A Kiss in the Morning Mist

by Marie Patrick

  “You’re not dead,” she whispered and held him tight.

  “No, sweetheart, I’m not dead.”

  “I’m so sorry. I should never have told you not to come back. I was wrong.”

  “Aren’t you glad I didn’t listen?” Eamon kissed her then, his lips taking possession of hers regardless of who saw. No more hiding. He loved this woman, and he wanted everyone to know. No one said a word, as if his actions were expected . . . and accepted as a matter of course. When he broke the kiss, he gazed into her eyes.

  She lightly caressed his cheek, her eyes shiny with unshed tears. “I love you, Eamon MacDermott.”

  Before he could respond with the same, Gabby wrapped her little arms around both of them. “I knew you’d come back!” She was quickly joined by Thomas, Charlotte, and Granny. Love filled his heart, and Eamon’s throat constricted. He cleared it, then studied each of the children one by one. Aside from tear stains on their faces, they all seemed to be unharmed. “Granny, why don’t you take them in the other room? They don’t need to see all this.”

  “Good thinking, Eamon.” She ushered the children into the parlor but stopped before entering herself. She took a deep breath, then turned to face him, her eyes glowing softly beneath the sudden onslaught of tears. “I’m glad you came back.”

  “As am I.” A slow grin curled his lips.

  She nodded, then disappeared into the parlor. Eamon watched her go, then turned toward Quincy, who stood with his foot on Pearce’s chest. “How’d you get out of the cellar?”

  Quincy grinned. “Show ’em, Lou.”

  The young man opened his hand and showed them the hinges he had removed from the door. “I’ve been meaning to fix them. They’ve been loose for a while now.”

  “What about Pearce?” Theo asked as she stared at the man, her expression not at all forgiving, despite the fact the children had not been hurt.

  “I’ll take him to the sheriff.”

  “I wouldn’t bring him to Sheriff Call,” AJ said as he entered the kitchen, his hat in his hand. He nodded to everyone, then moved closer to Theo, his gaze on his father before rising up to meet hers. “I’m so sorry about all this, Theo. And for the part I played in it. I never thought he’d come after you like this.”

  “It’s all right, AJ. I think I understand. For the first time in his life, he couldn’t have what he wanted, and it made him angry and unreasonable.”

  AJ gave a nod. “You’re very kind. You always were.”

  “Why can’t we bring him to Sheriff Call?” Quincy asked as he moved his foot a little and pressed harder on Pearce’s chest to keep the man still.

  AJ turned his attention to Quincy. “He’s on father’s payroll, along with a host of others. Including him.” He pointed at the small man still standing in front of the icebox, now slack-jawed and clutching his Bible. “I’ll take him back to town with me, if you don’t mind. I have my horse.”

  “That’s fine.” Eamon shrugged. “As far as your father is concerned, I can still lock him in the jail. I’ll take the key so Call doesn’t let him out, and we can all wait for the U.S. Marshal together.”

  “Again, I’m sorry.” AJ held out his hand to both Theo and Eamon, then put his hat on his head, nodded toward Marianne and Quincy, and escorted the older gentleman outside. A few moments later, the sound of his horse’s hooves meeting hard-packed dirt reached them.

  “You’ll come back, won’t you?” Theo melted into his arms again.

  “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.” He kissed her again—he’d never get enough of the taste of her lips. “I love you, Theodosia Danforth. I have for a long time.” He lowered his voice and pressed his forehead to hers. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

  “What about Logan?”

  Eamon shook his head. “No need to worry about him anymore. He’ll never hurt anyone again.”

  She breathed a sigh and finally let him go. Eamon kissed the tip of her nose, then helped Quincy lift Pearce to his feet. The man tried to fight, but there wasn’t much he could do with his hands tied behind him.

  Half carrying, half dragging him, they made it to the buggy and shoved Pearce none too gently into the deeply cushioned seat. Quincy climbed into the driver’s seat, took the reins, and started the carriage moving while Eamon stuck his foot in Traveler’s stirrup and lifted himself into the saddle.

