by Tracy Sumner
Adam shrugged, at an uncharacteristic loss for words. He had nothing to contribute to this topic. Nothing.
“So, how is she doing with the newspaper?”
He gazed out the window, across golden fields that seemed to stretch clear to the horizon. Quite suddenly, he longed to be on Taber’s back, riding like the devil. He was uneasy talking so much about Charlie. They were becoming good friends. He had that under control. Nevertheless, a moment or two, gazes tangling across the newspaper office, their friendship had slipped into other areas. Areas he did not want to occupy with any woman. Areas he was never going to occupy again.
He raised his glass, only to find it empty. “She’s doing fine.” Better then fine. “She has ten times the brains of most of the young reporters I work with.”
Intellect was not all. She had talent and a sense of structure, which was often impossible to teach. Her own style. And instinct. She had instinct, which was impossible to teach. She also listened. Really listened. How many reporters had he watched fail because they could not stand back and listen?
Adam snapped back as Miles tapped his glass.
“More?”
“No, I have to be going.” Adam held out his hand, which shook slightly. “Thanks for the...drink. Although I’m not sure I’ll be thanking you later.”
Miles stood, thumping Adam on the back. “Ahh, it’ll surely help you sleep tonight.”
“If not before.”
Miles' laughter resonated through the ever-darkening kitchen. “Don’t worry, I’ll bring the mash to the picnic.”
Adam raised his hands in mock surrender. “We’ll see.”
“That we will.”
Adam sprinted across the yard to Taber, who had begun snorting and pawing the ground. After climbing astride, he edged his mount by the porch. “How about a small wager on the horse race I hear follows the picnic?”
Miles’ gaze traveled the length of Taber and back again. “Uh, uh.” He shook his head.
Adam spurred the horse to a trot and yelled over his shoulder, “I knew you were a smart man, Miles Lambert.”
7
Aggravation
A source or cause of annoyance or exasperation.
Adam crossed the street with a quick, sure stride. A smile touched his face as he recalled Widow Davis’ surprised expression as he presented her with the jessamine he and Charlie had picked in the thriving field-of-yellow behind her house.
Actually, it had surprised Adam, too. He had picked the flowers for Lila, but the inspiration had been crushed somewhere between Charlie’s romping antics as she selected the most colorful blossoms and his own chaotic emotions.
Charlie had shown no qualms in revealing the hidden patch of bell-shaped jessamine, only asking that he not tell Lila where he had picked them.
A promise easily kept.
He forced his gaze to the road as he dodged a tea brown puddle. They littered the street—small and large—a gift from last night’s storm. His boots were crusted with enough mud to fill a coffee mug.
He raised his hand in greeting to John Thomason as he passed the livery. People were scurrying along Main Street, tipping their hats and shouting greetings, telling each other what a fine day it was for a picnic. He wished he could steal even a smidgen of their enthusiasm.
He halted at the Dane residence and gazed at the mammoth structure as a picture came to him: an impressionable young girl—sapphire eyes shining with wisdom—rejected by her aunt and uncle because her independence and intelligence far surpassed their daughter’s. Charlie had told him some of her past with the Dane family; he supposed it did not help matters that he hated them a bit for it.
He looked to the left of the house and laughed as he spied the vehicle they would be taking to the festivities. Damned if it wasn’t a Jenny Lind box buggy, one very similar to his own. Although his sported a fixed top, not a folding one. They were a good model, made to be easy on a horse. Fast. Sleek. Expensive. And so Lila.
Everyone else in town would arrive on foot, in dilapidated, horse-drawn carriages, or in Mr. Whitefield’s grocer’s cart. Widow Davis was traveling that way. He would arrive with all the pomp and circumstance of a royal entrance.
Well, hell...he was going with a princess, right?
“Yoo-hoo!”
He raised his arm and squinted into the sun. Lila. Perched on a swing in the corner of her wrap-around porch. He waved as he opened the wrought iron gate. This time he ignored the puddles in his path.
She had been awaiting his arrival, from the look of it. He had—in some senseless part of his mind—hoped she was going to the dance out of a sense of obligation. No, she looked powdered and sumptuous. Carefully constructed.
