by Karen Kirst
Surprise flashed across his face. “No. Never. It must be your influence.” His gaze roaming her face was like a physical touch. “You are so incredibly beautiful.” His warm breath fanned her mouth.
Her lungs hung suspended. Was he going to kiss her?
The door opened then, and Nicole appeared, interrupting them a second time. Megan didn’t know whether to be irritated or relieved.
He straightened, his eyes hooded. Unreadable. The air whooshed from her lungs. Why did she feel as if she’d just missed something special?
“Dessert’s on the table,” Nicole announced brightly, unaware of what she’d interrupted.
“I, ah, am sorry to have to decline, after all.” Lucian backed towards the steps. “But it’s later than I realized. I need to be going.”
“Oh.” She blinked, glanced between them. “Next time, then.”
“Good evening.”
“Wait!” Megan ducked inside for a kerosene lamp. Their fingers brushed as she handed it to him and an unexpected pang shot through her. There was such strength and warmth in those hands. Gentleness, too. “To light your way,” she said.
His features tightened briefly. “Thanks.”
Then he turned and walked away. And Megan was glad she was smart enough to know not to fall in love with the man. Something deep inside warned that it wouldn’t be the happy-ever-after kind of love. More like the Romeo and Juliet, tragic kind of love. For them, there could be no happy ending.
Chapter Seven
Standing in the flower garden Monday afternoon, Lucian turned at the sound of angry footsteps.
“Cabbage?” Megan marched his direction, her pastel-pink skirts skimming the stone path and swiping the blooms unfortunate enough to be too near the edge. “That’s what you’ve been calling me?”
“Good afternoon.” He gestured to the clear blue skies overhead. “Nice day for a stroll, isn’t it?”
Her pink blouse, with fitted bodice and flared sleeves, delineated her slender waist, while the delicate hue enhanced her pale beauty. Her skin glowed with health and vitality. She’d captured the top layers of her curls in a pink ribbon at the back of her head, while the rest cascaded down her back. A silver ribbon choker encircled her neck, a small cameo brooch in the center. She was a delicate rose of incomparable beauty, but not without a few thorns.
Reaching his side, she jammed her fists on her hips. The color in her cheeks matched the red tulips planted along the back porch. She wasn’t going to let this go.
“I spoke to my cousin’s wife Kate today. You know, the one from New York? She studied French, so I asked her what mon chou meant.” When he didn’t immediately respond, she narrowed her gaze. “Well? Care to explain in what way you believe I resemble a cabbage?”
“She’s right. It does mean that.” She opened her mouth to speak, but he held up a hand. “It’s also slang for...little pastry.”
One pale brow arched in a way he was coming to adore. “That’s supposed to make me feel better?”
“Actually, yes.” And because he didn’t trust himself not to do anything rash, like he very nearly had last night, he pivoted on his heel and began to stroll away from the house. As expected, she followed.
“Why?”
He sighed, uncertain if he was strong enough to maintain self-control. To keep things between them platonic. Businesslike would be even better, though at this point, all but impossible. No other woman had ever gotten under his skin like this one.
Waving a hand in dismissal, he drawled, “You know, your skin is like heavy cream and your eyes the hue of blueberries. Your lips—”
“I get the picture,” she spoke up hastily.
Silence stretched between them, their boots striking the stones and birds twittering in the trees filling it. He was glad she was behind him, unable to see the struggle in his expression.
“How was church yesterday?”
“Good.” She hesitated. “Though I’m not sure I appreciated the onslaught of questions about you.”
That brought him around. His brows met in the middle. “About me?”
“Yes, you.” She met his gaze openly. “This is a small town, remember? People are curious about Lucinda’s son, Charles’s grandson.”
He absently rubbed his chest, so accustomed to the pressure he was beginning not to notice it. “I’m sorry you were put in an uncomfortable position on account of me.”
“It wasn’t that bad.” Concern flooded her gaze. She touched his wrist, her fingers lingering against his skin. “Are you all right? I’ve noticed you doing that a lot.”
He lowered his hand, forcing her to drop hers. “It’s a habit.” Turning, he resumed walking. This time, she fell into step beside him.
“You aren’t having chest pains, are you?”
“No, nothing like that. Just pressure and sometimes an uncomfortable tightness. My physician checked me out and declared me healthy. Said I needed to slow down for a while.” He skimmed the flowers with his flattened palm, an ironic smile on his lips. “Stop and smell the roses.”
Sensing her regard, he turned his head to meet her probing gaze.
“It appears this trip could accomplish that, if you’d let it.”
“You don’t understand.” He stopped short to face her, throwing his hands wide. “I don’t want to be here. I don’t want that house,” he confessed, jabbing a finger at the yellow structure visible in the distance. “This garden. I don’t want to meet people who knew my mother, to listen to them say how sad they are that she never came back. How my grandfather regretted how he handled my parents’ marriage. How he died all alone, with no one to comfort him.”
