by Karen Kirst
When they reached the horses, she put their belongings in her saddlebags. Grant unwound the reins from the post and stared moodily down the street at Pete’s and Lowell’s retreating figures.
“They must’ve changed their mind about the café.”
Schooling her features, she shrugged and, mounting her horse, changed the subject. He was sensitive enough about his situation without being privy to what folks were saying. “Did you get your errand taken care of?”
“It wasn’t the outcome I’d hoped for.” Hauling himself into the saddle, he turned Galahad toward the bridge. One thing about the new hat, it hid his eyes from view, making it difficult to determine his mood.
They rode side by side into the shaded lane, the hum of the rushing river gradually fading and replaced with birds’ calls echoing through the understory. Minutes passed, and yet his profile continued to appear carved from granite.
“You seem upset.”
“Talking about it won’t change anything.”
The self-derision in his tone caught her off guard. He was normally so upbeat that she wasn’t sure how to deal with the cracks in his optimism.
“I recall saying something similar. And guess what you said?”
He turned his head to stare hard at her. Having the fullness of his intense perusal zeroed in on her made her antsy and wistful.
“Whatever you tell me will go with me when I leave,” he supplied.
She made a zipping motion over her mouth. “Which means that whatever you tell me will stay.”
Expression stormy, he shifted in the saddle. “I tried to get a job at the livery. The owner’s hiring, but he’s not inclined to take a chance on me.”
“Oh.” Unexpected hurt and defensiveness flooded her, and she pictured marching into the livery and giving Mr. Warring an earful. “I’m sorry, Grant.”
One shoulder lifted in a careless gesture. “Told you it wouldn’t change the outcome.”
She nudged Caramel closer to Galahad. “You’ll find something.” She injected confidence in her manner. “I’m sure of it.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“What are friends for?”
“For boosting one’s ego, it seems.” He thumbed the brim up, giving her an unobstructed view of his eyes. “Do you plan on writing me after I leave?”
“As I won’t know where you wind up, you’ll have to write me first and find out.” With a wink, she urged her horse into a trot, the exhilaration filling her stunted by one fact—she was beginning to think his leaving would be a bad thing. A feeling that could easily lead to trouble if she let it.
*
The wagon bed was packed with stacks of empty flour sacks and baskets, a pair of canvas tents, crates of food and enough personal items to last them three days. They planned to return Sunday night, but it was good to be prepared for delays. Grant studied the clouds above. Fat and fluffy, they looked harmless.
“I believe we have everything.”
Jessica descended the porch steps and was in the process of tying the bold pink ribbons of her straw hat beneath her chin. Her white blouse was printed with miniature pink flowers, her skirt a refreshing spring green.
“I thought redheads didn’t wear pink.”
Grant couldn’t resist teasing her. He’d felt sorry for himself the previous two days, stewing over the lost opportunity, until he’d decided it wasn’t attractive or manly to sulk. He had his health, and he had the O’Malleys. God had provided for him. Lord, I know You see my need for a job. I also know that with You, all things are possible.
Planting her hands on her hips, she arched one sleek brow. “I don’t care if it clashes with my freckles. I like pink.”
Grinning, he moved close and gave her ponytail a playful tug. “You’d look beautiful in any color and you know it.”
Not speaking, she blinked up at him, the teasing mood gone in a flash. Interest was reflected in the green pools. Interest in him. He couldn’t have imagined that first day that she would ever look upon him with anything other than disdain. But along with the longing in her eyes, he saw a heavy dose of restraint.
She’s right to be cautious. Your past is one big question mark, as are your integrity and character. Somewhere out there might be a woman who’s already laid claim to your heart. Maybe even your name.
Unable to stomach that last thought, Grant shoved it aside. He wondered about the man she’d loved and lost. What sort of relationship had they shared?
“Did he treat you well?” he blurted without thinking.
“Did who…” Her brows crashed together as understanding dawned. “That’s a difficult question to answer.”
