The slow rolling of hips, the murmurs, the ebb and flow of two bodies straining toward each other filled his ears. The brush of starched sheets against Radford's knees contrasted with the satin of Evelyn’s thighs as they soared together.
Afterward, Radford eased to Evelyn’s side. “I’ve never loved like this.” He traced the delicate arch of her eyebrows, the curve of her cheek, the softness of her lips. “I don’t deserve you,” he whispered. “But I’m never letting you go.”
As the candle burned low, it cast a pale luster upon Evelyn's magnolia pin that lay on the table beside it. Feeling truly blessed, she hugged the man in her arms, knowing her lonely soul had finally found its true mate. She slipped her fingers through Radford’s hair, loving the soft texture, the rebellious wave, the reckless length of it.
“Do you ever wish for anything?” she asked quietly, believing that inside every heart there lived an unfulfilled longing, a private hope, a secret dream lost in the shadows of obligation and duty.
“Sometimes I wish you had another mole...right here,” he said, his eyes twinkling as he touched a fingertip to the corner of her lip. She wrinkled her nose at his teasing and his expression grew tender, his smile fading as he gazed down at her. “I have no wishes, Tomboy. All my heart could ever hope to hold is right here in my arms."
END
Chapter One, THE LONGING
Preview Kyle Grayson’s story
Fredonia, New York, May 1871
Cold spring rain pounded across Kyle Grayson’s broad back and he hunched his shoulders as lightning sliced a jagged white line across the sky. The desire to find cover for his skittish gelding warred with Kyle’s need to reach Tom Drake’s sawmill and discover why the man was betraying him.
Tom Drake had been friends with Kyle’s father for years. Despite being competitors all their life, the men had respected each other, and when Kyle’s father died five years ago, Tom had shown Kyle how to manage his father’s sawmill business. Although Tom was twice Kyle’s age and still a competitor, they had formed a deep, respectful friendship with each other. Now, for some unknown reason, Tom was changing and Kyle’s instincts warned him to beware.
A violent crash of thunder shook the earth and Kyle’s gelding pranced sideways. Kyle cursed the storm and guided his nervous horse beneath a small lean-to beside the Pemberton Inn at the top of West Hill.
As soon as he’d settled his horse, Kyle entered the tavern. A rank smell filled his sinuses and he wondered why the hell anyone would want such a business, especially a place that stank of stale smoke, yeasty ale, and sweat. But just as Kyle had expected, his youngest brother Boyd was sitting on a barstool as if he already owned the place.
“I thought you were going home,” Kyle said, tossing his soaked hat onto the bar beside his brother.
Boyd glanced up. “This is home.”
“Well, it shouldn’t be. Owning a tavern is a bad idea.”
“For you, it would be. You don’t have the personality for this kind of business.”
The truth of Boyd’s statement didn’t bother Kyle at all. He was proud of his reputation as an ambitious but respected sawmill owner. He didn’t have time for leaning on a bar having inane conversations with inebriates over which girls would lift their skirts or whose wife was the biggest nag. He had money to collect from Tom Drake, a new top rig sawmill on its way from Ohio, and an upcoming shipment of railroad ties to get ready. He didn’t have time to indulge Boyd’s ridiculous fantasy of owning a tavern. And neither did his wild ass of a brother.
Another violent flash of lightning illuminated the windows and Kyle resigned himself to waiting out the storm. He sat on a stool and propped his elbows on the thick oak bar. He nodded to Patrick Lyons, the current tavern owner, to bring him an ale, then turned back to Boyd. “You’ll drink away your profits in the first month.”
“Maybe, but I’m tired of working the depot,” he said, using the nickname they’d given their family-owned sawmill to eliminate confusion when talking with other mill owners. Though Grayson Lumber and Timber Works was the largest mill within twenty square miles, Tom Drake had a sizable mill of his own, and there were several one-man mills that dotted the countryside. It got damned confusing when referring to a sawmill unless you tied it to a last name. With fathers and sons in the same business, that didn’t always determine whose mill you were talking about either, so a few months past Kyle and his brothers started referring to their mill as the depot.
“Maybe you just need a short trip somewhere,” Kyle said.
“What I need is to do something more exciting than sawing wood.” Boyd looked Kyle in the eye. “I want out.”