A woman with a mission.
She smiled as he approached. The swing tilted, her face sweeping from shadow to light. Perspiration had plastered several strands of ashen hair to her forehead. Her lips glistened. Her eyes, surrounded by those incredible golden lashes, flashed amatory signals.
He stopped at the edge of the steps, willing her to come to him. They stayed like that a moment, locked in battle, before Lila laughed. With practiced poise, she stood and shook her skirts. “Would you like to come in for a drink before we leave? Mama and Papa should be here any minute.”
He gave her a long look, trying to decide if he liked her dress, a pale pink walking costume trimmed in rows of velvet ribbon. Flounces looped with what he thought were tuberoses ornamented the design. A bonnet bedecked with a large satin ribbon sat upon her head.
He smiled at the irony: she looked absurd and exquisite. Of course, in the past two weeks, his definition of beauty had taken a swift kick in the hindquarters.
“Why are you smiling?” Her shadow fell across him.
Attraction and disgust battled within him. “I was just thinking how lovely you look.”
“Do I really?” She leaned close, injecting a teasing note into her voice. “I planned it just for you.”
He forced his smile. For some reason, he wanted to tell her to go to hell.
Lila frowned. She touched his face, covered with day-old stubble. “Did you forget to shave this morning?”
He raised his brow. “I did not.”
She pressed her lips together and withdrew her hand.
Damn, she was easy to read. Too easy. As vexed as she became with him, she would hang in there because he had been deemed worth the trouble.
There was only one woman who did not seem to want anything from him; who enjoyed his companionship; who talked with him like a trusted friend.
There was nothing in this world Lila could do to conjure the warmth—or the agitation—that situation invoked.
All the Lilas in the world could not soothe him with laughter and yellow blossoms, clear, blue streams, and the haunting scent of roses.
8
Temptation
Something that tempts, entices or allures.
The trip to the picnic progressed in a blur of gently rolling hills and ripe fields. He closed his eyes and let the sun play over his face as the smell of pine and moist earth reached up and tapped his nose.
“Oh, Mama, here we are!”
The royal carriage rounded the final bend as the neighborly call of friends and the wild, irrepressible laughter of children sounded just ahead. He wanted, more than anything in a long while, to exit this silly vehicle.
He jumped to the ground the moment the buggy came to rest. Gazing across the crowd, he denied looking for Charlie even as he looked for her.
“Adam.” Lila presented her hands to him. “The mud.”
He lifted her into his arms and grunted. His back issued a minor complaint; Lila was not the smallest peach on the limb.
Taking her sweet time pulling away from him, she grasped his hand as she turned. He understood he was to be her toy for the day.
As he prepared to manage her expectations, she stopped so suddenly that he almost ran into her. “Cousin Charlotte. How lovely to see you so soon after our arriva
l.”
He struggled to get a good look at the woman he had convinced himself he didn’t really want to see. If only Lila would move a little to the left.
“Lila. Chase.” Charlie’s gaze drifted to their joined hands before darting off.
Adam slipped his hand from Lila’s.
“Hello, Lila, Adam.” Tom walked behind Charlie. He lifted his hand in greeting; Adam had no choice but to take it.
He noticed a slight relaxing of Charlie’s shoulders as she stepped aside to allow Tom in front. Damn. I don’t want him protecting her from me. I’m her friend, a closer friend than he is. Though, Tom’s arm brushed hers as he made idle chitchat, and she didn’t seem to mind.
“Isn’t that right, Adam?”
He shook his head. “Sorry?”
Tom laughed. “I asked if you’re entering the race. Didn’t see your horse come in.”
Happy for any diversion that kept him from noticing the way Charlie seemed to be leaning into Tom’s side, he said, “Miles and I brought Taber last night. Chester offered to stable him. I thought it might be a good idea.” He shrugged. “Let him rest instead of riding him today.”
“Anyway, we had to ride with Mama and Papa,” Lila chimed in.
Adam swallowed his annoyance.