“I don’t think it is. Either he did or he didn’t. You said your family didn’t approve. Why not?”
“It’s complicated.” Picking up her skirts, she swept around to the far side. “We should go. Will’s waiting on us.”
Grant battled frustration. What was so horrible that she refused to tell him? The scant knowledge he had about her wasn’t enough to satisfy the growing need to know more.
*
He thinks I’m beautiful.
Jessica left Grant, Will and Caleb to assemble the tents while she refilled their canteens. The clearing bustled with activity. All around her, people set up their campsites in clusters of families and friends. The air was cooler here in this higher elevation, the autumn foliage more pronounced. Afternoon light set the yellow, scarlet and orange leaves ablaze. Some of the chestnut trees were hundreds of years old, their sheer size impressive. Through the openings in the trees, she could see for miles, the mountain ridges marching into the distant horizon.
“Hello.” A young woman about her age nodded and smiled in greeting as she passed.
Jessica smiled and continued picking her way across the chestnut-strewn, hilly terrain, her thoughts straying into places they had no right to go.
He thinks I’m beautiful.
Lee had been lavish with his compliments. So much so that she hadn’t taken them to heart. Grant’s praise was altogether different. His sincere admiration had rattled her.
Admit it, even without his memories, Grant Parker is a better man than Lee ever dreamed of being.
Instantly guilt flooded her. It wasn’t right to compare her deceased beau to a living, breathing virile man. Still, she couldn’t help noting the differences. When she thought of Grant, the description steadfast came to mind. Strength of purpose. Serious, yet able to appreciate the humor in life. Grant was light and laughter.
Lee had been dark and compelling, a swirling eddy that beckoned her closer to discover what was beneath. Compared to the local men, he’d seemed exciting and adventurous. Even a little mysterious. From the moment they collided outside the café and globs of buttermilk pie rained down on him, the handsome, brash newcomer had pursued her with flattering single-mindedness. He’d dazzled her with stories of life in Virginia as a wealthy businessman’s son. He’d wooed her with romantic picnics. Delighted her with thoughtful gestures…flowers, badly written poetry, candy, inexpensive trinkets. Spending time with Lee made Jessica’s small-town life less dull, less mundane. He was her perfect match.
Or so she’d believed.
He’d presented himself as a God-fearing man in pursuit of a simpler life. It wasn’t until those weeks prior to his death that she’d realized she hadn’t truly known him. A single question nagged her. How could she have loved a man who’d deceived her so convincingly?
She knelt at the stream’s edge, cold water trickling over her hand as she dunked the first canteen beneath the surface. Preventing this flourishing friendship with Grant from becoming meaningful was crucial. There were so many reasons why caring for him could prove disastrous it made her head swim.
The next man she allowed into her heart must lead a life that was above reproach. His reputation had to be untarnished. He’d be safe. Uncomplicated. Boring men didn’t turn out to be criminals. They didn’t lead double lives.
A
dismayed cry snapped her out of her reverie.
“My dolly!” Farther down the bank, a girl who reminded Jessica of her niece, Clara, was tugging frantically on her older sister’s sleeve and pointing to the object bobbing in the current.
Capping the canteen and placing it in the grass with the others, she hurried to join the girls. “Can I be of assistance?”
They lifted matching brown eyes to hers. The older one nodded. “Yes, please. My sister’s doll fell in.”
The stream wasn’t wide, nor was it particularly fast. With no time to remove her boots or stockings, however, she wound up with soggy feet and dripping pantaloons. Handing the toy to its owner, Jessica smiled despite her uncomfortable state. “There you go.”
“You saved Winnifred.” The little girl sighed. Unmindful of her dress, she hugged the drenched doll to her chest.
“Thank you, ma’am.” Her sister wore a look of relief. “Winnifred is her only doll. She would’ve been devastated to lose it.”
“Happy to help. My name’s Jessica. What’s yours?”
“I’m Eve.” She tilted her head to the side. “This is Lydia.”
