A Reluctant Melody - Will she risk losing everything … including her heart?

by Ardoin, Sandra

  Perry scowled, withdrew his pocket watch from his vest, and popped it open. “It’s almost eight-forty. I don’t want that money to put you in danger one more minute. Get it, and I’ll drive you to the bank myself.”

  “Kit will arrive at any moment, Perry. If I’m not here, he’ll be concerned. I won’t repay his kindness to me last night by worrying him needlessly.”

  “Get the money, Joanna.”

  She bristled at the order. “It isn’t like you to be overbearing.”

  “Neither is it like you to be irrational.” Perry’s shoulders fell. “I don’t like the authority Kit Barnes wields over you.”

  “He wields no authority.” Or does he? Maybe not so much authority as temptation. Right now, she wanted nothing more than to be in his company, to have him comfort her and pray with her as he’d done last night, even if it meant suffering through a humiliating trip to the bank. It was a dangerous longing, and she couldn’t afford to repeat their history.

  “Let me get my purse and tell Darcy I’m leaving.”

  Before they reached the front door, someone knocked. “That may be Mrs. Samuels to stay with Darcy.” Joanna opened the door. Kit was early.

  He smiled, then looked past her. The smile withered. “Good morning, Perry. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  “Jo and I were about to leave for the bank.” Perry rested his hands on her shoulders in a possessive manner. “I want to thank you for seeing to her safety last night, but we don’t want to trouble you further.”

  “No trouble.” Kit turned to Joanna. “I brought a buggy.”

  Perry’s fingers bit into the muscles on both sides of Joanna’s neck. She grimaced and squiggled from his hold, then brushed past Kit and onto the porch. “We’ll all go.”

  At nineteen, Joanna thrilled at being the bone fought over by two snarling dogs. At twenty-six, “tawdry” best defined the way the competition made her feel.

  Two one-horse buggies awaited them at the curb. She marched down the path without looking back, expecting both men to follow, and climbed onto the seat of the nearest vehicle.

  With the top down, they looked ridiculous squeezed together as Kit drove down Broad Street. He parked the buggy as close as possible to the bank. After Perry climbed down, Joanna scooted across the leather seat and allowed him to help her to the bricks. Pressed between Kit and Perry, she climbed the steps leading to the door of the bank.

  Kit ushered her inside, then eased into a chair by the door. “I’ll wait here and drive you back home.”

  “That’s …” Joanna sealed her lips and swallowed the rest of her standard reply.

  The corners of Kit’s eyes crinkled with amusement. Then they smoothed with seriousness. “Until we discover who ransacked your house, it isn’t a good idea for you to wander around alone.”

  “I agree.” Perry walked her to David Murray’s office without stopping to be announced.

  As much as Joanna hated to admit it, the support of the two men provided the confidence she needed to face people like Mr. Murray without shrinking into the wallpaper.

  ***

  To walk off his burgeoning irritation with Perry, Kit prowled the trails that wound through Joanna’s garden. He would always think of this place as her garden. Every ornamental blossom and herbal leaf reminded him of a side of her personality he’d discovered or rediscovered in the past weeks.

  She had broken the quarter-acre into sections with various themes ranging from fragrant, colorful blooms that overwhelmed him with their beauty and warmth, hidden spots of shaded privacy meant for rest, hedges trimmed to display formality and prudence, and parcels left wild to swell with passion and subtle humor. Encompassed by this diverse creation, Kit had immersed himself in thoughts of her.

  It was one thing to entertain wistful dreams, another to assume they would come true. Joanna needed more time. How much more?

  Her answer to his request to kiss her was another way to say she didn’t trust him. How could he blame her? Getting past her reservations would not be easy, but no matter what it took or how long, Kit would repair his image in her eyes.

  Once he departed the garden, he shook off the romantic musing of the previous half hour and started for the house. Assuring Joanna’s safety came before mooning over her, and he hadn’t spoken to Liam yet.

  Preoccupied with his thoughts, Kit shied away before bumping into Rose as she crossed the yard. He fell in alongside her. “Sorry. I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

  Rose climbed the steps to the veranda and stopped outside the kitchen door. “I heard what happened. How is Jo?”

