by Karen Kirst
“I got the impression you weren’t comfortable having him around. I thought maybe you and he…”
Her jaw snapped shut, and the shadows returned. “That’s not the case.”
“What’s wrong with the sheriff, then?”
“We are not discussing my preferences.”
He didn’t heed the warning in her expression. Scraping his fingers along the itchy stubble lining his cheek, he admitted, “I heard you crying last night.”
Consternation flushed her cheeks a bright apple red. Shame and raw anguish passed over her features.
“Your mother mentioned—”
Jessica gasped. Splotches of hot color crept up her neck. “She talked to you about me? What did she say?”
Wrong move. Wrong words. Should’ve kept his big mouth shut.
He held his palms up. “Nothing specific. She said you’d experienced some difficulties. That’s all.”
Her thick auburn lashes swept down, shutting him out. “That was not her place.” Mortification laced her tone. “What could she have been thinking? You’re a stranger.”
“True. And I have no past experiences to draw on that would help you whatsoever. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
“Stranger or not, amnesia or not, you can’t help me. No one can. I got myself into a mess, all right? The ramifications are mine to deal with alone.”
“You sure it has to be that way?”
“I appreciate your concern, Grant. I do. But you’re not gonna be here long enough to matter.”
*
Jessica watched him limp across the yard and disappear around the corner of the cabin. No wonder he’d flat out dismissed her offer of assistance. She’d been rude.
Humiliation had spurred the hasty words. That and outrage. Knowing her mother and Grant had discussed her spectacular mistakes made her burn with embarrassment. That she hadn’t divulged specifics didn’t matter. Grant hadn’t earned their trust. He was a stranger in their home.
A handsome stranger whose presence made her evaluate her current circumstances and the sad fact that she was alone. Helping him outside in what had amounted to an awkward side embrace, she’d been overwhelmed by his latent strength, the power coiled in those honed muscles. His heat and earthy scent had taunted her, reminding her of what she might never have—someone special who meant more to her than everyone else on earth, someone worthy of her trust and admiration.
The longing for love and romance scared her. Under absolutely no circumstances could she be attracted to this man. He was the worst possible person to reawaken long-buried dreams. If she ever decided to reenter the world of courting and suitors, she would take the safe route. A pity the reverend was triple her age and happily married.
Several riders entered the lane behind her. Swinging around, she registered her cousins’ approach with mixed feelings. Josh, Nathan and Caleb were more like brothers than cousins. Having grown up on neighboring farms, they’d shared meals and holidays, gotten into mischief together, stuck up for one another. And while she loved them dearly, she didn’t appreciate it when they stuck their collective noses into her business.
Josh was the first to dismount and approach. The oldest brother, he wore his wheat-colored hair short. A trim mustache and goatee framed his mouth. The quiet, intelligent type, he looked to be on a slow simmer.
“We heard about your visitor,” he said, grip on his waistband tightening.
Nathan joined him, his silver eyes stormy beneath his hat’s brim. “What were you thinking, Jess? Will came home this morning spinning wild tales. Are they true?”
Raven-haired Caleb stalked over, the angry scar around his eye more pinched than usual. He didn’t have to say a word. All it took was one imperious glare for her to guess his thoughts.
Jessica squared off against the trio. “First of all, he isn’t my visitor. So all this protective outrage is wasted on me.” She made a circling motion in the air. “Grant is Ma’s project. Take your complaints up with her. Second, he’s suffering from several wounds, not to mention memory loss, so leave him alone.”
Caleb’s mouth twisted into a cynical slash. “You believe his story?”
“I haven’t made my mind up yet.”
Grant’s sincerity seemed awfully authentic, and she found herself leaning toward belief. But resistance lingered. Look at how Lee had convinced her he was a run-of-the-mill farmer, when right under her nose he’d been cooking up moonshine to distribute across the state and beyond.
