His Mountain Miss (Smoky Mountain Matches)

by Karen Kirst

  Reaching into her reticule, she withdrew the ring. Held it out to him. “I want you to take the ring back, Tom.”

  His green gaze zeroed in on the ring, then lifted to her face in confusion. He made no move to accept it. “I thought you agreed to wait. To take some time—”

  “Time isn’t going to change my answer. I’m sorry, I—” she broke off, hating the dawning hurt spreading across his kind face. But stretching this out wouldn’t make it hurt any less. She squared her shoulders. “I can’t marry you.”

  With a sharp breath, he reluctantly took the ring from her nerveless fingers and tucked it in his pocket. “Has he changed his mind about marrying you, then?” he asked without rancor. Pain-filled eyes met hers.

  “No.” This is so hard, God. All of it. Lucian. Tom. Sarah. When will it stop hurting?

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I will marry for love or not at all. Friendship isn’t enough for me. Can you understand that?”

  “I understand that I love you,” he pushed out. “And...you don’t love me.”

  She touched his arm, and he flinched. “Oh, Tom, I love you like a brother. You’re a dear friend. I know you don’t want to hear that, but it’s the truth.”

  Gaze riveted to the ground, he merely nodded.

  “I hope we can still be friends.”

  “I’ll need some space. Time to move past this.”

  “I understand.” Megan felt like weeping. Felt vile for wounding him. “I have to go now, Tom. Nicole and Jane are expecting me home in time for supper.”

  “Tell them hello for me, will you?”

  “I will.”

  Turning on her heel, she walked quickly through the grass and untethered Mr. Knightley. In the saddle, she chanced a glance at where he stood. Tom waved. Gulping back emotion, she waved and headed down the lane.

  At home, Jane was waiting for her in the barn.

  “I thought you’d be inside fixing supper.” Megan dismounted, shot her a questioning glance.

  “You turned him down, didn’t you?” Her chest heaved, auburn hair wild about her shoulders. “You hurt him,” she accused, eyes blazing.

  Megan stilled, stunned by her normally even-keeled sister’s outburst. “I gave him back his ring, yes.”

  A tear slipped down her cheek. She angrily scrubbed it away. “I don’t understand how you could do that. Tom is a wonderful man! He deserves someone who will appreciate him.”

  “Someone like you?” Megan prodded gently.

  Her eyes widened. Face crumpled. The tears began to flow in earnest, and Megan’s already heavy heart splintered into a dozen pieces. Putting her arms around her sister, she stroked her hair as she cried against her shoulder. “Shh. It’s going to be okay.”

  Oh, Mama, I wish you were here. You’d know exactly what to say to make her feel better.

  When Jane pulled away, she rubbed at the moisture on her cheeks. Sniffed. “I’m afraid Tom will never see me as anything more than a pesky little sister.”

  “Maybe that’s because of the age difference,” Megan pointed out as delicately as she could. “He’s twenty-two. You’re fifteen.”

  “Almost sixteen,” she protested. “Besides, lots of girls get married at sixteen.”

  “I don’t know about lots, but you’re right, there are some girls who do marry young. But I know Mama would prefer you wait a few years. Maybe when you’re eighteen.”

  “But that’s two years away,” she wailed. “Tom will have found someone else to marry by then!”

  “Maybe not. If Tom is the man God has picked out for you, it’ll work out.”

  “And what if he never gets over you?”

  Megan closed her eyes and sighed, thinking of her love for Lucian. A love she’d never get over. “I pray that isn’t the case,” she said fervently.

  “I know you love Lucian. Does he...?”

  “No.”

  Jane sighed, took Megan’s hands. “I’m sorry. I know how much that hurts.”

  Megan looked into her sister’s face full of sympathy. “You’re not angry with me?”

  “No, not angry. I admit to being jealous. I—I’ve wished it was me Tom was pursuing instead of you.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I still love you.” She managed a watery smile.