  “Shaken, but strong. Darcy and the baby are well, too.”

  “Ben said it was a boy.”

  “Jamie.”

  “He’s healthy?”

  Kit grinned. “And loud.”

  Rose heaved an excessive sigh of relief, then kneaded her left wrist in a gentle, but nervous manner. “You’re sure Jo is fine?”

  “Positive. Is your husband around? I haven’t seen him since I returned from town.”

  Her darting glance landed on a potted fern behind Kit and stalled there. “He’s in the cottage.”

  “When did he retire last night?”

  “I don’t remember.” She refused to look Kit in the eye and didn’t ask why he questioned her about Liam. What did she know that she wasn’t telling? She glanced over his shoulder and opened the door to the kitchen. “I should prepare lunch.”

  “Rose—”

  “I was already in bed when she came in, and I stayed there all night.” Liam stomped up the steps of the veranda. “Isn’t that right, dear?”

  Rose eyed her husband, rubbing her wrist at the same time. “Yes. I remember now.” Even as she spoke, a look of defiance tightened her features and replaced the nervousness. Rose’s stiff pose and Liam’s too-pleasant smile laid bare their lies.

  Kit turned his attention to Liam. “I’ll ask again. Where were you last evening?”

  “I told you. I went to bed early.”

  The man’s cockiness and Rose’s behavior brought to mind an ugly notion. Too often, drinking led to violence. Kit had witnessed his share of men who, under the influence of alcohol, lost control over their anger and frustrations. He could never abide bullying and abuse, particularly from a sober man.

  A fuse lit inside Kit. It burned and sizzled its way to an impending explosion. As long as Rose and Annie remained on his property, he owed them his protection.

  “I think you intimidated your wife into saying she was with you.” Kit stepped forward and waited to see if Liam would retreat. The man held his ground, suggesting a lack of fear—not a good sign. Mere inches remained between them. “Maybe you do more than just terrorize females with words. Did you hurt Rose? Is that why she’s rubbing her wrist? Did you beat Darcy last night and ransack Joanna’s house?” With each question, the timbre of Kit’s voice heightened until it reverberated in his ears.

  One side of Liam’s mouth lifted in a smirk. “Now how could I do that when I was in bed?”

  Kit had no proof to trigger a confession, only suspicion based on the Independence Day incident, Rose’s odd behavior, and a dislike of Liam. “Why did Joanna slap you?”

  This time, Liam backed a step and started to turn. “I don’t have to answer to you.”

  Kit grabbed his arm and swung him around. “As long as you remain on this property, you will answer to me.”

  “Hey, what’s going on?” Howard Cox loped toward them, followed by Ben.

  Kit seized a fist full of Liam’s shirt and jerked him closer. “Don’t ever lay a hand on Rose or Annie. And stay away from Joanna.”

  “Or what?” Liam tried to shove Kit away, but Kit held onto the shirt.

  “Or I’ll—”

  “That’s enough, Kit.” Ben yanked him backward, tearing Liam’s shirt in the process.

  As Howard pulled Liam into the yard, Kit raked an unsteady hand through his hair. Every nerve tingled with the horror of what he
’d done. What was he thinking getting into a shouting match with the man?

  Liam stumbled backward through the grass. “You don’t know nothin’, Barnes. Nothin’. Why don’t you ask Miz Stewart to educate you, ’specially since she’s taken up with her kind?”

  At the muffled shriek behind him, Kit turned. Rose stood outside the kitchen door with a damp towel pressed against her mouth. Her eyes were round as the blue buttons on her dress. With her sleeves rolled halfway to her elbow, a bruise on her left wrist stuck out like a sailor’s tattoo.

  She lowered the towel. In a voice as calm as a lazy summer day, she said to her husband, “Gather your things from the cottage and get out of my life.”

  “You got no say in this, Rose.” Liam tried to break free of Cox, but the other man held fast.