“If everyone will excuse me, I promised Kath I would help set up the tables,” Charlie said, avoiding his gaze as she set off in the direction of the barn.
She was a picture of dark flowing tresses and cool peach silk. Adam couldn’t imagine she really wanted to help set up the picnic. What was the alternative? Talking with Lila and Tom?
He wondered if the ladies needed any more help?
Lila trailed her fingers along his arm. “I’d better go, too. There’s no telling what Charlotte might knock over, clumsy as she is. Nice to see you, Tom.”
“Clumsy. Why of all the...that woman is the most spoiled bitch I’ve ever had the chance to meet.”
Adam turned to Tom with a surprised laugh.
Tom’s eyes widened. “Oh, I’m sorry. Lila—”
“Please. Don’t be embarrassed to speak the truth.”
Tom frowned, his gaze steady on Adam’s.
“And you’re wondering why I want to be with her when I know how she is?” He had answered this question before. “I understand her. Hell, I’m not sure I like her, but I understand her. No surprises...no funny little” —he shook his hand for lack of a better word— “feelings.”
Tom’s frown grew, digging dents in his cheeks. “To be honest, that sounds pretty empty.”
After a moment, Adam nodded in agreement. “Empty. Hmmm...not the exact word I would have used but not bad.”
A part of him rejoiced to see that Charlie had a noble champion; another part was jealous.
Impossibly jealous.
He turned his mind from that, because she—of all the people he cared to think about—deserved a friend. And a champion. Actually, she deserved much more. It certainly wouldn’t improve her life if he alienated Tom Walker.
“Tom, how about a mug of ale?”
“Charlotte, dear, you look absolutely beautiful.”
Charlie stopped, the pie she held teetering in her hand. She placed it on the table before it hit the ground. “Mrs. Mindlebright, it’s so kind of you to notice.” Notice? Heavens, it was kind of her to even speak.
The woman broke into a raspy cackle. “I can see you’re pondering my praise. Been few and far between, hasn’t it? You know, Charlotte, a long time ago, before we had horses and cows, before the sun rose each day and set each night, I was a young girl. A young girl full of hopes and dreams, sure that life was going to be different, wonderful, exciting. I ran around, free as the wind, and twice as fast. Didn’t think about anything, didn’t need to. Didn’t care what anyone thought, didn’t need them.” She reached into the straw purse anchored on her wrist, retrieving a lace handkerchief. Dabbing the corners of her lips, her gaze searched Charlie’s. “Dear, please excuse me, what was I saying?”
“You were—”
“Oh, oh, I remember. Your father. A lovely man. He let you have too much rope, I always thought.” She crooked her head. “By the way, where is he?”
Charlie took a step back. “Ah, he’s...um...”
“He couldn’t make it today. The newspaper, you know.”
With a potent sense of inevitability, Charlie let her gaze slide to the ground and the dusty riding boots planted beside her. She pushed her hair from her face and gradually raised her eyes.
The wind whipped his into his face as well. He didn’t prevent it, only stared at her with sympathy.
“The newspaper. On a day like this?” Mrs. Mindlebright stepped closer to Adam and peered into his face. “Just who are you, young man?”
Adam touched Charlie’s arm. He must have read her blank look. “Please excuse my rudeness.” Her voice was a hoarse whisper. She swallowed and tried again. “Mrs. Mindlebright, this is Mr. Adam Chase. He’s the new editor of the Sentinel. Mr. Chase, this is my former deportment teacher, Mrs. Mindlebright.”
He took her gloved hand in his and touched his lips to her fingers. “A pleasure, Mrs. Mindlebright.”
If he found it amusing that Charlie had taken deportment lessons, he contained it well.
Mrs. Mindlebright preened, her eyes flashing with delight. Charlie had to admit he seemed capable of playing the part of the gentleman.
“Mr. Chase, did you say? Related to the Charleston Chases by any chance?”
He inclined his head. “No, ma’am, I’m afraid not.”
“Ohh...the balls they used to have. Glorious, simply glorious. The sweet smell of magnolias, moonlight spilling across the terrace, the most beautiful courtyard in all of Charleston.” She smiled. “Just lovely.”