  Megan tenderly brushed Jane’s hair behind her shoulder. “I love you, too. I always will, no matter what happens.”

  “I suppose I should go inside and help Nicole with supper before she scorches it,” she said with a grimace.

  “Or burns down the cabin,” she agreed. “I’ll be inside as soon as I get Mr. Knightley squared away.”

  Megan watched her sister go, wishing she’d seen the evidence of her feelings much sooner. If she’d been aware, she could’ve been more sensitive in her handling of the situation.

  * * *

  Crouched in the garden picking tomatoes the next morning, Megan lifted her head at the sound of wagon wheels creaking over hard earth. Wiping the perspiration from her brow, she shaded her eyes with one hand and squinted. Lucian’s unmistakable form came into view. Her pulse leaped.

  Placing a tomato into the basket beside her feet, she stood and dislodged the dirt from her hands. He spotted her advancing along the row and lifted his hand in greeting. Why was he here?

  Bounding to the ground, he came around to greet her, sweeping off his black bowler. He’d left off wearing his sling entirely.

  “I was in town just now and noticed Doc heading in the direction of the Livingstons’ place. I thought perhaps we should go out there in case there’s been a change.” His intense gaze swept her dusty dress, the rogue curls escaping the ribbon at her nape. “Owen might have need of some company. Do you have time now?”

  “Sure. Give me a moment to take my basket inside and change. Would you like to come in for a glass of lemonade or tea?”

  “Non, merci. Why don’t you go on in and I’ll retrieve your basket?”

  “You don’t have to do that.” She glanced at his spotless boots, his formal clothes in shades of blue that made his skin glow with vibrancy.

  The barest of smiles tilted his lips. “I don’t mind.”

  “If you say so.” She self-consciously brushed at the dirt on her apron. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Take your time, mon chou.”

  Little pastry. The familiar nickname triggered a smile. As observant as he was, had he noticed her discomfiture? Was the endearment a subtle way of telling her that, despite her untidy appearance, she was still attractive to him?

  Right, Megan. Now you’re being fanciful.

  Inside, she hurriedly explained to her sisters that Lucian was taking her to check on Sarah.

  Jane had her hands buried in bread dough. “Tell Owen we’re still praying.”

  Nicole looked up from her sewing. “Do you think she’ll pull through this?”

  “I hope so.” Megan hadn’t stopped thinking about the little girl these past three days. She’d tried to stay positive, but doubts had crept in at times. “I’ll give you a full report when we return.”

  Once she’d washed her hands and face, tidied her hair and changed into her apricot-hued dress, she descended the stairs to find Lucian in the living room chatting with Nicole. He’d delivered her basket to Jane in the kitchen. Spying her, he stood, his gaze lighting with appreciation.

  “All ready to go?”

  Her cheeks warmed. “Yes.”

  Bidding her sisters goodbye, he held the door for her and joined her on the porch. They walked side by side to the wagon, where she paused to regard him with open scrutiny.

  “Owen mentioned you paid them a visit yesterday morning.”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “You went
alone.”

  His brow wrinkled in confusion, he rocked back on his heels. “I did.”

  Must she spell it out for him? “Why didn’t you just follow Doc? Why come and get me?”

  Understanding dawned. His mouth twisted. “Because it was so much easier with you.”

  “Oh.” He’d basically confessed to needing her. Satisfaction—futile though it was—spiraled through her. “I see.”

  She frowned. Since when had she started talking like him?

  “Sarah wasn’t doing so well when I was there.” He gave her a hand up and walked around to the other side, using his uninjured hand to lever himself up. The narrow seat shifted with his weight. He angled his face towards hers, his eyes shadowed by the hat’s brim. “How was she when you stopped by?”

  “Not good. I didn’t stay long.” A lump formed in her throat as she recalled Sarah, soaked with sweat and thrashing about in delirium, and Owen, looking slightly desperate.

  With a grim nod, he set the wagon in motion.

  Father God, please prepare us for what we might encounter. Give us the strength, the words to comfort Owen. Above all, help us to accept Your will in this matter.