  “She doesn’t need any, McCall.” For the first time since he began his work with inebriates, Kit ordered a man to leave the premises and not return.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Kit sat behind his desk in what had been the family parlor before the carpenters built a wall that divided the space into an office and a private meeting room.

  The new walls had been plastered and painted but remained free of paper. With the closeness of each room, Kit preferred the light color of the cream paint. It provided a sense of space as opposed to the bold, and often suffocating, patterns of wallpaper.

  Ben returned to Pittsburgh on Monday, so one of the local pastors had filled his shoes this evening with a rousing sermon meant to keep the men’s attention. Now he’d left, and on the other side of the wall, Joanna played her piano for pleasure, if that was what one called it.

  She had arrived early this afternoon to console Rose, who still mourned the finality of her marriage though not the departure of her husband. Almost a week had passed since Kit had tossed Liam out in a fit of temper. After being ordered off the property, the man packed his things and, without a word to Rose or Annie, left the cottage. As far as Kit knew, no one from the Spencer Brockhurst House had been in contact with Liam since.

  Between the housebreaking, caring for Darcy, and worry over Rose, Joanna’s frame of mind showed in the discordant notes issuing from the music room.

  Kit winced at another exasperated clash between pianist and instrument. Then, he was struck by blissful silence.

  “What are you working on?”

  He glanced up. The glow from the lamp shimmered over Joanna’s hair and sparkled in her eyes. Even with the frown that tugged the sides of her mouth downward, the sight of her captivated him.

  He reminded himself to breathe and answer her question. “I’m reviewing Mrs. Brockhurst’s list.” He held up the papers. “This morning, she sent me two full sheets of paper with confirmed responses to the reception on the twenty-second of next month. It’s pretty much a directory of the area’s privileged class.”

  “I’m sure you read my name at the top.”

  Kit chuckled when she rolled her eyes. He pulled out a sheet of paper from underneath the others and held it up for her to read. “Joanna Stewart is written at the top of my list. See?”

  She pressed a hand against her throat. “Are you … are you asking me to attend the reception with you?”

  “Yes.”

  Based on the bemused expression and her budding comfort with social excursions in town, he half expected her to accept.

  Instead, she crossed her arms in a demonstration of stubbornness. “Don’t be silly. You know they would welcome a case of typhoid before they would welcome me. I’ll only ruin your chance to impress future supporters.”

  “No, you won’t.” Kit tossed the papers onto the desk. With her sigh, he sensed a change in subject. Fine. He wouldn’t push it. Plenty of time remained to convince her to accompany him.

  “I understand you and Ben plan to conduct a tour of the home for non-temperance-minded politicians.”

  “They may not want to see alcohol prohibited, but they’re interested in reducing the number of inebriates. In turn, they believe it will reduce crime, thereby saving Banesville money.”

  “Are they right? Will it work?”

  “Statistics back the theory. For instance, arrests for drunkenness in the area around the Pittsburgh home have lessened.”

  “What about women? Aren’t they worth saving?”

  “Of course they are.” Kit kneaded the tight muscles in his neck. “Decent women don’t enter drinking establishments, so they hide their weakness behind the walls of their homes. It makes it more difficult to reach them.”

  Kit bent forward to stretch the screaming muscles at the back of his neck and between his aching shoulder blades. He had high hopes for success in Banesville, but it demanded time, and the teaching of a different way of life, a different way of handling daily trials. He and Ben sought to pass on the key to their victory over alcohol—a faith in the God who created both men and women to be more than slaves to drink. They—he—had failed with Liam McCall and it continued to eat at him.

  The one man who surprised Kit with a strong resolve to turn his life around was Donovan. Though he had yet to express an interest in embracing that soul-saving faith, he’d come a long way in his struggle.

  Often lately, Joanna and Donovan wandered off for half an hour or an hour during the day. Neither one would tell Kit why, but they returned red-faced and perspiring. Once again, he rubbed the back of his neck and grimaced. Not long ago, he would have talked himself into believing the worst about the two of them. Now, he was curious rather than critical.

  “You’ve made quite an impact on Donovan. I’ll admit, when he first asked to come here, I wasn’t confident he would stay. I appreciate the way you’ve encouraged him, Jo.”