He passed a shaky hand over his face. Frustration and sorrow churned inside him, and he wanted to rail at someone or something, needed to release these emotions before they consumed him. But his mother wasn’t here to explain herself and neither was his grandfather.
“No one blames you,” she said quietly, his grief mirrored in her face. “I’m sorry for the things I said before. I made assumptions about you, about your motivations, that I now know were wrong.” Slipping her slender hand in his, she gently squeezed. “Charles wasn’t alone at the end.”
“What?”
Her lips trembled. “I was with him. So were Mr. and Mrs. Calhoun. He was ready to meet Jesus. He went peacefully.”
“That’s good to know,” he scraped out. He felt raw inside.
What if everything he’d ever believed about the man was untrue, distorted by deception? All those years wasted harboring resentment. Feeling unworthy. Outraged on his mother’s behalf, hurting for her. Had he been wrong about it all?
He held on to her hand like a lifeline. “Did he ever say anything about me?”
“A few times.”
“I see.”
“He loved you, Lucian,” she said, pressing closer, “but it was a painful subject. In many ways, your grandfather was a very private man.”
Nodding, he swallowed hard. He shared that particular trait.
“Lucian—”
Reaching up, he cradled her cheek with his hand, skimmed his thumb along the petal-soft skin. Battled the urge to find comfort in her arms. “I wish I knew what to believe.” Who to believe.
Everything in him screamed Megan was trustworthy. That she was a good person. That the compassion in her eyes was real.
“I’m sorry you’re struggling with this.”
Inhaling, he dropped his hand and stepped back. “You truly believe he wanted us here?”
; “I do.”
He nodded, glanced out over the gardens, not really seeing anything.
* * *
Megan felt helpless in the face of Lucian’s anguish. She would like nothing more than to hold him, but she didn’t dare. Father God, please bring the truth to light somehow. Give him clarity and closure. Help him to see how much You love him.
“I have an idea,” she ventured softly. “You haven’t seen much of the town yet, have you? Why don’t we take a walk? It will do you good to get your mind off things.”
The questions in his eyes shouted his mistrust. “Why do you want to help me? I haven’t changed my mind about the house. If my lawyer finds a way around that stipulation, I’ll take it.”
It hurt that he still didn’t trust her motives, but she understood it wasn’t about her. Not really. “I’m praying he doesn’t. But if he does, I’ll just have to trust God to open up another way for us to minister to the children and the community.” She hadn’t answered that other question. Couldn’t. Not without alerting him to the fact he was fast becoming important to her.
As for the house, she couldn’t find it in her to be angry. Not now that she realized everything it represented for him, the upheaval, the painful reminders. She just wished there was a way to meet everyone’s needs. Perhaps, if he came to trust her fully, he might agree to leave the house in her care so that he could return to New Orleans.
Assessing her, he appeared to come to a conclusion. “At least you’re honest.” He held his arm aloft. “Very well—let’s go exploring.”
* * *
Walking arm in arm down Main Street with Gatlinburg’s latest arrival caused quite a stir. Because news traveled fast here, a good majority of folks would know of Lucian’s connection to the town. Some stopped whatever they were doing to stare unashamedly, speculation in their gazes. Speculation about Charles’s grandson. And about the two of them.
Lucian tilted his head, speaking for her ears alone. “Do I have dirt on my face? Something on my shirt, perhaps?” He paused and ran a hand over his coat and vest, inspecting his front.
His hair fell forward, softening his features. Making him look...vulnerable. “There’s nothing wrong with your appearance,” she said wryly.
“Then why is everyone staring?”
She smiled. “You’re big news around here. They’re wondering, how long is he in town for? Is there a chance he might stay? What does he think of Gatlinburg? What’s he like?”
“All that, huh?”
And more. Most likely, they were wondering what, if anything, was going on between the two of them. “Make no mistake, dinner conversations will be lively tonight.”
Lucian didn’t comment. The tension sparked by their earlier conversation yet lingered in the stiff set of his shoulders and the lines about his mouth, but his eyes were not as black, his expression less formidable.
“Does the attention bother you?”
He shook his head. “No. I’m accustomed to it, though not while walking down the street, I admit.”
Megan experienced an unwelcome spurt of jealousy. He was referring to the balls and social engagements he attended nearly every evening. With his wealth, social standing and devastating good looks, of course he’d have scores of girls vying for his attention.
Her fingers tightened on his sleeve. This wasn’t good. She mustn’t start thinking of Lucian as hers. He wasn’t. Never would be.
“Does it bother you?” he asked, guiding her closer to the storefronts to avoid a collision with a group of men.
“Not really.” She smiled in response to their friendly greetings. “Besides, it’s simple curiosity. Nothing malicious.”
Pulling back on his arm, she urged him to stop. His glance was questioning.
Gesturing to the plate-glass window beside them, she said, “Recognize the name?”