  He waved one last time to the family standing on the back porch, then faced forward, Traveler’s reins held loosely in his hands as he nudged the horse to break into a trot and caught up to Quincy and Pearce’s fancy rig.

  “You gonna marry that girl?” Quincy asked as they turned out of the drive and onto the road to town.

  “If she’ll have me.” He grinned.

  “Oh, she’ll have you.” Quincy chuckled, then faced forward and concentrated on what was ahead of him. Eamon did the same. Despite the ache in his arm—he didn’t think he’d pulled out any stitches when he tackled Pearce, but he couldn’t be sure—and in the face of everything he’d been through in the past few hours, he was happy. Actually, happier than he’d ever been. He hadn’t been late this time. Hadn’t lost anyone he loved like he had in the past. The events could have turned out badly, but they hadn’t, and for that, he was grateful.

  A smile curved his mouth just as the buggy swerved, making Traveler rear up on his hind legs.

  Eamon brought his mount under control and looked to his left. Fear struck his heart, almost as much as earlier when he saw Charlotte in Pearce’s bruising hold. Somehow, Pearce had wriggled his hands free from the rope that bound him. He and Quincy struggled over a revolver while Quincy tried to avoid being shot and stop the buggy at the same time.

  Where the revolver had come from, Eamon had no clue. Maybe Aldrich had hidden it under the buggy’s seat but it didn’t matter. What mattered was that Aldrich would never stop, never accept defeat. He had been waiting, biding his time until he could make his move, and he didn’t seem to care who was killed in the process.

  “Pearce! Stop!”

  Enraged, Pearce succeeded in gaining possession of the revolver with a strength born of fear and perhaps insanity. In one smooth motion, he smacked Quincy on the side of the head with the revolver then turned it on Eamon.

  “Rot in hell, MacDermott.” Spittle sprayed from his mouth as he aimed the weapon.

  Eamon drew his pistol and fired at the same time Pearce did.

  Epilogue

  “I remember the first time I saw you.” Eamon grabbed a lock of Theo’s whiskey-colored hair and twirled it around his finger. Sunlight played on the silken strands, bringing out the deep reds and golden browns. He smoothed the curl back into place and lowered his hand to caress her bare shoulder. Her skin, satin to the touch, had been warmed by the sun shining down on them as they lay on a blanket on the soft grass not far from the swimming hole.

  Theo rested her head on his chest, exactly where he wanted her to be—close to his heart. Always. Her body vibrated as she chuckled, then lifted her head to gaze into his eyes. He loved it when she looked at him like that, her green eyes shimmering with the love they shared, her face still aglow from spent passion. “I held a shotgun on you.”

  He laughed, the sound bubbling up from his chest. For a man who hadn’t laughed much before they met, he laughed a lot now. And he liked it. So many changes had happened for him since the moment he saw her. Family, always important to him, had become more so. He’d gone to see his brother, Teague, in Paradise Falls after Tell Logan died so he could impart the news in person. They kept in touch with letters now. He’d yet to see his brother, Brock, though they reconnected in correspondence as well.

  And he’d learned how to forgive himself and love like she did, with her whole heart. He chuckled again, then drew in his breath as memories assailed him—precious ones, so different from the ones he’d carried with him for so long. “I think I fell in love with you in that moment. You were unapologetic and angry and so beautiful. For a minute there, I thoug
ht you were going to shoot me, but you didn’t. Instead, you offered me a job but so much more than that. You gave me kindness when I didn’t think I deserved it.” He rolled on to his side and faced her, the back of his hand lightly caressing her face. “I’m glad you did.” He dipped his head to capture her sweet lips beneath his own. “If you hadn’t, I don’t know what I would have done. I was . . . lost, Theo, until I found you.”

  “I’m sure you would have found another woman, Eamon. You’re a good man.” She pulled him closer, wrapping her arms around him, her warm fingers entangled in his hair.

  Could anyone be luckier? Or happier than he?

  “No, there isn’t any other woman for me. Just you. Always you.” He laughed again, then nuzzled the sweet spot between her ear and collarbone. Theo trembled in his embrace, as he knew she would. He loved that as well. “Do you know what tomorrow is?”

