by Tracy Sumner
Taking another breath, he drew back. The bullfrogs and crickets seemed to be shouting all about them. How long had they been occupied? He glanced past the tree. The other couple had disappeared.
“Jared...”
Her sigh slipped to him on velvet currents. He let his gaze fall upon her upturned face. The wonderment reflected there was like a hatchet to his gut. “Oh, God, Charlie...no.” He didn’t want her to know him as Jared. Jared had been dead for years—had died in two parts—with his mother and with Eaton. That carefree boy had barely been a man when he disappeared. It was too late for him.
Reluctantly, the beauty of her face, bathed in moonlight, called his hand to her cheek. He trailed his finger along her jaw. “You are so damn beautiful,” he heard himself say.
“If you say so.” Breathless. Uncertain.
“You don’t know, do you?”
“I don’t know what I know anymore. I know my heart is racing so quickly that I feel a little sick. And exhilarated. And afraid. And wonderful. And...I don’t think you’re going to help me understand this, are you?”
He could hear the anger in her voice. He deserved it. “No,” he whispered.
She laughed, an awful, cold sound, and turned away.
“Wait.” He stepped forward.
She stopped. Their gazes met. “You didn’t like when I called you Jared, did you?”
He closed his eyes and bowed his head.
“Answer me.”
He opened his eyes to find her gaze devouring him. If fear and defeat had not owned him at that moment, he would have smiled at her defiant stance, feet spread just so, fists curled, probably in anticipation of knocking his head off. He should have known Charlotte Whitney was not one to cry about a simple kiss.
Simple? Hell.
It was the most earth-shattering kiss of his life. The deepest emotion he had ever experienced with a woman—and all in the brief span of a minute. It was much more than he would allow himself to experience again. That seemed enough of a reason to give her the truth. “No, I didn’t like it.”
The only outward indication that she had even heard him was her sharp inhalation. “Thank you for that, at least.” She started back to the house.
He took a faltering step and asked, “Jared...why does that matter?” What does he matter?
She stopped but did not turn. He wanted to run to her, scoop her into his arms, and carry her back to his feather bed. Peel her clothes off one piece at a time, then lie between her beautiful legs. Make love to her and fall asleep with her heartbeat in his ears. It hurt to stay where he was and not go to her. He knew he could ask nothing of her.
Not unless he was willing to give.
She looked at the sky. She was not going to answer. Then he heard the words float to him on the wind. They tore through him like nothing had since that day and that damn bloody field where he had died with Eaton. “Jared matters, Chase, because he’s you. The real you.” Her form had dissolved into the mist before he claimed his next breath.
The real you.
Why did her words surprise him? He had known there was something between them. They practically burst into flames when they were together. Before tonight, though, he was not sure she knew it.
Her honesty scared him to death.
Women of his acquaintance did not open their mouths beneath his until they knew they were getting something substantial, something more than a heated kiss, in return. Women of his acquaintance did not melt into him, in a perfect, singular fit, until he had showered them with gifts and false praise. Women of his acquaintance did not lift shining eyes to his, presenting their desire as plainly as a teacup on a silver platter. And, women of his acquaintance never, ever, admitted to wanting him in the way Charlotte Whitney just had. Wanting more than physical release, more than monetary benefit, more than social gain, more than a shallow joining of...nothing.
She wanted Jared Chase.
Well, she asked for too much. With a muttered curse, he headed back to the dance. He would find sweet Lila and cart her home. Without a goodnight kiss, thank you.
He’d had his fill of kissing for one day.
14
Remorse
Deep and painful regret for wrongdoing; compunction.
The slam of the office door propelled Adam from his reverie. He twisted in his chair to find Gerald bearing down upon him like a locomotive, his hair leaving his head like smoke tossed into a brisk breeze. His eyes were bloodshot, his gait precarious. He passed Adam with nary a word, heading for the water pitcher Charlie kept in the office.
Adam grunted. He didn’t want to think about Charlie.
“What are you grumbling about? I’m the one dying.”
Going against his sullen mood, Adam smiled. “What’s that, old man?”
Gerald poured a glass of water and lifted it to his lips. He hit the mark on the third try. “A bit too much drink last night.”
“I can see that.”
“How the hell are you feeling?”
Adam's gaze dropped. “Fine.”
“Fine?”
“I’m suffering no ill effects from alcohol, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Gerald tiptoed to his chair and slid into it as if he were made of glass. “Don’t raise your voice.” With a groan, he dropped his head to his hands.
“Please. Go home. You don’t look to be much help today. And, you smell terrible.”
With the help of his hands, Gerald shook his head. “No. I’ve never left the press in need, and I never will.” He rose on swaying legs. “Even if I am dying.”
Adam tapped his pen against the desk. “Go. We won’t be going to press until tomorrow at the earliest. I have to finish an editorial, and Charlie still owes me her bank piece.” Seeing Gerald’s stubborn look, he insisted. “Home.”
Gerald’s gaze strayed invitingly toward the door. “You’re sure?”
“I wouldn’t say it if I weren’t sure. If the paper needed you, I would drag you here if I had to.”
