He stuffed what was left of the half-smoked cigarette in his shirt pocket and straightened. “I believe so.”
“But why? I don’t understand.”
“I don’t know, Theo.” He reached for her bandaged hand, and she gladly gave it to him, accepting this small gesture of comfort. “Do you have any enemies? Someone who wants to hurt you?”
She shook her head. As far as she knew, no one would want to hurt her. She was a good neighbor, caring for those around her, and she always tried to be kind, no matter the circumstances. The only ones who might wish her bad luck were Pearce and his son. She had feared Aldrich’s reprisal after she rebuffed his offer of marriage, but there had been none. The fancy lawyers he sent to convince her to sell the farm to him had been nothing more than a nuisance. And AJ? Another bother, but completely harmless.
No, Aldrich would never set fire to her stable. He knew the value of the horses. He wanted the farm, but he would never do something like this to get it. That wasn’t like him—fire was too obvious. His methods to get what he wanted were more subtle, for the most part, though he wasn’t above using fear and intimidation as his weapons, not to mention his fancy, back east attorneys who could twist words like Marianne twisted dough to make pretzels.
“I can think of no one who would want to hurt me this way, Eamon. Not one single person.” Tears filled her eyes. They seemed to be coming more easily now, leaving her throat raw and her heart bruised. She had cried not only in Eamon’s arms but Granny’s and Marianne’s, too, but never in front of the children. For them, she maintained a positive attitude, no matter how much her heart was breaking.
“Maybe we should have the sheriff come out and take a look. At least report what happened.” He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Perhaps there have been other fires.”
“Other fires? Wouldn’t we have heard something about that? Quincy, I’m sure, would have said something if there had been mention in the newspaper.”
Again, he shrugged, then pushed the brim of his hat higher on his forehead. “Maybe they haven’t been reported. Maybe no one suspects arson.” He shifted his weight from one leg to the other as he removed the bandage from his left hand and stuffed the material in his pocket. “There could be someone out there setting fires because he likes to do it. I’ve heard about people like that. And it could have nothing to do with you or your farm. It could be just a random act.”
“A random act?” Theo repeated as anger flooded her. She’d been upset, but she hadn’t been angry . . . not until this very moment. “Why? Why should someone have the right to . . . to ruin everything I’ve worked for because he likes to see fire? Why pick my farm? I have valuable animals here. More importantly, I have children here, one who has already been through a fire that nearly cost her her life, and an old woman who doesn’t move as fast as she used to. People I love, Eamon!” Panic rose with the anger even though she was not usually a woman who gave in to hysterics. She’d always been calm and in control, but thinking about who she could have lost was too much.
She swiped the wetness from her eyes, frustrated that she should cry when what she really wanted to do was hit something. Or someone. Hard. “What if it hadn’t been the stable, but the house that had been set on fire? What if we’d been too late? What if—”
“Theo!” He reached for her, his hands coming up to rest against both cheeks, his skin hot and rough from the burns he’d suffered putting out the fire. His silvery-gray eyes bored into hers. “Stop and take a breath.”
Startled, she did as she was told.
“Again.”
The panic began to pass, but not the fury, as she drew more air into her lungs.
He released her, but didn’t move away. Instead, his gaze remained steady, and his voice lowered in pitch. “Listen to me. Everyone is fine. The children. The horses. Granny. No one was hurt. The stable can be repaired, and Happy will be his old self again in no time at all.”
She shook her head, knowing he lied to her. Happy had finally come home after the older boys, Lou and Wynn, had scoured the surrounding woods calling his name. He hadn’t been the same dog since—he stayed in his box on the porch more often than not, his eyes alert but so sad, as if he’d lost his joy. Mallory and the cats sensed the difference in him, too.
“He’ll come around,” he repeated, as if he could feel the doubt in her heart. He moved closer to her, then reached out to caress the side of her face, wiping a tear from her cheek with his thumb.
Theo leaned into his soft touch and gathered strength from his strength, letting it soothe her troubled soul.