Charlie shot a glance at Adam. How can we escape?
“We must be off, Mrs. Mindlebright. So much work to be done for the picnic, you know. Again, a pleasure.” He grasped Charlie’s elbow and shoved her forward.
A dry whisper floated by Charlie’s ear as they passed. “A fine young man, Charlotte. A fine young man.”
Adam pulled Charlie past the tables of pies and cakes, past the barrels of cider and ale. She didn’t object when he led her through the doors of the Dole’s barn. Built of the finest timber this side of the Mississippi, it was large enough to house twenty horses. The air was thick with the odor of manure and sweat.
He stopped at the first stall and stepped inside, rifling through a saddlebag. He returned and thrust a leather-covered flask at her. “Drink.”
“What?”
“For God’s sake, you’re as pale as fresh snow.”
She uncapped the flask and took a healthy swallow. Then her hot blue gaze met his.
“No coughing? No teary eyes?” He grinned. “Why, Miss Whitney, if I didn’t know better, I would say you’ve sampled before.”
She flushed. “So what if I have?”
Laughing, he said, “Charlie Whitney has returned.”
Her eyes shot fire, but she took another sip.
He sobered and took a step forward. “Are you all right?”
She nodded, her eyes glued to a point beyond his shoulder. “I had no idea what to say. If you haven’t already noticed, I’m not particularly skilled at handling people. Especially Edgemont’s grande dame who, sad to say, seems moderately senile. And...“ She blinked and glanced at the straw-covered floor.
He stared at her bowed head, his hand lifting. Then he sighed and let it drop. She was strong; she might not want his comfort. As if it had a mind of its own, his gaze traveled over her, taking in her gown: the tapered sleeves, the rounded bodice, the fitted waist, the tiny rosettes adorning the skirt. She had even left those damn black boots of hers at home.
He brought his gaze up gradually, admiring the gentle, almost boyish curves of her body. That he found her so fascinating astonished him.
Her type did not usually appeal to him.
Stubborn. Thoughtful. Disinterested in
the mores of society. Strong-willed. Intelligently passionate. Scrupulous. Mysterious.
He shook his head and released a relieved breath. It was a good thing he had this attraction under control.
She lifted her hand to her hair, pushing a stray tendril behind her ear.
He followed her movement. He loved her hair. Dark as the devil’s soul, cascading past her shoulders and down her back like molten lava. Had he ever noticed before how distracting unbound hair could be? “Mrs. Mindlebright spoke the truth just now. You do look beautiful.”
She lifted her head, blinking as if she was not quite sure what to say. He felt her regard skip from his eyes to his mouth. Obviously without thinking, she blurted, “You look wonderful, too.”
He felt a sharp tug in the region of his chest. It was the finest compliment he had ever been paid. “Thank you.”
She dipped her head again, never guessing how her naiveté endeared her to him. Questioning his sanity, he slid his palm underneath her chin, studying her. The heat of her skin burned into his. Her eyes were wide. So blue. What would she do if...?
He leaned in.
A voice rang out: “Charlotte?”
She drew a quick, startled breath.
Adam stepped back, releasing her without warning. His hand shook when he shoved it in his pocket. “Over here.”
Tom, his brows drawn together. “Charlotte?”
“What is it, Tom?”
Adam lifted a hand to cover his smile. He couldn’t help it. That tone he was all too familiar with.
Obviously, Tom recognized it as well. He halted a few feet away. “I just...I just wondered where you were. Lila said she saw you come in here.”
Adam felt anger kindle. He would like to wrap his hands around Lila’s dainty throat.
Instead, he watched Charlie straighten her shoulders. “Is there a point to this?”
Tom glanced from her to Adam. “The picnic is beginning.”
“Thank you for finding me.” She turned to Adam. “You’re sure you have an extra pencil? I want to work on my editorial after lunch.”
Bravo, Charlie. “Yes, of course.” He went into the stall and again dug in his saddlebag. He laughed to himself as he spied the tangle of pencils in the pouch. She certainly was quick on her feet.