  Needing a connection with Lucian, Megan wove her hand beneath his arm, fingers curled about his biceps. He sent her a sidelong glance fraught with concern. He was worried, too.

  The horses seemed to be traveling at a slower rate of speed than usual, the lane stretching endlessly before them. When at last they reached the turnoff, Megan tensed.

  Doc’s wagon was still there. Lucian covered her hand with his own, a comforting weight. “Are you ready?”

  “I am.”

  He helped her down, his hand a constant pressure at the small of her back. A physical reminder of his support. Before he could raise his hand to knock, the door swung open and Owen stood in the doorway. Her breath stalled. Beneath his scruffiness, relief softened his features.

  “Owen?”

  “She’s going to be okay,” he said firmly, as if still trying to absorb what he was saying. “Her fever broke this morning just after dawn. Doc’s checking her over.”

  Lucian rubbed her back in a soothing manner. “You’re certain she’ll be all right?”

  Despite his exhaustion, Owen managed to look like a man reborn. “Come on in and see for yourself.”

  Moving out of the way, he went to stand beside the fireplace, his weight supported by the rough-hewn mantel. Doc’s broad shoulders blocked their view. After a moment, he snapped his bag closed and edged to the foot of the bed.

  “Miss Megan. Mr. Lucian.” Propped up with a mound of pillows, Sarah’s weak voice couldn’t disguise her delight. While her blond hair was a tangled mess, she was wearing a fresh nightgown. “Did you bring me another present?”

  Megan chuckled. Lucian shot her a glance, smiled broadly. Sarah was going to be fine. Just fine.

  * * *

  The majority of Gatlinburg’s residents turned out Friday night for story time. Word of his departure had traveled like wildfire through the small town, and here they all were to bid him farewell. A sort of going-away party.

  Mrs. Calhoun had outdone herself. In anticipation of the crowd, she decided to set up the refreshments in the dining room. This week she’d engaged in a baking frenzy. Cakes, pies and pastries occupied every flat surface in sight. He’d been sent to Clawson’s twice for extra sugar.... No telling what kind of effect all this bounty would have on the kids.

  Funny, he believed he was actually going to miss the little creatures.

  He would definitely miss Megan’s costumes.

  He studied her over the rim of his cup. Dressed like a true cowgirl, complete with hip holster and boots with silver spurs, she stood in the archway between the kitchen and dining room. Her pale curls, restrained with a leather strip, glistened in light thrown off by the wall sconces. Cradled against her shoulder was a cherub-faced infant who strongly resembled her mother, a friend of Megan’s named Rachel Prescott. The father, Cole Prescott, was playing a game with the infant, tickling her beneath the chin and making her giggle with delight.

  Megan caught him staring. Her wistful smile made his gut clench with regret.

  A hand clapped him on the back then, and he nearly spilled his drink. Nathan chuckled beside him. “Didn’t mean to startle you, Beaumont.”

  “That’s quite all right.”

  Those unreadable silver eyes studied him. “It’s true, then? You’re leaving us Monday?”

  “I mean to get an early start.” He willed his gaze not to stray to Megan. Nathan would surely notice. Had he witnessed her sad smile?

  Nathan took a drink of steaming coffee, shifted to let two young men pass by. “Do you plan on coming back for a visit sometime?”

  Not likely. How could he when Megan was sure to be happily ensconced in married life? “I don’t know.”

  He nodded, considering, and glanced at Megan across the way. “We all appreciate your kindness in leaving the house in Megan’s care. You don’t have to worry. She won’t violate your trust.”

  “I know that.”

  If Nathan noted the hint of melancholy in Lucian’s voice, he didn’t comment on it. Instead, he carefully surveyed the crush of people, lazily observing, “I’m surprised Tom Leighton didn’t show up.”

  “It wouldn’t be hard to miss him in this crowd.” He’d been on the lookout for him since the night’s beginning, dreading the encounter, seeing him claim Megan as his own.

