His Mountain Miss (Smoky Mountain Matches)

by Karen Kirst

  Except for the hair. There was no taming those luxurious, dark brown waves that insisted on falling forward to rest on his forehead.

  “Merci.” He stepped back to allow her entrance, his intense gaze sweeping her scooped-neck white blouse, full black skirts and wide black belt that accentuated her waist. “Where’s your eye patch and wooden leg?”

  “Isn’t this enough?” She pivoted in the entryway and indicated her scarf.

  After looping the umbrella on the coat stand behind him, he settled his hands on his hips and appraised her appearance. “You need an eye patch. The wooden leg, not so much, but definitely some gold jewelry—loot from the legion of ships you’ve besieged.” Amusement shone in the depths of his eyes.

  Was he teasing her? Her palms began to sweat. “I’m, uh, fresh out of gold. Sorry.”

  “That’s too bad.” He tipped his head towards the basket dangling from her fingers. “May I take that for you?”

  “No, thank you.” She tightened her grip. She didn’t want him to discover the tea cakes now and forbid the children to have them. Better to wait until the book had been read to pass them out. He wouldn’t be around to intervene.

  “As you wish.” The amusement faded, replaced with a subtle knowing.

  His open scrutiny unleashed a flurry of butterflies in her middle. “I always come half an hour early to set up the chairs and get my books in order. May I?”

  “By all means.” He motioned for her to precede him into the parlor on their left. Megan stopped just inside the room.

  “I took the liberty of arranging the chairs for you.”

  “Oh.”

  “This is the way it was set up last week.” He stood close beside her, his exotic scent stirring the air. “Did you prefer it done another way?”

  “This is fine. I—”

  “Well, hello there, Miss Megan.” Mrs. Calhoun entered the parlor bearing a tray of delicate-looking pastries and fresh strawberries. “Doesn’t this look delectable? I was all prepared to make a batch of sugar cookies when Mr. Lucian suggested I do something special. I’m so glad he did. The children will enjoy these.”

  Mouth hanging open, Megan’s gaze followed the older woman’s movements. Lucian suggested? But—

  Mrs. Calhoun spotted her basket and pointed. “Oh, what do you have there? More goodies?”

  “Y-yes.” She avoided looking at Lucian. “My sister and I baked tea cakes.”

  “That’s wonderful,” she said, bustling over to take it from Megan, “they’ll go fast.” To Lucian, she said, “That Jane O’Malley has a way with food. Her twin, too. Whenever there’s a church social, folks flock to the table to try and snag a sampling of their desserts. There’s never enough to go around, though.”

  When they were alone once more, Megan finally looked at him. Spread her hands wide. “I don’t understand. Why are you being so...agreeable?”

  Folding his arms across his wide chest, the corners of his mouth turned down. “Just because I don’t happen to like the situation I find myself in doesn’t mean I should make things difficult for you. What did you expect I would do? Blockade the door?”

  “No, not that.” She shook her head. “But neither did I think you would help me.”

  His dark brows winged up. “My grandfather didn’t?”

  “He was too feeble to do any heavy lifting,” she said defensively. “As to the other preparations, he left everything to me and Mrs. Calhoun. Which was fine by me,” she rushed to add.

  Dropping his arms to his sides, Lucian’s expression turned pensive. “I must inform you that I’ve written my lawyer asking him to find a way around the stipulation.”

  She wasn’t surprised. Still, disappointment spiraled through her, as did a prick of anxiety. “I doubt he’ll be successful.”

  But what if he somehow found a way? A loophole of some sort?

  “We’ll have to wait and see, won’t we?” His gaze flicked to the window behind her. “For now, it appears you have an early arrival.”

  Turning, she spotted Ollie Stevenson trudging up the lane, gesturing and talking to himself. She suppressed a mischievous smile. “Would you care to greet him? I have to retrieve my book from the library.”

  “Me?” He followed on her heels. “How about I go and get Mrs. Calhoun?” A slight undercurrent of anxiety wove through his words.