“Let’s go into town.”
“Town?” The suggestion caught her by surprise. Eamon never went to town, though Quincy had offered several times. Indeed, this would be the first time—he hadn’t left the farm since the moment he arrived. If he needed something, he had Quincy pick it up on one of his daily trips. He was trying to distract her, and despite everything, her spirits lifted, the sweet gesture nearly bringing her to tears—again.
He nodded, his warm gaze roaming over her face, his hand still resting against her cheek. “Why not? I know Quincy was going to pick up wood at the lumber yard to start repairing the stable, but there’s no reason why we can’t do that. And we can bring the children.” He glanced around like he was about to impart a deep, dark secret, then grinned. For a moment, Theo caught a glimpse of him as a little boy up to mischief. “Quincy told me there’s a new ice cream shop on Main Street. Marianne is a fantastic cook, but she doesn’t make ice cream and I’ve got a powerful hankering.”
“A powerful hankering, huh?”
“Yes, ma’am. Right powerful.” He grinned, and once again, she saw a bit of the little boy he’d been. She had no doubts he’d been a good son, but her woman’s intuition told her he had added many gray hairs to his mother’s head.
“All right.” She pulled away from him and swiped at her face once more, removing the last of her tears. “We’ll go into town. Thomas needs a new pair of shoes anyway, and we can always use more hair ribbons.” She rose up on her toes and touched her lips to his, despite who may be looking. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For just . . . ” She had no words so she simply shrugged. “Thank you.”
Eamon touched the brim of his hat with the side of his finger and gave her a lopsided smile. “My pleasure, ma’am.” He lowered his voice to that deep rich timbre that always sent a shiver down her spine. “Why don’t you get yourself and the children ready while I talk to Quincy and hitch up the buckboard?”
“Meet you here in fifteen minutes?”
“Better make it twenty.”
• • •
She turned away, the hem of her split skirt swirling around her boots, and started walking toward the house. He admired the sway of her hips and couldn’t resist the temptation of her perfect backside. With a chuckle, he took a few steps after her, then gave her a love pat on the behind.
“Eamon!” Theo shouted, then dissolved into giggles, as he hoped she would.
He laughed as she picked up her pace and disappeared into the house, then turned toward the stable to grab the rake he’d left leaning against the wall.
“I saw that.”
Eamon jumped, startled, as Quincy came around from the side of the building, took the unlit pipe from his mouth, and grinned.
“Nice to know people still take my advice. Except for this”—he moved his hand to encompass the burned façade of the stable—“she seems happy. Happier than I’ve seen her in a long time. It’s good to see.”
“I . . . It’s . . . ” His face heated as he tried to stammer out a comment, but Quincy wasn’t done and held up his hand.
“You’re happy, too. I’m glad you finally realized what we all already knew.”
“And what was that?”
“That you’re worthy of friendship . . . and love.” He stuck the stem of the pipe between his teeth and clamped down on it as he moved closer. Again, he gestured t
o the burned wall of the building, effectively closing the subject of Theo’s happiness, and much to Eamon’s relief, he didn’t ask if Theo knew of his past. “Didn’t mean to eavesdrop either, but I heard you talking about someone setting this fire deliberately. I agree with you.”
Quincy reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a wadded handkerchief. “Found these.” As he unwrapped it, the smell of tobacco rose, different from the fragrant blend both he and Quincy used in their pipes. More half-smoked cigarettes littered the square of white, all were flattened, as if crushed by the sole of a shoe when the smoker was done. “Someone has been here, watching us. Not sure how long or why—or who for that matter—”
“Where did you find these?”
“Found a couple behind the playhouse.” He gestured toward the former gypsy wagon. “Found a few more outside your window.”
Eamon stiffened as the implication became clear. Sweat began to gather on his forehead beneath the band of his hat. “You mean someone was standing on my front porch, smoking cigarettes, and looking in my window?”
The man shook his head. “Not your porch window, Eamon, the other one. Whoever it is, he isn’t stupid. He’s staying to the shadows, and I’m thinkin’ he’s only been here after dark.”