  “I don’t think so. If he was here, he’d be at Megan’s side.” He grew thoughtful. “I stopped by his shop today for a trim. He was tight-lipped, not at all like his usual happy-go-lucky self.”

  Unable to stop himself, Lucian directed his gaze at Megan once more. Had something happened? Had they quarreled? Or was his absence totally unrelated to her?

  The hope surging within him was wholly inappropriate. And petty. Selfish. He desired her happiness. But not with Tom, right? You want her to be happy with you.

  That was impossible, of course. He knew it, understood it, but that didn’t stop his foolish heart from yearning for the unattainable.

  Another couple approached Lucian, and Nathan moved off with a quiet farewell. It took supreme effort of will to focus on their words. Megan dominated his thoughts. She was there in his peripheral vision, silently drawing him, making it all but impossible to make sane conversation. Had she decided not to marry the barbershop owner? Or worse...had Tom hurt her? His hands curled into fists. If he had...

  The remainder of the night dragged. His guests weren’t as eager to leave as he was for them to leave. He craved a few minutes alone with Megan. More than a few, actually. He was well aware that his time with her was growing short, every minute slipping past another minute lost to them.

  It was nearing eleven when the last guest slipped out the door, and he returned to the dining room to find her assisting Mrs. Calhoun and three other young ladies he’d hired to help with tonight’s festivities. Dirty dishes and cups littered the parlor and library, as well as the dining room. Cleanup would take at least an hour.

  Impatient, determined to have her to himself, he stepped in front of her and took the plates from her hands, setting them aside. “Let’s go for a stroll in the gardens.”

  “It’s late.”

  “Fred lit the gas lamps, and the weather is fine.”

  She worried her lower lip, gestured to the room. “I should help with the cleanup.”

  “That’s what these ladies are getting paid for.” He tilted his head at the women watching them with interest as they went about their work. Leaning forward, he lowered his voice. “Wouldn’t you like to see the gardens in the moonlight?” This may be their last chance to say a proper goodbye.

  Sadness lurked in the liquid depths of her sea-blue eyes. “All right. I�
�ll come with you.”

  With her hand in the crook of his elbow, he led her outside into the star-studded night. Balmy air, sweetened with the scent of magnolias, enveloped them in a warm cocoon. The fat, pearlescent moon dominated the night sky. Gas lamps situated along the path flickered, points of light in the shadows.

  Their footsteps against the stones were muted. “Are you going to see Sarah and Owen one last time before you go?”

  “I doubt it. I’m not good at goodbyes.” This one he couldn’t escape, however difficult. Megan was too special, too dear.

  “Isn’t that what this is? A goodbye?” She stopped and angled towards him, one pale brow arched in challenge.

  “Yes. I can’t deny that it is.”

  Lips compressing, she fell silent. Wouldn’t look at him, diverted her gaze to the wildflowers behind him. He was at a loss for words. What could he say that would convey how much she’d come to mean to him that wouldn’t also confuse her?

  “I heard your mother and sister are coming home at the end of next week,” he said as they took up walking again. “I wish I could’ve made their acquaintance.”

  “Me, too. I’m certain they both would’ve taken to you as quickly as the rest of my family.” She smiled faintly. “I’m eager to have my mother home again. Jessica, too. Jane needs her twin now more than ever.”

  His brows drew together. “Is something going on with Jane?”

  Megan stopped again, her hand dropping away. “She fancies herself in love with Tom.”

  Poor Jane. And Megan. What a terrible fix to find herself in. “I see.”

  “No, I don’t think you do.” She lifted her chin. “I returned the ring. I’m not going to marry him.”

  Lucian stilled, barely breathing as relief and happiness swept through him. She turned him down. She wasn’t going to marry Tom, after all.

  The question was...what was he going to do about it?

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Megan watched the play of emotions across Lucian’s face. Hope sprouted. He’d said he cared for her.... Was it possible his feelings ran deeper than what he’d conveyed?