  “Under that crotchety exterior, he’s a nice man.”

  Joanna maneuvered around the desk and behind his chair. She brushed his hands away and worked her fingers under his collar and on either side of his exposed neck, then pressed her thumbs to the taut muscles—up and down and in tiny circles that set his nerve endings on fire.

  Kit wrestled an urge to drag her in front of him and take that kiss he’d asked for, and she’d never given. Since the night of the housebreaking, neither of them had raised the subject of turning their growing companionship into a deeper, more romantic bond. Each time he looked at her, though, he wished for more than a walk in the garden together.

  “You two are spending quite a bit of time together. Where do you run off to?” He shut his eyes and released a groan of bliss. At the sound of his pleasure, her fingers halted, then withdrew.

  Before he realized she’d moved, Joanna stood in the doorway again. She twisted her hands in front of her as though the chafe would rid her fingertips of the feel of him. “I’m ready to leave.”

  “Joanna …”

  “I’m not the same woman, Kit.” Like a dove on the verge of taking flight, she perched in the doorway, one foot on each side of the threshold. “I thought you were in pain, and I wanted to help.”

  “I know.” Kit eased from the desk with unhurried movements and stopped, leaving almost a yard between them. “Jo, since meeting you again, God has shown me things about myself I tried to deny. All these years, I’ve blamed you for my failings. It’s been a humbling experience to realize I have no one to blame but myself.

  “What happened before—what I did to you—was wrong in too many ways to count. If you can forgive me, it’s my wish to do things right, to court you properly like you’ve always deserved.” He risked closing the space between them but kept his arms at his sides and his voice low. “I ran from you once, Jo. I won’t do so this time. Please, don’t run from me.”

  Motionless, Kit waited as her eyes grew large and glassy. Finally, she whispered, “I don’t want to.”

  Never had he wanted to kiss a woman as much as he wanted to kiss Joanna at that instant. He longed to sweep her off her feet and demonstrate to her his joy, his devotion, his thanksgiving.

  Not now. Not until that lingering doubt in her expression v
anished.

  ***

  Dead leaves and twigs crunched and snapped as Joanna’s feet danced on the path that wound through the trees. Even in the cool shade of the woods behind her old house, sweat beaded on her brow and upper lip. It rolled down her back and stuck her chemise to her damp skin.

  The attack had caught her by surprise. Her arms were pinned behind her with a firm and aching hold. She wheezed a ragged breath and scrambled to get away.

  The gravelly voice whispered in her ear. “Remember all I told you.”

  Her mind raced for a solution to her predicament. She stopped struggling and stomped her heel on his toes. Without waiting for a reaction, she swung her leg forward and back, connecting with his shin. He grunted and loosened his hold—not by much, but enough to let her jab her elbow into his abdomen. She smiled at the whoosh of his expelled breath though he still held her arms.

  “Thunderation!” The cry came from Joanna’s left.

  Before they could stop him, Kit bolted through the brush and yanked her captor away from her. He spun Mr. O’Connor, not a trivial feat, and pushed him to the ground. Joanna suspected the man’s fall was due more to the surprise of the shove than the power behind it. Kit had the muscle to do the job, but the fighter had the training to withstand almost anything but this unexpected assault from a friend.

  When Mr. O’Connor’s nostrils flared, and he leapt to his feet, Joanna grabbed his arm and tried to tug him backward. “Stop it, both of you.”

  Kit planted his right foot several inches in front of the left and raised his fists in a fair imitation of a pugilist. “Explain yourself, Donovan.”

  Joanna jumped in front of her teacher, and her role shifted from his student to his shield. She glowered at Kit. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  Kit’s chest pumped in and out. “I heard you scream.”

  “He caught me by surprise.”

  With one fist still in the air, he brushed her behind him. “And I’m protecting you. Now move away.”

  He was protecting her? Against his friend? In the course of seconds, a range of emotions flitted through Joanna. Should she try out her new self-defense moves on Kit, laugh over his misunderstanding, or weep over the sweetness in his desire to rescue her?