by Karen Kirst
“We’re friends, she and I. I trust her implicitly. Megan is a special lady, different from anyone I’ve ever known. I care about her. A lot.” Too much. “I should be talking to a human being about this, not a horse.” D’Artagnan stamped his foot. “No offense, mon ami.”
Who was he kidding? Megan craved a grand love to rival the most prolific romance novels. He didn’t have it in him to give her that. Refused to risk repeating his father’s mistakes. No. His place was in New Orleans. And she belonged here. With Tom. Or some other man who could give her what she deserved. A man who would never hurt her.
* * *
So this was what misery felt like.
From now on, she was going to stick to adventures and mysteries. No more romance. In fact, as soon as she got home from church she was going to stow them all in a crate and give them away. Why torture herself reading happy endings when she wasn’t going to get one?
“Is anyone sitting here?”
Megan lifted her gaze from her lap. Tom, dressed in his Sunday best, brown hair shiny from a recent wash, waited for her permission to sit. She inwardly sighed. Tried to smile and failed.
“No. Please, join us.”
With a wide smile, he sat beside her at the end of the pew. Leaning forward, he aimed that smile at her sister, seated on her other side. “Hey there, Janie-girl.”
“Hi.”
Tom’s smile faded. Megan shot Jane a sideways glance. Her lack of enthusiasm was unusual. Off routine. Whenever Tom teased her, she would give it right back. Not today.
“Are you feeling all right, Jane?” she murmured. Megan had been so lost in her own troubles lately that she hadn’t been paying particular attention to anyone around her.
“I’m fine.” She lowered her gaze to her lap where her hands were tightly clasped, color surging in her cheeks. Something was definitely bothering her. Was it Tom? Could she possibly harbor feelings for him?
“What about you, Megan?” Tom said softly. “You don’t look particularly happy this morning.”
“I’m fine.”
She felt Jane’s perusal. Ugh. This was going to be a long morning.
Glancing over her shoulder, she searched for Lucian.
Tom caught her gaze. Frowned. “He’s outside tethering his horse. Should I change pews?”
She blinked. “No. Lucian doesn’t— That is, he wouldn’t—”
“It’s all right. You don’t have to explain.”
Flustered, Megan turned around, determined not to search him out again.
* * *
Lucian entered the church. Took one look at Megan and Tom—sitting together and swapping smiles—and turned and walked right back out, oblivious to the curious stares. He couldn’t do this. Couldn’t sit by and watch her with another man.
All the way home, he fought for control over his emotions. Giving in to them would accomplish nothing. He had to be rational. To plan. To leave Tennessee with his dignity intact. To leave Megan with good memories. He wouldn’t cause a scene, refused to cause trouble for her. He’d meant what he said—more than anything else, he wanted her to be happy.
He found Smith straightaway and instructed him to start packing his things. They would be leaving early next week. He’d stay long enough to say goodbye to the friends he’d made—Owen and Sarah, the Monroes, Megan’s family, Fred and Madge Calhoun—and attend one more story time. He wanted to remember her that way—dressed up in a silly costume and reading to the children—forever his Megan.
An hour later, he was in the study trying to decide what to take with him when the doorbell rang.
“Tom?” Lucian didn’t attempt to hide his surprise. “Would you like to come in?”
“No, thanks. I can’t stay long. I’m headed to Sam and Mary’s for lunch.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder.
Stepping out on to the porch, Lucian crossed his arms and waited. He wasn’t in the mood for games.
Tom looked uncomfortable but determined. “Look, I saw you before services. I know you skipped out early, and I have to assume you did that because it bothered you to see Megan and me together. She told you about my proposal?”
“What do you want, Leighton?” he ground out. Was the man here to gloat?
“I just wanted to thank you for not challenging my relationship with her. I’m good for her, you know. I can give her what she wants.”
“Are you sure about that?” Lucian challenged, not because he believed otherwise, but because the truth stung. Of course Tom would be good for her. That didn’t make it any easier to swallow.
His green gaze was clear, confident. “Once you’ve gone, she’ll see that I’m the best man for her.”
“If you’re asking when I’m leaving, the answer is next week. Is there anything else? Because I’ve got an awful lot of packing to do.”
He shrugged. “Thanks for your time.”
Lucian barely held on to his temper, hands curled into fists as the other man ambled off the porch and across the lawn. The pinch in his forearm penetrated the haze of anger clouding his mind and he unclenched his hands. It was wasted emotion, anyway. The only person he had a right to be mad at was himself.
Despite everything—his parents’ doomed marriage, his father’s cruel indifference and mother’s heartbreak, his and Megan’s differences—he’d foolishly allowed himself to fall in love with her.
Apparently he hadn’t learned his lessons well enough...if at all.
And now it was killing him to walk away from her.
* * *
The doorbell pealed insistently just as he sat at the small kitchen table with a sandwich he’d thrown together. Tossing aside his napkin, he strode through the house. If it was Leighton again...
“Megan.”
He soaked in the sight of her, silken curls tumbling about her shoulders in disarray, small hands knotted at her waist. The worry shimmering in her luminous eyes sent a shaft of apprehension through his midsection. “What’s happened?”