Lydia blinked shyly up at her.
“Nice to meet you both.” Jessica bent to wring the excess water from her hem.
“We have to go.”
“See you around, girls.” She watched the pair hurry off, Eve lecturing Lydia as they went.
Laughing to herself, she didn’t at first notice the woman rushing toward her.
“Jessica!” the woman squealed. “I’m so happy you’re here!”
She caught the impression of red hair and a familiar smile before being crushed in a tight hug. Arms pinned to her sides, she inhaled a fragrance she’d recognize anywhere. Lavender.
“Juliana?” Her voice came out muffled, wonder filling her. What was her oldest sister doing here?
Gripping Jessica’s shoulders, Juliana leaned far enough away to scan her face with unchecked joy. “Evan and I were searching for a good spot to camp when we saw Caleb. I couldn’t believe my eyes. And then he told us you were here. I abandoned them without a word, I’m afraid.” She laughed, hugging her again.
“Why didn’t you write and tell us you were coming? Ma will be inconsolable for a week once I tell her.”
It had been seven months since they’d last traveled to Cades Cove. Because of the farm’s many responsibilities, they visited once or twice a year. Juliana and Evan hadn’t been able to come to Gatlinburg as often as they liked, either.
“This trip wasn’t planned. At the last minute, Lucas and his wife volunteered to care for the children.”
“That was thoughtful of Evan’s cousin. I’m sure you two appreciate the opportunity to be alone, but I would’ve liked to have seen James and Sammy.”
Her nephews were growing so fast. James was four years old, Sammy two. Both boys resembled their raven-haired, blue-eyed father.
“You look well,” Jessica observed.
Marriage and motherhood agreed with Juliana. An inch or two taller than Jessica, she wore her hair in a neat twist and preferred to wear comfortable, unfussy dresses.
Linking arms, Jessica led her to where she’d abandoned her things. Contentment she hadn’t known for months stole over her. Growing up, Jessica could always count on Juliana’s practical advice.
“I’ve missed you.”
At the rare admission, Juliana’s expression became concerned. “I received your letter about Mr. Parker. Did you get my reply?”
Crouching to refill the remaining canteens, she shook her head, her hair swinging forward.
“We asked around. Evan spoke with the sheriff and reverend. No one has heard of him.”
Grant would be disappointed. “It was worth a try.”
Moving to stand upstream, Juliana studied her closely. “Caleb introduced us to him. He’s a polite man. Ma must think highly of him to condone this trip.”
“You know how she feels about those less fortunate.”
As thrilled as Jessica was to see her big sister, if Juliana warned her off Grant, she was likely to upend the contents of the canteen over her head.
“It says something about your opinion that you’d agree.”
Twisting on the lid, she couldn’t rein in her testiness. “What are you getting at, Jules?”
“Nothing. Just that it’s wonderful of you to help someone in his position.”
“Wonderful?”
Moving to take the filled containers, Juliana shot her a quizzical gaze. “What were you expecting me to say?”
“Oh, the same as almost everyone else in this family. That I should be careful not to fall for his charms. They act like I’m the biggest featherhead in east Tennessee. Like I don’t have a single functioning brain cell. I’m not the only O’Malley to make a grave error in judgment.”
Clueing in on her disgust, Juliana nodded her understanding. They strolled toward the clearing in the woods where most of the campers had chosen to spend the weekend.
“Do you know how many letters I’ve received these past months?” Juliana said. “Not only from Ma and Jane, but Megan, Aunt Mary, even Nicole, and you know how fond she is of writing.” She turned her green eyes on Jessica. “They’ve had to stand by and watch you suffer because you insisted on shouldering your grief alone. They feel helpless. Can you blame them for wanting to see you happy again?”
Jessica wasn’t sure she deserved to be happy. “No, of course not.”