  With a dismissive gesture, she shot over her shoulder, “She’s busy getting the drinks. Don’t worry, Ollie doesn’t bite. Not often, anyway.”

  Leaving him behind, she heard him mutter something about her enjoying this. A thrill lightened her step. Upsetting Lucian’s reserve could become addictive. Good thing he couldn’t see the wide grin splitting her face.

  * * *

  Lucian had initially intended to secrete himself in Charles’s study for the duration of the evening. Those plans changed. Megan knew children made him uncomfortable and yet she’d purposefully left him to face the unpredictable creatures alone. Well, two could play at that game.

  One arm propped against the mantel, he couldn’t stop a satisfied smile as he recalled her dumbfounded reaction to his announcement that he’d be sticking around to observe story time. If her frequent, darting glances his direction were any indication, his presence made her nervous. Good. Served her right.

  Ollie, the precocious, persistent seven-year-old whose earlier stream of chatter had given Lucian a headache, kept raising his hand despite Megan’s calm assurances that there’d be time to ask questions later. He had to hand it to her, the woman had a seemingly endless supply of patience. And she was an adept storyteller. Her lilting, musical voice pulled one into the adventure, her enthusiasm transferring itself to the audience.

  Watching her, Lucian’s gaze was naturally drawn to her white-blond hair. Rays of waning sunlight slanted through the window to glisten in the loose curls, and his fingers itched to bury themselves in the silken mass. Careful, Beaumont. She’s as pretty as a picture, for sure, but you’ve no idea what lies beneath the surface. Remember Dominique.

  How could he ever forget? She’d convinced him of her sincere affection, had even claimed to love him, while all along she’d been biding her time. Holding out for the true prize—his father. Why settle for the son of a shipping magnate when she could have the man with all the power?

  His chest seized up, and he absentmindedly rubbed a flat palm over his heart in an effort to soothe away the discomfort. The smothering sensation had started not long after his mother’s death a year ago. Had worsened a few months later with Dominique’s trickery. Being in this house didn’t help. There was no escaping his grandfather’s indifference and worse, the constant reminders of his mother and the fact she was lost to him forever.

  When he glanced up and caught Megan looking at him with concern creasing her brow, he dropped his hand. There was nothing to worry about. At least, that was the family physician’s conclusion, who’d declared Lucian fit as a fiddle. Mentioned something about anxiety and getting more rest. Right. Lucian wasn’t one to sit around. When he wasn’t working in the shipping offices or attending social functions, he was at the country estate, hunting and fishing and assisting his staff with repairs and the like. Lately he’d entertained passing thoughts of leaving the city behind to take up permanent residence there. But the prospect of rattling around in that big manor all alone stopped him from seriously considering it.

  Just then, a small hand slipped into his, startling him out of his reverie.

  Straightening, he stared down into the pixie face of a little girl he’d noticed simply because she reminded him of Megan with her long blond hair and big blue eyes.

  “I’m Sarah.” She didn’t smile, only studied him with a seriousness that unnerved him.

  Lucian glanced around the parlor, belatedly realizing Megan had finished the book. She and the parents wer
e assisting the children swarming the dessert table.

  “Uh, hello.”

  What did one say to a child? Her warm fingers clutched his, and he marveled at their fragility. If he had to guess, he’d say she was about five or six.

  “What’s your name?”

  “I’m Lucian.”

  She scrunched up her nose, which only made her look more adorable. “Huh?”

  Squatting to her level, he repeated, “My name is Lucian.”

  Reaching out, she touched the tip of her finger to his sapphire tiepin. “That’s sparkly. I like pretty things. Can I have it?”

  He cleared his throat to cover a chuckle. There was no guile in this little one’s eyes, merely simple curiosity. “Well, I doubt you would have use of it. It’s for gentlemen, and you are a lady.”

  She seemed to ponder that for a minute. He held his breath, wondering what he’d say if she insisted. He had no experience with this sort of thing.