“Yes, you would wouldn’t you?” Gerald clapped his hands, then grimaced. “I feel like a dozen horses have trampled on my head.”
“Too much whiskey?”
“Hell, no, man. I’m German! Too much ale.”
Adam grinned and raised an apologetic hand. “Sorry.”
“No offense taken. And, I think I’ll take you up on your offer of a day’s rest.” He crept to the door, looking as if he were trying not to move his head.
“Tomorrow, bright and early.”
“Yes, bright and early.” The door closed on his softly uttered words.
Adam forced himself back to his work, seizing his discarded editorial and settling more comfortably in his chair. “Now, where was I?”
Six young ladies who will enter the world better prepared to meet its challenges. The graduation
“Oh, yes. How could I have forgotten such a fascinating story?” He dipped his pen and started again.
The graduation was a lovely affair
Another door slam. Adam lurched, sending the inkwell to the floor and showering the leg of his trousers. He sighed and turned to the door.
Charlie stood there, her mortified gaze jumping from the ink spreading in a slow circle on the floor, to his ruined trousers. She rushed to him, grabbing a cloth from the rack of type as she passed it. “Heavens, what a mess.”
Adam drew a sharp breath as she dabbed at the stain on his leg. The heat from her touch shot from his groin to the tips of his toes. “Whoa. Stop.” He took her by the shoulders.
Against his will, his gaze melted over her like hot wax. It was amazing how someone so oblivious to the art of feminine enhancement could look so damn good. It was clear she didn’t try. From her slipshod braid to her threadbare day dress, she was magnificent. Even the black boots—as ugly as any he had ever seen—well suited her.
He sighed and looked away, pulling a hand through his hair. “An old pair of trousers,” he said with a flip of his hand. The detail he
omitted was the ink that was fast adhering fabric to the hair on his legs. She probably would not care to know that. He sighed again and bent to gather pieces of splintered inkwell.
“Do you want this? No sense getting ink all over your hands.” She waved the rag before his face.
He took the cloth without looking up. “Thanks.”
“Well, um, I just came in to tell you that I’ll have the bank story done this afternoon. In fact, I’m heading to the Four Leaf now. I thought today would be quiet with the town nearly deserted and—”
“You should write here.”
“Pardon me?”
“Charlie, the Four Leaf is no place for a woman. You can write here.” Glancing up, his gaze collided with hers.
“Where I write is none of your business.”
He tossed the cloth to the floor. “Fine.”
“I should have listened to my intuition and avoided this office today.”
He followed her to her desk. “Why did you come, then?”
Her hands stilled. Her head lifted. “I came in here to get the revision notes for my story, as if it’s any of your concern. And, for your information, I’ve been writing in the Four Leaf for years.”
“Fool idea, if you ask me.”
“As far as I can tell, no one is.”
He gripped the desk’s edge. Their gazes clashed across a paper battlefield. With a will of its own, his hand inched toward hers. With a silent curse, he resumed his place at his desk, grabbed his pen and began to write as if she never walked into the office.
The graduation was a lovely affair, attesting to the wonderful care and attention Mrs. Mindlebright
He wrinkled his nose. What was that smell?
Charlie paused in her search. “I was picking jessamine this morning. I guess that’s it.”
Damn. He had spoken aloud.
She cast a cat-like glance his way. “By the way, how did Lila like them?”
He tightened his grip on his pen. “Lila? Like what?”
“The jessamine.”
“Hmmm?” The pen stilled. A pause. “I didn’t give them to her.”
“Why?”
“I chose not to. Can we leave it at that?” His gaze never left the desk.
“Of course, Chase.”
He restrained a rush of anger. “So, last night didn’t progress us to Adam?”
She forced her lips together before she said something she would regret. She searched for a way to escape, focusing her gaze just above his head. Better to ignore his discerning, chestnut eyes. Better to ignore his thick, curling-at-the-collar mane of dark hair. Better to ignore the flex of his long, able fingers. Better to ignore thoughts about how splendid he looked, sitting there regarding her so calmly, intelligence and an inexplicable resplendence shimmering off him like rays off a plane of water.
Rather than be a coward, she should speak her mind. However, it was terribly disconcerting when one look made her forget her anger.
And an entire, prepared speech.
She cleared her throat. “Regarding the incident...” How could she bungle this when she’d practiced the entire walk to town? She tried again. “Regarding that, um, well. I think we should just forget it happened. There was drink involved, and I think we should just forget it happened.” There. Simple. Clear. Concise. Definitive.
Feeling bolder, she met his gaze.
With a raised brow, he lifted his finger to his lips and tapped them, studying her in his cool, careful way. After a moment, he asked, “Did you have anything to drink?”
She simply stared, quite the rat in the trap.
“Did you?” Again, he tapped his lips.
“Not much.”
“What was that?” He inclined his head toward her.
She repeated the words as a slow burn worked its way through her. One part anger, one part embarrassment.
“That’s not my excuse either, believe me.”
She chewed on her lip with concentrated effort and resumed her search, papers spilling from her fingers. With a quick glance to the side, she saw his boots perched on her father’s desk, his hands laced across his flat middle.