“K. O’Malley Photography and J. D. O’Malley Furniture.” One black brow lifted. “That’s an interesting combination. Your cousin and his wife?”
“Would you like to go inside and meet them?”
“Certainly.”
The shop’s interior was divided into two separate areas—Kate’s studio on their right and Josh’s furniture on their left. Neat and organized, the place was a feast for the eyes. Landscape photographs of New York and Tennessee lined the walls, as did examples of personal portraits—couples and families and babies. In the back, an oversize black curtain hid the log walls and rough-hewn floorboards where a settee and two chairs were set up, along with her camera and equipment.
In an effort not to overcrowd the space, Josh had chosen his finest pieces to showcase his work. Customers had the option to buy the inventory or put in special orders. A gleaming cherry dining set, an intricately carved walnut hutch, a writing desk and a few other pieces were situated about the area with enough room for folks to meander and touch and inspect.
The bell above the door jangled, and Josh, who seemed to be comforting Kate, looked up.
“Megan.”
His lips quirked up in a welcoming smile, but he couldn’t quite hide his worry. Immediately, concern washed over her. Kate lifted her head from his shoulder and, hurriedly wiping her eyes, stepped out of the shelter of his arms. Attempted a smile.
“Megan, hi.” She eyed the man at her side with interest.
“We can come back another time—” Megan began, unhappy they’d interrupted a private moment.
“No, that’s all right.” Clasping Josh’s hand, Kate pulled him forward. “We’d like to meet your friend.”
All the while making the introductions, she tried to guess what was the matter with her best friend. She hadn’t noticed anything unusual about Kate’s behavior, although, now that she thought about it, she had been quieter than normal these past few weeks. A touch withdrawn. The joy and pride that had been a constant on Josh’s face ever since their wedding last fall was still there, but he seemed distracted. Concerned for his wife.
Please, Lord, don’t let it be anything serious. If anyone deserved happiness, it was Kate.
Threading her arm through Kate’s, she addressed her cousin. “Josh, could you show Lucian around? I’d like to speak with Kate for a few minutes.”
“Sure.”
She looked to Lucian for approval. “Do you mind?”
“Not at all.” His mouth eased into an almost smile, his expression thoughtful.
Once inside the small storage room in back, Megan took Kate’s hands in hers. “What’s wrong?”
Since finding love with Josh, the petite, refined lady who’d known more than her fair share of loneliness and heartbreak had blossomed into an outgoing, confident woman with a ready smile and infectious laughter. Today, though, her wide green eyes were filled with unshed tears. She looked miserable.
Megan’s heart squeezed with compassion. “Why are you so upset? Are you ill?” She held her breath, braced for bad news.
“No, nothing like that.” Freeing one hand, she smoothed dark chocolate wisps away from her forehead. Her luxurious mane, normally trained into an elaborate twist, was caught back in a simple bun. “Although, I’m afraid something may be wrong with me.”
“What do you mean?”
Kate’s cheeks grew pink, and her lashes swept down. “I—I’m afraid I won’t be able to have a baby. Josh and I have been trying since the wedding, and, well...” She trailed off, worried her lower lip.
“Oh.” Relief swept through her that Kate wasn’t facing a he
alth crisis. “It’s early yet. You’ve only been married a little over six months.”
“But look at how quickly it happened for Juliana and Evan!” she protested. “What if I can’t give Josh a son or daughter? For so long, I dreamed of having a family of my own, and now that I’ve found Josh, I want that dream to become a reality. I want a little boy with his daddy’s honey-colored hair and blue eyes. And a little girl I can teach to take photographs and cook and read...” Her eyes welled up again. “What if God doesn’t think I’d be a good mother?”
“Don’t think that way, Kate,” she admonished with a gentle smile. “You are the most nurturing, kind, loving woman I know. You’ll be the best mother ever! God knows the desires of your heart. Just keep praying and waiting on Him. I’ll pray, too.”
She nodded slowly. “I have been. I suppose I’m impatient.”
“God’s timing isn’t always our own,” Megan agreed, thinking of her own longing for a husband. “What’s Josh saying about all this?”
Her quick smile lit up her lovely features. “He’s been very supportive, very patient with me. He’s my voice of reason, something I desperately need right now.”
“I’m not surprised. He loves you so much.” Last fall, when Kate left Gatlinburg to return to New York, Megan had worried the pair would never find their happy ending. She thanked God that Josh had come to his senses and gone after her.
“I’ve been truly blessed.” Kate paused, reflective. “Not only do I have a husband I dearly love, I have new friends and family. I need to remember my many blessings instead of focusing on what I don’t have.”
“There’s nothing wrong with wanting things,” Megan said, “but you’re right—if we focus too much on what we don’t have, it can affect our outlook.”
Kate gave her a quick hug, then leaned back to smile at her. “Thanks for being such a dear friend, Megan. I think of you as a sister, you know. I love you.”
A lump formed in her throat. “I love you, too.”