Their expressions turned frosty. Looking over her shoulder, she saw Grant register their animosity and come to a halt. Caleb made to move past her. Slapping her hand again his chest, she inserted steel into her voice. “He’s injured.”
“So?”
“So take it easy.”
“Relax, cuz. I’m just gonna talk to the man.”
Trailing behind them, praying for a peaceful outcome, she studied Grant’s busted-up face. Wariness was notable in his stiff shoulders and stance, but the determined set of his jaw said he wasn’t going to back down. The cabin wall behind him providing support, he didn’t waver beneath Caleb and Josh’s onslaught of questions. The righteous defiance in his clear gaze shifted her perception of him, eradicating many of her doubts. There wasn’t a hint of discomfort in him. No telltale signs he was protecting a lie.
If she were to accept his account of events, it wouldn’t be a case of her judgment opposing everyone else’s, as in Lee’s case. Her own mother and the respected town doctor trusted Grant.
Not speaking, Nathan listened, content to let his brothers do the interrogating.
The longer it went on, the more Grant’s physical weakness began to show.
Pushing past Nathan, she walked between the brothers to stand beside Grant. He glanced at her in surprise.
“Who’s interested in blackberry cobbler? And coffee? I’m sure Ma’s wondering what’s keeping us.”
Caleb and Josh exchanged matching looks of displeasure. Too bad. She wasn’t about to stand by while they ambushed him.
Nathan lifted his hat and fluffed his dark hair. “I’ve just had breakfast, but I won’t pass up your cobbler.”
“Then it’s settled.” Linking arms with Caleb, she urged him in the direction of the porch steps. “So how are Rebecca and the kids?”
“In between feeding and changing the baby, Becca’s teaching Noah how to paint faces on pumpkins and gourds.”
She smiled at the image his words spawned. Caleb’s wife was a gifted painter. In fact, one of Becca’s paintings hung on the wall across from Jessica’s bed. Young Noah was a sweetheart, and he loved being a big brother to three-month-old Isaac.
He angled his face so that his mouth met her ear. “Tread carefully with this one, cuz. While I suspect he’s telling the truth, there’s no way of knowing his history and whether or not it’s a violent one.”
Her smile vanished. Of course he was alluding to her past. Her discernment would forever forward be called into question. Teeth clenched, she merely nodded, quickly disengaging her arm once they entered the house.
He was right. Grant Parker was a puzzle. One no one might ever be able to solve.
CHAPTER SIX
For a while there, Grant thought he might get stabbed a second time. Or shot. Or, at the very least, punched.
Jessica’s relatives were not pleased she and her mother had taken him in. The scarred one especially looked as if roughing Grant up a bit would make him feel better. Alice O’Malley’s presence dictated they be polite. Still, the unspoken strain in the crowded living room was palpable.
Although he tried not to appear fixated on his perplexing young hostess, his gaze insisted on sliding in her direction against his will. Seated on a low cushioned stool beside the unlit fireplace, Jessica held a delicate china teacup in her hands, the saucer on the stool beside her. She’d served up the cobbler for everyone except herself and him. His excuse? He’d probably cast up his accounts if he attempted to eat anything more. As for hers, h
e wondered if she was too nervous to eat, concerned about maintaining her waistline or the kind of person who enjoyed the act of cooking more than actually sampling the fare. He found himself wondering a lot of things. Such as why she’d come to his rescue outside when he’d obviously messed up by mentioning her private grief.
The brief excursion outside his bedroom had winded him. While he longed to recline in his borrowed bed, doing so would impart the notion he was either weak or hiding something. Instead, he’d sunk into the closest wingback chair, the soft, worn cushions like a gentle hug. Focusing on the conversation flowing around him took his mind off his body’s state of perpetual soreness.
There was talk of extended family members, both young and old, as well as the state of Josh’s furniture business in town. Sophie, who they’d explained was Will’s sister, was expecting twins. From the way Nathan’s expression lit up, Grant surmised the proud father-to-be wasn’t daunted by the prospect of caring for two infants at once.