“It’s Sarah.” Her lower lip trembled as she spoke, and he closed the distance between them, smoothed his hands down her arms in an attempt to reassure her. Reassurance he didn’t feel. His mind conjured up a dozen scenarios...all of them dire.
“What about her?” His heart thudded with dread.
“She’s sick, Lucian. Owen said the doctor doesn’t know what’s wrong with her. She woke up yesterday complaining of a headache and then developed a fever shortly after. They can’t get the fever to come down.”
Her distress a palpable thing, Lucian set aside his own concern, spoke matter-of-factly. “I’ll get the wagon ready and take you over there. Surely there’s something that can be done. I have resources. I’ll send for another doctor, if necessary. More medicine. Whatever it takes to get her well.”
None of that helped your mother, though, did it? He shook off the reminder. This was different. Sarah was young and strong. She’d pull through this. Any other option didn’t bear thinking about.
Brow puckered, gaze clinging to his with a hopeful trust that twisted his insides, she nodded. He took her hand and led her through the house so that he could grab his coat. In the barn, she insisted on helping him hitch the team to the wagon.
The ride out to the Livingston farm was passed in taut silence. At one point, he surreptitiously checked her left hand, sharp relief flooding him at the sight of her bare fingers. She wasn’t wearing Tom’s ring. Was she still considering the matter? Or had she refused him?
It was so very wrong of him to hope she had.
When the cabin came into view, they saw Owen outside talking with another man.
“Who’s that?”
“Noah Townsend,” Megan replied, tension humming along her slender frame. “He’s Owen’s neighbor. They have something in common. Noah’s wife died
a year ago. They didn’t have any kids, though, so he’s alone.”
Sadness laced her words. He glanced at her familiar profile, love for this woman expanding in his chest until he could barely breathe. A woman of infinite compassion, other people’s plights touched her as deeply as if they were her own.
She turned her great big, fathomless gaze on him. “If something happens to Sarah, how will Owen go on? He’ll have lost everything...” she said on a ragged whisper.
Lucian set the brake. Curved a hand about her cheek, stroking her soft skin with his thumb. “Nothing is going to happen to her.”
“You can’t know that.”
She was right, of course. He couldn’t. But clinging to that hope, refusing to accept any other alternative, kept his control in place. His fears subdued.
“At this point in time, it’s best to stay positive.”
“You’re right.”
With great reluctance, he dropped his hand. Climbing down, he came around and assisted her. Together, they approached the men.
Owen’s expression, as if he bore the weight of the world on his shoulders, tore into Lucian. He’d worn a similar one last year as his mother lay dying. Forget about the past. Revisiting his mother’s last days wouldn’t help anything.
With an offer to help in any way he could, Noah mounted his horse and trotted off shortly after the introductions were made. Owen thanked them for coming.
“Has there been any change?” Megan asked quietly.
“No.” He clearly hadn’t slept. His clothes were wrinkled and a day-old beard darkened his jaw. “Come on inside. I don’t like to leave her alone for any length of time.”
With a hand at the small of her back, Lucian guided Megan inside. The curtains had been drawn closed to block out harsh daylight, and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust. The sight of sweet Sarah lying still and lifeless beneath the quilts quite literally stole his breath away. Blinking fast, he clamped down on his back teeth. She will be fine, he told himself. Just fine.
Owen paused by the head of the bed, tenderly brushed the hair from her damp forehead. Her little face flushed with fever was the only sign anything was wrong.
Megan slipped her hand into Lucian’s, but she centered her gaze on Owen. “Have you been able to get her to take any fluids?” She spoke in a hushed voice.
“A bit. She fights me. Only wants to sleep.”
“The medicine Doc left isn’t helping?”
He shook his head. “He said to give it to her every few hours. That we’d have to wait and see if it brought her temperature down. He won’t say, but I can tell he’s worried. He got the same look he had right before Meredith and the baby...” He broke off, covered his mouth with his hand. After a bit, he continued, “He’s coming back to check on her before nightfall.” The man’s grief was a palpable thing.
“I can send for a doctor in Sevierville or Knoxville if you’d like. Money isn’t an issue when it comes to getting Sarah the best possible medical care. Just say the word and it’s done.”
“I appreciate the offer, but I trust Doc. Besides, something like that would take time we don’t have.” His eyes grew shiny. “And ultimately, it’s in the Lord’s hands. He loves my daughter even more than I do.”
Lucian nodded, although he didn’t understand. The man had recently lost his wife and newborn, was on the verge of losing his daughter and yet his faith in God’s love held firm. Lucian’s gaze was drawn to Sarah, tiny and vulnerable and precious. So innocent.
Like a powerful ocean current, sorrow tugged at him, threatened to sweep him into uncharted waters. The same sorrow he’d battled as his mother lay dying.
Memories hit him—one after another—the quiet whispers of the servants, the pungent odor of healing herbs, his mother’s paper-thin hands as he cradled them in his own, urging her to fight. To get well. And for once he didn’t block them. The helplessness had been the worst....