More perspiration dampened his back despite the cold chill that moved down his spine. What had the intruder seen? With a sinking feeling deep in his stomach, the answer came to him immediately—the trespasser had witnessed him making love to Theo. That alone made his gut twist. “Why didn’t the dog let us know someone was here, watching?”
Quincy shrugged. “Don’t rightly know. Happy is getting older. You may not realize it, and he certainly doesn’t act like it, but he’s almost fourteen and probably doesn’t hear as well as he used to. And maybe he just got used to people being here. We did have a house full of Theo’s guests. Plus, if whoever it was came through the woods and around the back of the playhouse and the barn, he wouldn’t be seen from Happy’s bed on the porch. Morning Mist is pretty big. A person could sneak on the property and not be seen at all.” He tilted his head, then handed over the handkerchief with the cigarettes. “It’s probably a good idea to see the sheriff, like you said. If nothing else than to warn him there may be an arsonist in Pearce.”
Eamon gently folded the handkerchief and put it in his pocket.
“Come on, I’ll help you get the buckboard ready.” The older man led the way into the barn. They worked in silence as they hitched up the draft horses. Once all the leather straps were tightened and checked, Eamon headed for his room while the older man drew the buckboard into the barnyard.
“You be careful in Pearce.” Quincy spoke around the pipe stem in his mouth when Eamon returned a few minutes later. “I’m sure it’s changed a lot since you were there last. And you keep an eye on our girl.”
As soon as he said the words, the back door slammed and Gabby, followed by Thomas and Charlotte, raced across the porch. “I call shotgun.” For such a little girl, she could certainly move fast, outpacing her companions.
“Here you go, poppet.” Quincy lifted Gabby into the back of the buckboard. “No shotgun for you. Now you sit still and hold on tight.”
“Okay, Quinthy,” she lisped, her speech impaired by the recent loss of the other front tooth. Charlotte and Thomas joined her in the back of the wagon.
The door slammed one more time, and Theo crossed the porch, a small drawstring purse swinging from her wrist. Eamon’s pulse picked up, and his heart hammered in his chest. She had changed from her usual uniform of split skirt and white blouse to a dress in soft green with slightly darker green stripes that shimmered as she walked. She’d even done her hair, taking the whiskey-colored tresses down from her customary ponytail and letting the curls cascade over her shoulders instead.
He drank in the sight of her, then shook his head as his gaze drifted down to her feet. She had changed her dress and her hair for their trip to town, but she hadn’t changed her old, well-worn boots, which peeked out from the hem of her skirt as she walked.
He leaned against the side of the wagon, just admiring her, his lips stretching into a grin when Granny stuck her head out the door and called after her, “I could use some peppermint sticks.”
Theo turned around and walked backward, giving the woman her attention and Eamon an eyeful of that perfect backside. “How many?”
“Whatever Mr. Gentry has in stock.”
“Yes, ma’am.” She turned again and strode up to the buckboard in the barnyard. Without a word, Eamon took her hand in his and helped her into her seat. He climbed up beside her and gathered the reins in his hands.
“Everyone ready?”
After a chorus of yeses met his ears, he flicked his wrists and clicked his tongue. The horses responded instantly, moving the wagon down the drive like they’d done a thousand times before.
A mix of emotions tumbled through him, like water rushing over boulders in a stream, as he guided the buckboard between the two towering evergreen trees at the end of the drive and turned onto the road that would lead him to Pearce. The prospect of meeting someone he’d known when he’d been a Marshal made him a bit nervous, but not so much that he wanted to turn back. Besides, Theo needed this outing. He was doing it for her more than himself, and that made the difference.
Despite the fire and the decision for Theo’s guests to leave earlier than expected, the half-smoked cigarettes, and the fact that someone had been watching them, he still counted his blessings. He had so much to be grateful for. He turned his head and glanced at the children in the bed of the wagon. Their bright smiles, even from Charlotte, warmed him just as much as the sun did. He loved them dearly, and he thought they loved him as well, but the biggest blessing on his list? Theo.