  “Saturday?” she whispered against his skin, and it was his turn to shiver.

  “I’m serious.”

  “Could it be our anniversary?”

  “Why, yes, I do believe it is! Two years, Theo, since I put my ring on your finger.” He sighed, remembering the day. The pastor had come out to the farm and married them in front of a few witnesses—the most important ones—the children, Marianne, Quincy, and Granny, who beamed as if she had planned it all from the beginning. And perhaps she had. “Two years since you made me the happiest man alive.”

  “That’s not such a long time. I can see us still sneaking out to our spot right here and making love for the next forty years.”

  “Forty?” he groaned, teasing her. If forty years with her was all he could have, then he’d take it though it wasn’t nearly enough. “That’s only if you don’t wear me out.”

  She pulled out of his arms and sat up, hugging her knees to her bare chest. Sunlight dappled her skin as the trees around them swayed with the breeze. Eamon couldn’t resist. He sat up behind her and once again, wrapped his arms around her. She turned her head and laughed. “If there is anyone who will wear you out, it’s our son. I thought Gabby, Charlotte, and Thomas were a handful when they were younger, but they don’t hold a candle to EJ.” She laughed again and the sound filled him. “Do you know what I found your son doing yesterday?”

  “No, what?”

  Theo leaned against him and stretched out her legs, crossing them at the ankle. “Babbling to Daphne, trying to persuade her to let him ride her, I would assume. She was so gentle with him. Actually laid down in the field and let him climb on her back. I’ve never seen a horse do that before.” She reached up and rested her hand on his cheek. Eamon nuzzled her wrist, knowing how sensitive she was there. “How he got all the way out to the pasture is another matter. I only turned my back for one minute.”

  “Little scamp. He must have some of your magic with animals.” Pride made his chest puff out. He adored his eighteen-month-old son, seeing a lot of himself as well as his brothers in the MacDermott gray eyes he’d inherited and the constant mischief he sought. And he did have Theo’s touch with the horses, especially the young colts and fillies Pumpkin had sired. This past year had seen five born on the farm and six born to the mares the breeders brought to Morning Mist. The previous year, there had been four births on the farm, and the breeders who had come the year of the fire were thrilled that all their mares had birthed healthy, spirited offspring. Hart Jameson was especially pleased when Gloriana foaled twins and came back the following year to try his luck with three more mares. All of them showed great racing promise. “Speaking of children, don’t you think it’s time to tell me your secret?”

  “What secret?” She threw him a glance, her eyes wide and guileless.

  “EJ is going to have a brother or sister.”

  She grinned. “How did you know?”

  He shrugged. “I just do.” His hand drifted down to rest first over her fuller breasts, then her rounded belly. “Am I right?”

  A blush spread up her cheeks and her eyes glowed as she nodded.

  Love filled his heart, and tears blurred his vision. To think, a few short years ago, he stumbled upon a place of magic, a desperate man who didn’t think he deserved to be loved or accepted or forgiven and a woman, who despite her own heartbreak, had shown him that he was deserving. The changes hadn’t come overnight, but they had come, and it all started with a kiss in the morning mist.

  Turn the page for an excerpt from

  Mischief and Magnolias

  Chapter 1

  Natchez, Mississippi

  September 1863

  Shaelyn Cavanaugh leaned against the railing of the second-floor gallery of her home and focused on the two men coming up the road, their blue uniforms unmistakable. They rode at a swift pace, a trail of dust behind them.

  Since Natchez, Mississippi, surrendered to the Union forces, it wasn’t unusual to see blue uniforms, especially since they’d made Rosalie, the home next door, their headquarters. But the two men didn’t turn into Rosalie’s drive as she expected.

  Her breath caught in her throat when she glimpsed light auburn hair, much like her brother’s, gleaming in the sunlight. “Ian!”

  His companion had raven-black hair, though it too reflected the sun’s light. Traveling with Ian, he could be only one man—the one she had promised to wait for. “James.” Her hand gripped the wrought-iron railing, her knuckles white. Tears blurred her vision. Her heart beat a frantic rhythm in her chest as excitement surged through her veins.