They reached their site and found Will assembling firewood and Caleb assisting Evan to erect a tent. All around them, the bustle of activity echoed through the forest. Children chased each other through the grass, weaving in and out of the chaos. Mothers called out warnings to be careful. Someone nearby played a jaunty harmonica tune.
Grant emerged from his tent balancing a crate against his uninjured side. He was wearing a borrowed gun belt about his waist, and the six-shooter she’d loaned him nestled in a holster on his left hip. Seeing Juliana and Jessica together, he stopped short. Shook his head and smiled. “No one could deny your heritage. What I don’t get is where Nicole fits in.”
Juliana laughed. “He hasn’t met Megan yet, has he?”
“No.” With her blond hair and blue eyes, Megan took after their mother’s people. “Nicole is the spitting image of our paternal grandmother.”
“That explains things. I guess.” His gaze bounced between them. “Where do the red hair and freckles come from, then?”
“Both our father and grandfather were full-blood Irish,” Jessica answered, adding the canteens to the supply pile.
“While our ma’s side is English,” Juliana supplied.
“Nature’s funny like that.” Grant’s focus turned inward even as he scoured the expansive clearing, as if waiting for someone to pop over, shake his hand and supply all the answers he was seeking. The discussion about their heritage had to have sparked questions about his own.
“Jess, I’m going to start unpacking the supper supplies. We’ve got loads to share. You know what Evan’s appetite is like.”
“I heard that,” he called.
Jessica smiled, meeting her brother-in-law’s wink and wave as he fit the canvas over the poles. Evan hadn’t changed in the years since he’d married her sister. As handsome and intense as ever, with his jet-black hair and blue eyes, he loved Juliana to distraction.
“We’ll pool our resources,” Jessica said.
“Good idea.”
She turned to Grant, dreading telling him that Juliana and Evan hadn’t discovered anything useful. He was counting on someone here recognizing him. What happened if someone did and the answers they supplied weren’t what any of them wanted?
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Jessica was basking in the fire’s warmth, listening as Juliana and Evan caught everyone up on recent events in Cades Cove, when Grant sank onto the log beside her. His closeness warmed her more effectively than the nearby flames. The sun had set a while ago, but the mountainside was lit up
with all the campfires.
He pointed to her bowl of pinto beans, into which she’d crumbled corn bread and topped it with sauerkraut. “You going to eat that?”
“I was planning to. Why?”
“Doesn’t look all that appetizing.”
She jabbed her fork in the air. “You worry about your own food, mister.”
“If you insist.” He shrugged. “I just thought you might like to add some zest to it.”
Angling her knees toward his, she held the warm bowl aloft. “I forgot my Tabasco sauce, and Juliana doesn’t use it.”
“You may have forgotten it.” The firelight flickered in his eyes. His hair flopped onto his forehead in that rakish way she found appealing. “I didn’t.”
He reached behind the log and produced the skinny bottle, giving it a little shake right in front of her nose.
“You brought it?” His thoughtfulness touched her.
When she reached out, Grant hid it behind his back, his playful mood palpable. “I sense that I have a bit of bargaining power right now.”
“Grant Parker, you give me that bottle this instant.”
Stroking the short, pale bristles covering his chin, he mused, “What should I ask for, I wonder.”
“No bottle, no cookies.” She smirked.
He considered her with his head tilted to one side. “What kind of cookies?”
“Oatmeal raisin. Bigger than your fist.”
“I forfeit.” He held out the Tabasco, and she grabbed it happily, dousing her meal while he made a grunt of mock disgust.
Picking his own bowl off the ground, he dug in with gusto. It had been a long, grueling day of travel and work to get their site set up. He was no doubt famished, not to mention exhausted. She worried he’d demand too much of himself.
He bumped her shoulder with his. “Your sister is nice.”
Jessica shot him a sideways glance. “Are you insinuating I’m not?”
“Nice isn’t a word I’d apply to you, no.”
She socked him in the arm. A chuckle rumbling through his chest, he rubbed the spot. “Ouch, lady. See what I mean?”