He felt pressure on his hand. “Lucian?” Megan whispered, her troubled gaze searching his face. “The doctor is here. We should wait outside.”
He’d somehow missed his arrival. “All right.”
* * *
Lucian appeared lost in his own world, raw anguish swirling in the brown-black depths. Megan urged him outside. In deep conversation beside the door, Owen and Doc didn’t pay them any mind. Her fingers threaded through his, she continued walking until they were well away from the cabin. Unfortunately, she didn’t notice the graves until too late. When she attempted to change direction, Lucian resisted, his gaze riveted to the wooden crosses.
Pale beneath his tan, his earlier confidence was gone. Seeing Sarah like that had affected her, as well, but she sensed something more was going on with him.
“What are you thinking about?”
“Death.”
“This isn’t just about Sarah, is it?”
He took a shuddering breath. “For so long, I’ve tried not to think about my mother’s last days. To avoid thinking about her, period. Seeing that little girl in there...” His voice grew thick with emotion and he couldn’t finish.
Her own throat knotting with tears, she placed a palm against his cool cheek. “And it brought it all back?”
His bleak gaze clinging to hers, he nodded.
“When my father died, I was in shock for days. Weeks, even. Slowly but surely, it sank in that he was never coming back. His presence was everywhere. His hat hanging on the coat rack. His shoes by the door. My first reaction was to try to avoid the memories and, in so doing, avoid the pain of his absence. But you know what I eventually realized? That by not talking about him, by refusing to even think about him, I was discounting his importance in my life. I was dishonoring the man that he was. And I thought, is this what I want after I’m gone? For my loved ones to pretend I never existed? That I never mattered? Of course not.
“Lucian, the memories will get easier to bear. And, although you might not think so now, they will eventually bring you comfort. You must allow yourself to grieve.”
Trembling, he pulled her into his arms, hugged her as if he might never let go. She felt him struggling to release his sorrow, knew that it was difficult for some men to cry because they saw it as a weakness. Praying silently, she rubbed his back and simply held him.
Because she loved him, his sorrow made her own heart ache. Her utmost desire was to be there always for him, to comfort him when life got hard and rejoice with him in the good times. But he wasn’t prepared to accept her in his life. All she could do was be here for him now.
Later, after he’d gone, she’d deal with the grief. Not hide from it.
When he pulled away, he turned his back, dashing the moisture from his cheeks. “I miss her. But I’m angry at her, too, and that makes me feel incredibly guilty.”
“That’s to be expected, considering the circumstances.”
He faced her once more, his manner subdued. “Understanding why she did it doesn’t make it easier to accept. I wish my grandfather had forced the issue. She couldn’t have very well turned him away if he’d shown up on our doorstep.”
“Look at what happened the first time he tried to force his will upon her. Perhaps Charles was afraid if he did that, he’d lose all connection with her. With you.”
His brow knotted with regret, and he jerked a nod.
“You’ll work through this. God will help you.” She touched his hand and, because she didn’t know what else to say, she asked, “Would you like to pray with me for Sarah?”
“Yes, I would.” He inhaled, absently rubbing his cast. “But I’ve never prayed out loud with anyone before.” His dark eyes were cautious, unsure, which was completely unlike him.
Taking his hand again, she suggested, “You could pray silently while I pray aloud.”
“No,” he said with brows lowered. “I’d
like to try. After you, of course.”
Bowing her head, Megan prayed for Sarah’s healing, comfort for Owen and wisdom for the doctor. Lucian’s prayer was short and direct. Hearing him petition God, when weeks earlier he’d questioned His love and care, brought tears of joy to her eyes.
“We should probably go.” She sniffed, released his hand. “Doc is still in there. I don’t want to be in the way.”
“I agree.”
Megan quickly let Owen know they were leaving. When they reached her place, she insisted she didn’t need help getting down. He stayed seated, his gaze tracking her every move. She wished he would jump down from there and take her in his arms and tell her he was wrong. About love. About her.
“Thank you, Megan. For everything.”
She nodded, unable to regret any of it. Meeting him. Loving him. “Good night, Lucian.”
Looking resigned, he signaled the team to head out. She watched him go, something inside telling her his time here was short. He would leave. Soon. And she would have to find a way to live without him.
Chapter Twenty
“Megan.” Tom looked at once surprised and pleased to find her on his doorstep. “Would you like to come in?”
“That’s all right,” she declined, determined to keep this visit short. “Do you have a moment?”
“Sure.” Leaning sideways to grab his hat from a knob inside the door, he settled it on his head and closed the door behind him. Taking her arm, he led her to the single maple tree in the corner of the yard, its leafy bower providing much-needed shade. He tipped the brim up. “Any word on Sarah Livingston?”
“If anything, she’s worse. I went there this afternoon to drop off some food for Owen, and she was thrashing about, her fever holding firm.” At the memory, Megan’s stomach hardened into a tight ball. She’d stayed only long enough to give him the food—and for him to mention that Lucian had stopped by in the early morning.
Frowning, he toed a stick with his boot. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
Megan forced her mind to the task at hand. Her spirits were already low. Better get this over with before she lost her nerve.