  “Are you Mr. Charles’s son?”

  He jerked his head back at the unexpected question. “No. I’m his grandson.”

  Tilting her head, a tiny line appeared between her fine eyebrows. “Mr. Charles was a nice man. Are you nice, too?”

  Lucian sucked in a breath.

  “Sarah,” Megan said as she appeared at their side and placed a gentle hand on the little girl’s shoulder, “wouldn’t you like a treat? They’re going fast.”

  With a nod, Sarah slipped her hand from his and hopped to the table without a backward glance. Lucian stood, grateful for the intervention and wondering what Megan had seen in his face that had induced her to take mercy on him. Could she read his moods that easily?

  “She didn’t intend to make you uncomfortable.”

  “I know.” He watched her at the table, solemnly debating what to put on her plate. “Is she always that serious?”

  A heavy sigh escaped her. “She’s had a rough year. Her ma died in childbirth, as did the baby. Her father hasn’t coped well.”

  Lucian’s mouth turned down. Such a tragic loss couldn’t be easy for a young child to process. His gaze returned to Megan to find her studying him with an inscrutable expression. One pale brow quirked.

  “So, are you?”

  “Am I what?”

  Her voice went soft. “Are you a nice man?”

  He exhaled. “That’s impossible for me to answer, Megan.”

  She stepped closer, smelling of roses and, more faintly, strawberries. He clasped his hands behind his back, away from temptation.

  “Well, I’ll answer it, then. I think you are nice.”

  His jaw went slack. Pleasure reverberated through him, followed quickly by misgivings. “I’m astonished you’d say that, considering.”

  “You’re simply acting under false assumptions concerning your grandfather.” Her blue eyes darkened. “And me.”

  “Is that so?” He fought the pull of her innocent appeal.

  “Don’t go all haughty on me,” she challenged, not in the least fazed. “We’re going to have to discuss this sometime.” Her mouth softened as genuine confusion settled on her face. “I’d really like to know why you didn’t come to see him. You don’t strike me as someone who’d deliberately hurt another person.”

  Lucian didn’t often find himself without a ready response. Megan thought he was nice? If that was her true opinion, then she was one of the most charitable women he’d ever met. So was she really that bighearted? Or just very clever?

  Chapter Five

  Megan could tell she’d shocked him. No doubt he wasn’t accustomed to anyone questioning his behavior, especially females. New Orleans socialites likely tripped all over themselves to gain his favor, to be linked with such a man as he—wealthy, influential, articulate, gorgeous. Not her. She may be a romantic at heart, but she wasn’t about to allow herself to be impressed by superficial charms.

  She wanted to know the man beneath the brooding reserve and smooth manners. His innermost thoughts and feelings. His motivations. And she wasn’t sure if that was possible, or even wise.

  Abbott and Ivy Tremain, grandparents of one of the kids, took the silence stretching between them as a sign to interrupt.

  “Mr. Beaumont,” Abbott interjected, thrusting out his hand, “it’s an honor to finally meet you.”

  As Abbott introduced himself and his wife, Lucian shook his hand and nodded to Ivy. “Likewise. Please, call me Lucian.”

  Was Megan the only one who noticed the tension jumping along his jaw? She mentally kicked herself. She shouldn’t have brought up the volatile subject while the house was crawling with guests.

  “Lucinda, Ivy and I grew up together. Your mother was a delightful girl. Fun to be around.”

  “Oh, yes.” The attractive brunette nodded with a nostalgic smile. “She was as sweet as could be. Growing up, she never caused Charles a bit of trouble, and so we were all taken by complete surprise when she up and ran off with Gerard. Terrible time, that was.”

  Megan’s stomach dropped to the floor. Lucian’s face appeared carved in stone, his eyes as black as the forest on a moonless night. Beneath the blue coat, his shoulders went rigid.

  Oblivious to his turmoil, Abbott continued, “Charles was never the same after that, was he, my dear?”