“You need to shave,” she said to keep the conversation flowing until she could find her notes and leave.
He smiled, hand rising to his face. “Do you not like it, Charlotte, dear?”
“No.” A sheet dropped to the floor. She squatted to pick it up. “You look like a vagrant.”
“Miss First-Class-Show-Of-Propriety speaks.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and swallowed her hurt, hoping the pain didn’t show. “I’m going to stay with the Sentinel, come hell or high water, you or Oliver Stokes.”
She was glad to see his eyes widen as she leaned forward, forcing him to tilt his head to meet her gaze. “You’re just like everybody else in this town, Chase. We’ll forget this happened, forget it all happened. Forget we were ever friends.”
15
Resolution
A formal expression of opinion or intention made; a resolve or determination.
July left Edgemont, dismissed by an intolerably hot, dry August. Crops and tempers in the small town suffered.
Withering corn stalks had Miles’ face pinched with worry. Kath fretted about Miles. Gerald carried his concern for his son’s farm to the newspaper office, where it joined the tension already simmering between Adam and Charlie. Adam buried himself in his work to avoid thinking of anything else. This only increased Lila's vile disposition. Hubert Dane went out of his way to please his daughter, disturbed when he could not. He berated his assistant, Tom Walker, at every turn. Tom turned to Charlotte for solace, but she buried herself in her work to avoid thinking of anything else.
Aldo Friedrich seemed the only happy person in town. Whiskey sales had risen for no reason he could fathom.
In the middle of the month, a storm answered the town's prayers for rain, though it brought hail and violent winds. The day after, the menfolk held an emergency meeting in the church to discuss the damage and organize groups to complete the necessary repairs.
The church, which also served as the town’s schoolhouse, was airless and overcrowded. A burst of conversation assaulted Adam’s ears as he stepped through the door. He pulled his hat off and slid his hair from his eyes. He had been meaning to have it cut. Charlie had grudgingly offered to do it last week, but then she would have to touch him. He knew neither one of them wanted, well...needed that. And he was not sure he could endure it without pulling her into his lap and—
He sighed. He had best go to a barber. If Edgemont even had a barber.
Making his way through the assembly, he caught sight of Miles and Gerald at the front. Miles grinned as Adam stopped before them. “You made it.”
Adam slapped his hat against his leg. “I don’t know why. With Gerald here, and Charlie at her place cleaning up, I’m damned shorthanded.”
“This shouldn’t last long.”
Adam grunted. He had seen meetings like these go on longer than an old man’s story.
Gerald clapped his hands. “Gentlemen. We need to call this meeting to order.” He slipped a finger between his lips and released a shrill whistle. Silence rolled like a wave through the assembly. “I thought that would do it. Thank you, for coming on such short notice. I know everyone needs to get back to their homes and farms. First off we ought to see who needs assistance right away. I know of a few things that can’t wait.” He patted his shirt pocket. “Did anyone bring pencil and paper?”
Adam closed his fist around his hat and waited for someone, anyone, to speak up, but the silence swelled. He just knew this was going to take more time than he could afford to spend. “I have it.”
Gerald nodded, his grin growing. “I should have known. Adam, you can be our what-do-you-call-it?” He snapped his fingers.
“Secretary,” Adam said.
“Secretary. Fine. Shall we begin?”
Two hours and ten pages later, the assembly concluded. Adam wiped sweat
from his brow and scribbled one more line. The time spent had been worth it after all. He had recorded enough information for a decent write-up of the gathering, initially Gerald’s assignment. And somehow ended up organizing the groups assisting with the repairs, too.
A nudge against his back propelled his pencil across the page in a jagged arch.
“I’m sorry, Adam, to interrupt your writing.”
Adam clicked his teeth together and glanced up. Tom Walker stood there, his gaze as green and clear as the pond behind Adam’s childhood home. An odd thought occurred: did Charlie like the color? “Tom. Just putting together a few final ideas.” He shook the pad for emphasis.
“You’re quite an organizer, I must say.”
“Pulling together enough stories to fill a paper for a thousand different press runs must have prepared me.”
“Must have,” Tom said, visibly disinterested. “Actually, I just wanted to see if I could switch groups with someone. I’d like to help with the tree that needs cutting down at Charlotte’s. You know, the one hanging over her porch?”
Of course, he knew the one hanging over her porch. He had spotted it this morning, while riding by her house. If he wasn’t such a coward, he would have stopped to talk with her about it. As it was, he told Miles, who made sure to tell her to stay off the porch until they removed it.
Strange, his riding by her house so often. Most times, the neat yard surrounding her home was empty—except for Faustus, floating like a flame upon a sea of green. He wished he could ride by without looking for her.
He wished he did not feel the urge to ride by at all.
Hell. He missed her.
Missed exchanging barbs with her, and the way her gaze used to focus on him, as if what he was saying was interesting, important. Missed her honest, deep laugh, so unlike the shallow, thin one she used of late. Missed walking her home, with moonlight spilling across their path.
Of late, she left before it got dark. Avoiding those strolls he had gotten terribly used to.