Emotions so strong they couldn’t be contained swelled within him, and he had no choice but to release them. He began to sing, his voice as strong as his emotions. Strange, he wasn’t embarrassed, not even when Charlotte declared in what he thought was mock horror, “He’s doing it again,” and Theo turned to study him, her eyes dancing with both curiosity and pleasure.
“Come on, you know the words. I know you do,” he encouraged her.
She gave a slight nod, and then her voice, sweet and pure, the perfect counterpart to his baritone, joined with his. The children sang as well, and one song led to another. Before he knew it, they were entering the bustling town of Pearce, Colorado.
The town had changed—nearly doubling in size—since the last time he was here. There were more businesses . . . and more people. Eamon maneuvered the buckboard down the main thoroughfare and stopped at the entrance to the lumberyard. He set the brake, then climbed down before running around the wagon to help Theo, though she didn’t seem to need it. She was already on the ground, her arms stretched up to help Gabby.
“Why don’t you take the children and buy Thomas’s shoes while I get the lumber we need. I’ll meet you—” He grinned and shrugged. “I have no idea where to meet you.” He lowered his voice so the children wouldn’t hear. “And I have no idea where the ice cream shop is, either. Quincy said it’s at the corner of Elm and Main.” He knew Main Street, but there hadn’t been an Elm Street when he was here last. At least, he didn’t remember it, but then, when he visited here, it was to pick up a prisoner to transport him elsewhere.
“Elm and Main? That isn’t far from here at all. In fact, it’s just past the town square and the hotel where Quincy delivers our milk and butter.” She pointed to the clock tower of a three-story building visible over the rooftops of several businesses that lined Main Street. He did remember the hotel—and the town square—from previous visits, but he’d never stayed there. He had always wanted to. Perhaps he and Theo should honeymoon there.
Startled by the thought, but finding it wholly agreeable, he grinned, amazed by the change in his life. When he rode onto Morning Mist Farms that fateful day, he hadn’t planned on Theo Danforth filling the ache in his empty belly or on anything more th
an working for her for a couple weeks before he took to the lonely road again, and now, not only had he fallen in love with her—and her family—he wanted to marry her. He could imagine them in forty years, surrounded by grandchildren, still breeding and training champion racehorses, still in love, still . . .
Nice dream, MacDermott, but does she love you? Would she even consider marrying you? Hell, man, you haven’t even told her that you love her. Nor have you said a word about your past. How will she feel when she finds out who and what you were? When she learns about Kieran, Mary—
“Eamon?” Theo touched his arm, drawing his attention, then gestured to a storefront not thirty yards from where they stood. A sign swayed in the breeze, proclaiming the name “Charles Wright, Fine Shoes” in fancy black letters on a white background. “Mr. Wright’s shop is right there. You can meet us at the shop when you’re done with the lumber. If we’re done before you, we’ll come to the lumberyard.” She took Gabby’s hand in hers. “Have them put the lumber on my account.” She started walking down the street toward the shoemaker’s shop, Thomas and Charlotte right behind her.
“I’ll take care of it, Theo,” he called after her, then climbed back into his seat, but he didn’t pull the buckboard into the lumberyard. Instead, still reeling from the idea of marriage that had popped into his head and the devil on his shoulder trying to talk him out of it, he kept his focus on her until she let herself and the children into the shoemaker’s shop, then flicked the reins and guided the horses into the lumberyard.
He had no intention of putting the lumber on her account as she asked. He hadn’t spent any of the salary he’d earned except for a few pouches of tobacco. If he could do this for her after all she’d done for him, he’d be more than glad, though it didn’t seem enough. What was a few dollars compared to being able to forgive himself? To look in the mirror and not be ashamed of what he saw? Those things were priceless . . . and they were just the beginning. He had a family again, and that was worth more than all the gold and silver mined from the Colorado mountains.
A Kiss in the Morning Mist Page 22