Kyle and his three brothers owned the depot together and kept the bulk of their money in one joint account to cover operating expenses and to fund future investments. If Boyd withdrew his money, it would lessen Kyle’s ability to continue expanding their business. It would also force Kyle to shoulder the burden of running their family sawmill alone because Kyle’s eldest brother, Radford, was now too busy with his livery business, and Duke’s new position as sheriff had left him with even less time for the sawmill than Radford. It was inconceivable that Boyd wanted to walk away from something he’d sweated over for years.
The tavern door swung open and the noise of the storm spilled into the room as a man stomped inside. He shook the rain from his coat and wiped his feet, dispelling any sense of recognition Kyle had felt. The men that Kyle knew would have tromped right to the bar in mud-covered boots. Kyle turned back to Boyd. “We’re making a decent profit. Once we set up our new saw our output will double. That’s reason enough to stay. If not, let your nose convince you. Pine and fresh air smell a hell of a lot better than this place does.”
Boyd sniffed as if he’d just inhaled the sweet scent of a good cigar. “Smoke and ale...the smell of a man’s world.”
Kyle snorted with disbelief. “It smells like a piss-sodden, sweat-drenched pair of trousers in here.”
Patrick Lyons smirked and thumped two mugs of ale in front of Kyle and Boyd. “That comment will double the cost of your drinks.”
A gusty laugh came from the rain-soaked stranger as he crossed the room. “You haven’t changed a bit, Kyle.” He tossed his wet coat over the neighboring bar stool then lifted his hat and swept his blond hair back with wet fingers.
At the sight of Richard Cameron, Kyle’s mouth dropped open. It astounded Kyle to see his oldest, dearest friend standing in a stench-filled bar in upstate New York on a stormy evening instead of sitting in his plush lawyer’s office in Philadelphia. “What the hell are you doing here?” he asked, grabbing Richard’s hand in a firm, welcoming clasp as he stood up and looked his friend in the eye.
Richard returned the handshake. “I’m looking for someone to share a mug or two with.” A grin split his handsome face and he slapped Kyle on both shoulders. “Damn! It’s good to see you.”
Kyle assessed his friend, whom he hadn’t seen in four years. Richard still sported his good looks and cocksure attitude. A charming, rakish man, Richard was a blond, fair-skinned version of Boyd, but rather than irritating Kyle at every turn as Boyd did, Richard had always made Kyle laugh.
Richard eyed Kyle’s thick, hard biceps. “How did a mean-looking cuss like you ever finagle Evelyn Tucker into marriage?”
“I didn’t. Evelyn took the trip down the aisle with my older brother a few months past and is now the lovely Mrs. Radford Grayson.”
Richard’s expression flattened and the teasing glint in his eyes disappeared. “Damn, Kyle, I hadn’t heard. I’m sorry.”
Kyle shrugged and feigned indifference. Though he’d forgiven his brother and fiancée for falling in love with each other, Kyle’s wound was still tender and he had no wish to share the painful circumstances with anyone.
As if seeking a graceful exit, Richard turned to Boyd and renewed their acquaintance with a handshake. “Are you going to become the new owner here?”
“He’s not buying a damn tavern,” Kyle
insisted, then met Boyd’s arched black eyebrow with his own look of challenge. Kyle had no illusions about the dismal earning potential of a tavern and he refused to watch his brother risk everything he’d worked for on a business that would only feed Boyd’s self-destructive habits. “It’s a stupid investment and you know it. You need to start managing your life like a business instead of a party.”
Boyd snorted. “I’d rather blow my head off.”
“He’s got a point, Kyle,” Richard said. “If life was all work, I’d be looking for my gun, too. That’s why I gave up my law practice to go into the banking business with my uncles.”
Kyle stared dumbfounded. He remembered how excited he and Richard had been when they’d decided to head for law school together. Unfortunately, Richard had ended up going alone because Kyle’s father had died and Kyle needed to stay home to support his mother and two younger brothers, Duke and Boyd. It had taken Kyle months to get over the searing disappointment and resolve himself to his obligations, but he had. Then two years ago, when he received the bittersweet news that Richard had opened his own law office in Philadelphia, Kyle knew he’d fallen too far behind to ever catch up.
Unsure whether to congratulate Richard or offer his sympathy, Kyle avoided commenting altogether. “Where are you staying?”
“At my father’s house with Catherine.”
Kyle barely managed to keep from raising his eyebrows. Though Catherine had been married to Richard’s father, and was now the man’s widow, she was only seven years older than Kyle and Richard, and far from the typical image of a stepmother. She was voluptuous, sensuous, and kindhearted, a combination that would turn any man’s head.
