” Turning his back, he strode for the door. “You’re welcome to it.”
His boot had connected with the bottom step when he heard the door open and close and Kate call his name. What now? Couldn’t she see he wasn’t in the mood for company?
With great reluctance he pivoted back, squinting in the afternoon sunshine. She edged forward, her face shadowed by the hat’s brim. Loosening the ribbons of her reticule, she withdrew a long parchment envelope and held it out to him.
“I have a letter for you. From Francesca.”
He stared at the letter, not sure he wanted to read it. “What does it say?”
Her lips parted, and dark lashes swept down to hide her eyes. Pink washed her cheeks. “I don’t know. She didn’t share the contents with me and, to be honest, I’m glad she didn’t.”
Tucking the letter in the inside pocket of his su
it jacket, Josh nodded in silent farewell and left her standing on the porch. If he didn’t get alone soon, he was going to come undone. What he wanted to do was hunt down the man who’d stolen his future and plant a facer on him. Then he’d confront Francesca and force her to confess her perfidy to his face.
But that wasn’t an option. Not today, anyway.
With effort, he ruthlessly tamped down the emotions clawing at his insides.
Ignoring the letter burning the lining of his suit, he gathered his clothes and books from his home, not stopping to linger and mourn his loss. To his relief, his mom was showing Kate the kitchen when he went inside the main house, so he was able to put his things away, change clothes and duck back outside without being seen.
During the entire trip to town and back to retrieve her luggage, the letter and what it might say dominated his thoughts. Why hadn’t Francesca had the decency to face him herself? Why put it off on her little sister?
Finally, when the wondering became too great, he pulled the envelope from his pocket and sank onto the top step of his porch.
Heart thumping against his rib cage so hard it hurt, he unfolded the paper and, holding it to his nose, inhaled her flowery scent. He felt achy all over.
Dearest Josh,
I am not sure what to write, for I know nothing I say will change your low opinion of me. Katerina was adamant that I give you some explanation, and I admit she was right. You must know that I care for you, but you and I together for a lifetime never would have worked. Percy can provide the type of life I need to be happy.
Sincerely,
Francesca Morgan
Stunned, Josh flipped the paper over and found the other side blank.
There was no apology. She’d basically admitted to wedding this man for material gain.
Francesca’s nonchalant attitude, her utter lack of remorse, stung. Anger boiled up once again, threatening to overwhelm him.
Once again, he was facing a lonely future.