Ensconced in the chair nearest his, Alice beamed. “Grant, Sophie practically raised Will, what with her pa off roaming the country and her ma dead. Her grandfather helped as much as he could. I miss that gentle soul.”
On the other side of the coffee table, the three O’Malley brothers sat side by side on the sofa. Their collective focus shifted to him.
He gripped the mug’s handle tighter. “Congratulations.”
Nathan considered him. “Thank you.”
Caleb leaned over and set his empty bowl on the walnut table with a clatter. “What about you, Parker? You remember having any children?”
Jessica gasped. The silence that followed could’ve suffocated him. Or was that the panic that refused to leave him entirely, crouching in the shadows and waiting for a chance to pounce?
To cover his anxiety, he lifted his mug and sipped the aromatic brew.
“Caleb, I don’t believe that’s appropriate.” Dabbing her mouth with a napkin, Alice frowned at her nephew.
“I’m simply curious.”
“No, you’re trying to evoke a reaction,” Jessica retorted, her eyes full of fire. “It’s rude.” Shooting to her feet, she started collecting the discarded dishes. “Now that you’ve all met Grant, it’s time for you to go. Ma and I have ten bushels of apples to turn into apple butter by day’s end.”
To his surprise, Alice didn’t refute her daughter. “Yes, we do have a busy day ahead of us.”
Grant nestled the mug against his thigh. “I don’t mind answering the question.”
Everyone in the room stared at him.
“I don’t know if I have children. Or a wife. For all I know, I could have a family out there waiting for me to come home.” The words sounded like a foreign language to his ears. He rubbed his thumb over his left ring finger. It was bare. There wasn’t an indentation or sun line indicating he’d ever worn a ring. He couldn’t fathom having a wife, let alone children. “I may not have my memories, but I have a sound mind and enough good sense to know that these ladies are well-loved in this community and by your family. I wouldn’t dare repay their generosity with ill-treatment.”
Josh slapped on his hat and stood. “Let’s hope you’re telling the truth, because we won’t tolerate anything less than gentlemanly behavior. Not only do we know every square mile of these mountains, we’ve had plenty of practice hunting down criminals. It’d be in your best interest not to cross us.”
His brothers stood as well, their expressions no less cautionary.
“Understood.”
Alice ushered them to the door like a mother hen with her chicks. The affection the older widow harbored for them was written in her lined countenance. Made him lonely for something he wasn’t sure he’d ever had.
Drawing on all his strength, Grant leveraged himself out of the comfy chair and relieved Jessica of the bowls. She didn’t protest. In the warm, sunlit kitchen, she emptied the mugs’ leftover contents into a scrap pail one by one. He leaned his hip against the wooden counter. The tangy scent of ripe apples teased his nose. Baskets brimming with the bright red and green fruit lined three walls.
“I’m sorry about that.”
“They’re your family,” he said. “They care about you.”
“I care about them, too,” she said drily. “Doesn’t mean they aren’t annoying sometimes.”
“Be thankful you have someone to annoy you.”
Her luminous gaze sought his as she lowered the last cup into the dry sink. “You may not have been married, but you do have a mother and father. Possibly even siblings.”
He studied the cheery yellow curtains, the pie safe shelves crowded with baked goods, the burlap rug at the door boasting a rooster pattern. He hadn’t been hatched in a coop. He’d been born to parents and raised in a home. What sort of parents he’d had and what sort of home life he’d experienced were questions he could add to the growing list of unknowns.
“The family tree page in the Bible was left blank. I could be an orphan.”
She toyed with one of her ear bobs. “Or…your folks couldn’t read or write.”
Impatience dogged him. Edging around her, he went to the basket beneath the window and, choosing an apple, brought it to his nose and inhaled deeply. He wasn’t sure which foods he favored and which he avoided.
“What variety are these?”
“Macintosh.”
“How does one go about making apple butter?”