  She shook her head sadly. “He missed her something fierce. I know a lot of folks around here hoped she’d come back and visit, but she never did.”

  “But we’re glad Charles’s grandson is here, at long last,” the older man said with a grin. “How long are you in town for?”

  Megan held her breath. Would he tell them about the will stipulation? If he did, the whole town would be buzzing about it within the hour.

  “I’m not certain.” Their gazes locked, but she couldn’t tell what he was thinking. “For a couple of weeks, at least.”

  “Good, good. It’s awful nice of you to continue your grandfather’s traditions. The children really enjoy themselves when they come here.” Abbott cocked his head at Megan. “This young lady is a gifted storyteller.”

  Lucian’s dark brows met in the middle. “Yes, she certainly is.”

  Now, why didn’t that sound like a compliment?

  “She’s going to make some lucky man a fine wife someday,” Ivy piped up. The sly wink she sent Lucian’s direction made Megan long to run for the door. Her cheeks grew hot. She kept her gaze trained on the colorful rug beneath her feet.

  “I believe Tom Leighton’s already figured that out,” her husband joked.

  Enough humiliation. “If you’ll excuse me, I should go and help Mrs. Calhoun with the cleanup.”

  Leaving them to their conversation, she attempted to bury her embarrassment by seeing to the children’s needs, wiping crumbs from sticky fingers and chocolate-rimmed mouths, refilling drinks and trying to ensure the furniture didn’t get soiled. Though she refrained from looking directly at Lucian, she noticed many of the parents had drifted over to chat with him. She swallowed back concern. Was it too much to hope no one else brought up the subject of his mother?

  A frown pulled at her lips. What if he found this evening so unpleasant that he did decide to blockade the door next time?

  No. She sincerely believed that, despite his intentions to thwart Charles’s wishes, Lucian was a good man. Misguided, definitely. A bit selfish and stubborn, maybe. But didn’t everyone have faults? His actions tonight had softened her opinion of him. He didn’t have to lift a finger to help her, but he’d anticipated her needs and acted accordingly. He’d suffered through Ollie’s onslaught with fortitude, nodding at all the right times and answering the boy’s questions with careful consideration. Watching his gentle interaction with Sarah, Megan’s heart had squeezed with a curious longing. A longing she didn’t dare examine.

  Lucian is not responsible
for these feelings, she assured herself. It’s just that, with both Juliana and Josh reveling in wedded bliss, you’re dreaming of your own happy-ever-after.

  Besides, Lucian Beaumont didn’t strike her as a man who believed in such a thing. He wouldn’t willingly be any girl’s knight in shining armor.

  * * *

  Lucian bade good-night to the last guest and, closing the door, sagged momentarily against it. He’d survived his first story time. While this evening had had its trying moments, there’d been interesting ones, as well. What surprised him most was how friendly everyone had been. It seemed Megan was alone in feeling betrayed by his absence all these years.

  Going in search of her, he found her scooting a heavy wingback chair across the thick multihued rug towards its rightful place beside the settee. He strode to intercept her.

  “I’ll take it from here.”

  “That’s all right. I’m used to doing this without help.”

  He placed a stalling hand on her shoulder. The warmth of her skin beneath her blouse, the slender grace of her, prickled his palm. He had the ridiculous urge to knead the stiffness from her muscles. “I don’t mind. You’ve been on your feet for most of the night. Why don’t you sit and rest for a few minutes?”

  Her red scarf askew, she reluctantly nodded and, moving away from his touch, settled on the settee. Her hands folded in her lap, her gaze followed his movements as he quickly replaced all the chairs. The lamplights cast a cozy glow about the room, which, with its navy-blue-and-green accents and dark walnut woodwork, gave it a masculine feel that was echoed throughout the house. He wondered if it had ever had feminine touches, or if Charles had removed all reminders of his late wife and his absent daughter.

  When he’d finished, she asked, “How do you think it went tonight?”