  “They’re home!” she cried. “Mama!”

  She lifted her skirts and ran for the outside staircase at the back of the house. “They’re home!”

  She jumped, missing the last few stairs, and hit the veranda at a run, her skirts held high as she ran into the house through the French doors in the small sun parlor.

  “Mama!” Shaelyn darted into the central hallway, her footsteps clicking on the marble tiles as she ran to the front door, flung it open, and rushed headlong into a pair of strong arms. She rested her head against a firm, hard chest, and squeezed tight. A button pressed into her cheek, but she didn’t care. They were home. “Thank God,” she whispered into the uniform.

  “Well, that’s quite a greeting,” a deep, rich voice as smooth as drizzling molasses responded. Laughter rumbled in his chest. “Not expected, but certainly welcomed.”

  “Hmm. Where’s mine?” his companion asked in the clipped tones of New England.

  Shaelyn recognized neither voice nor accent and turned her head to glance at the auburn-haired man. Ian Cavanaugh did not look back at her, which meant she did not have her arms around James Brooks.

  Her face hot with embarrassment, Shaelyn pulled away from the man. She drew in a shaky breath and stared. The most beautiful pair of soft blue-gray eyes she’d ever seen stared back. “Forgive me. I thought you were someone else.”

  “Obviously,” the man replied. “Perhaps introductions are in order, although after your greeting, it may be too late.” Amusement gleamed from his eyes as a wide grin showed off his white teeth in a charming smile. She wanted to touch the dimple that appeared in his cheek. “Major Remington Harte.” He gestured to the man beside him. “This is my second in command, Captain Vincent Davenport.”

  “Miss.” Captain Davenport bowed from the waist.

  Shaelyn nodded in his general direction, but her focus remained on the major. She’d never seen hair so black or so thick. An insane impulse overwhelmed her—she wanted to run her fingers through that mass of thick, shiny hair and feel its silkiness. Struck by her own inappropriate thoughts, she stilled. He wasn’t James. She shouldn’t want to run her fingers through his hair.

  “Are you Brenna Cavanaugh?”

  “What?” Startled, Shaelyn shook her head. “No, I’m her daughter, Shaelyn.”

  Footsteps rang out down the hallway. Shaelyn dragged her gaze away from the man in uniform for just a moment as her mother joined them at the door. “I am Brenna Cavanaugh.” A sweet smile accompanied the hand she offered the major.
“May I help you?”

  Introductions were quickly made, and Shaelyn watched the exchange of pleasantries, but her gaze was drawn back to the major. He looked dashing in his uniform. The dark blue complimented his eyes quite nicely. The material molded to his body, emphasizing his broad shoulders, lean waist, and slim hips. He stood tall, well over six feet she guessed, as her gaze swept the length of his body with admiration. She noticed a silver-tipped cane in his hand, which he leaned on. He must have been injured in battle.

  She had always loved seeing a man in uniform. They stood differently: straighter, taller. Proud. They acted differently, too, as if wearing a uniform had something to do with how the world perceived them.

  Her gaze met his and she felt the warmth of a blush creep up from her chest. A smile parted his full lips and her face grew hotter. She’d been staring at him and he knew it.

  “Is this about Ian, my son?” Hope colored her mother’s tone, a hope she had tended carefully, like one tends a garden.

  “Or James Brooks?” Shaelyn added.

  “May we go inside?” Major Harte gestured toward the open door.

  “Where are my manners?” Brenna smiled. “Of course.” She turned to Shaelyn. “Please show our guests into the sun parlor, dear. I just finished making tea.”

  With effort, Shaelyn dragged her gaze away from the major and the pulse throbbing in his neck, above the collar of his uniform, which had mesmerized her. “Please follow me.”

  Major Harte’s uneven footsteps echoed in the hallway and the tip of his cane tapped on the marble tiles as Shaelyn showed them into a small, comfortable, sun-filled room at the back of the house, while Brenna pushed through the swinging door to the kitchen. “Please, make yourselves comfortable.”

  “Thank you.” The major moved to the fireplace and rested his arm on the mantle while Captain Davenport sat on a rattan love seat.