Jessica explained the process. Once all the apples were quartered, they’d start three fires out in the yard. One to boil down cider, another to heat the quartered apples and a third to turn cider into a sugar-like substance. Once that first batch of cider was half its original amount, they’d add the apples and sugar, along with cinnamon and nutmeg. This process would take the entire day.
He glanced at the dirty dishes piled in the dry sink, the bowl of bread dough rising on the stove. His presence was adding to their already considerable load of chores.
“I’ll help you.”
“You look as if one flick of my finger could knock you over.” Her expression was dubious. “You should be in bed resting.”
Pointing to the table, he said, “I can sit there and peel apples while I rest.”
“You’ll regret pushing yourself too hard.”
Her concern appeared to center around his health this time and not on how his arrival had disrupted her life.
“Before I leave, I’m going to find a way to repay my debt. I don’t have any money.” The tips of his ears burned. “What I can offer you is physical labor. I can do chores. Tend the animals. Fix whatever needs fixing around the farm.”
A wave of light-headedness washed over him, and his hand shot to the window ledge. Jessica’s washcloth slipped to the floor unheeded. Striding over, she dipped beneath his arm and sidled close against his side.
“Let’s get you to your room before you fall flat on your face.” Her palm was warm on his lower back.
“I’ll go crazy staring at those four walls.” He switched course and headed for the table. “I just need to sit down for a few minutes.”
She accommodated him without a word. When he was seated, she perched on the table corner and crossed her arms. “I can’t help but wonder what sort of skills you have.”
Taken aback, he raised his brows in question.
One delicate shoulder lifted. “You offered to tend the animals, but how do we know you have experience with them? You might’ve grown up in a crowded city.”
Grant searched hard for a silver lining. “I might’ve been a newspaperman. Or a wealthy shipping magnate.”
The tiniest of smiles played about her mouth. “You were so wealthy you resided in a seaside mansion with dozens of servants and indoor plumbing.”
“I like the sound of that.” Stroking his light beard, he said, “On the other hand, I could’ve been a poor but happy traveling circus performer.”
Her eyes widened. Her lips curved into a full-on smile that dazzled him. When a husky chuckle b
ubbled up her throat, Grant couldn’t help but share in her amusement.
“Perhaps you’d like to juggle a few of those apples to test that theory.”
Smiling, he shook his head. “Maybe when I’m in top form.”
They continued the silly game for several minutes, each of them proposing more and more outlandish professions. By the time Alice joined them, Jessica had been transformed. Her eyes sparkled with good humor. Her teeth flashed white with each spurt of laughter. The glimpse of tiny dimples charmed him.
Splaying a hand against her middle, she panted, “My stomach hurts from laughing.”
Her mother stopped beside the pie safe looking both pleased and confounded. “It’s good to hear you laugh again, dear.”
Pushing off the table, Jessica moved to retrieve the towel from the floor. “Yes, well, Grant has quite the imagination. He’s convinced he was either a stage actor or a patent medicine salesman.”
Alice’s jowls quivered with laughter. “There are endless possibilities, to be sure. Now, young man, it’s time to change out that bandage. I’m sure you’d appreciate a shave, as well.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
As he shuffled into the living room, leaving Jessica to her work, Grant wished the lighthearted moments didn’t have to end.
*
Jessica heard movement in Grant’s room and sat up. She’d come to bed over an hour ago, weary to the bone yet unable to sleep. Her shoulders and the muscles of her upper back ached from the constant stirring required to ensure the apple butter didn’t scorch. Her hair and skin smelled like a mixture of cloves and cinnamon.
His door latch clicked. Seconds later, the floor creaked. What was he up to?
Wide-awake, she pushed the thick quilt off her legs and, after lighting the lamp on her bedside table, shrugged on the housecoat that covered her from chin to toes and went in search of him. No light came from the kitchen. Will’s obnoxious snoring sliced through the darkness. Jessica jiggled his feet hanging off the end cushion, and he shifted onto his side, thankfully cutting off the noise.