She’d certainly caught Kyle’s attention the first time he’d stopped by her house to fill her wood bin. Richard’s father had just suffered a fatal fall, and after the funeral, Richard had returned to law school, leaving his stepmother’s welfare in the hands of his two uncles who owned the bank. Knowing Richard’s uncles hadn’t approved of their brother’s young wife, and that they wouldn’t bother themselves overmuch on Catherine’s behalf, Kyle did what any good friend would do. He made sure Richard’s stepmother had wood for her stove, a carpenter to finish installing the second-story floor that her husband had fallen from, and a shoulder to cry on when she’d needed one. Kyle had never suspected she would want more than that.
Richard drained his glass and set it on the bar. “I’m relieving my uncles of their obligation to help provide for Catherine, and in exchange, they’re making me a partner at the bank. Eventually they’ll let me buy out their interest.”
“Then you’re staying in Fredonia?” Kyle asked, as a burst of pleasure filled his chest. Other than the comradery of his three brothers, Kyle had been too busy to maintain a regular friendship with anyone. But Richard was more like a brother than a friend. He wouldn’t take offense at Kyle’s inconsistent visits or plain talk. Kyle could cater to his sawmill rather than his friendship with Richard, just as he would expect Richard to do with his banking business, and yet their friendship would remain solid.
Thunder rattled the windows as Richard ordered another round of drinks. “I’m returning to Philadelphia in the morning to settle some issues, but I’ll be back for good in a week or so.” He angled an inquisitive look at Boyd. “I can arrange a loan for you before I leave, if you’re in need of one.”
A smirk of appreciation lit Boyd’s face. “Would you really negotiate a loan in the middle of a gin mill?”
“Hell yes! I’ve negotiated some of my biggest deals while drinking cheap whiskey with expensive women.” A grin crossed Richard’s face. “Who needs an office?”
Boyd’s dark brows lifted in appreciation. “How much law would I need to know in order to handle contracts like that?”
Richard’s laugh shot across the bar and he raised his glass to salute Boyd. He drank deeply then turned to Kyle, “Are you going to invest in Boyd’s venture?”
“Of course not,” Kyle said without hesitation, earning a snort from Boyd. But Kyle didn’t care. They’d damn near killed themselves building their father’s tiny mill into a thriving business that presently supported twenty men and their families, and no matter how Boyd protested, he was as bound to the depot as Radford, Kyle, and Duke were. That Boyd didn’t understand that bond exasperated Kyle.
Richard tossed several coins on the bar to pay for the drinks Pat Lyons had delivered, then he clapped a hand on Boyd’s shoulder. “Looks like you’ll have to stick with the mill business awhile longer. Hell, if the deposit Tom Drake made this evening is any indication of what you mill owners make, I think I’ll give up banking and come work for you or Tom.”
Kyle’s chin jerked up and his back went rigid. For three months Tom Drake had been telling Kyle he didn’t have the money to pay him for the large section of timber Kyle had sold to him. Out of consideration for their friendship, Kyle had tried not to press Tom about the money. But now that Kyle’s new saw was on the way, he needed the money, and that’s exactly why he had been going to see Tom in the damned rain.
“I would appreciate it if you’d forget you heard that,” Richard said sheepishly. “Tom wouldn’t appreciate me letting that slip.”
No, he wouldn’t, because Richard’s slip had just confirmed Kyle’s suspicion of Tom’s betrayal. It didn’t take a genius to realize that Tom had been purposely trying to keep Kyle from expanding his mill.
Kyle stood up and clapped his hat over his damp hair. “I have to go.”
Richard glanced toward the window where rain streamed down the glass panes and lightning flashed across the dark sky. “Only a fool would go out in this, Kyle. Let the storm pass, then you and Boyd can join me at home for supper. Catherine would love to see you. She says it’s been ages since you’ve been by the house.”
Kyle struggled to mask his surprise. It had been only two weeks, but the last thing he wanted was to sit at the supper table with Catherine under Richard’s watchful eye. Richard had always been doting and protective of Catherine. He would kill Kyle if he knew he’d been making occasional visits to her bed for the past four years.
“Thanks for the invitation, Richard, but I have business to take care of tonight. We’ll get together when you return from Philadelphia.”
Richard offered his hand to Kyle. “I’ll let you beg off tonight, but only if you promise you’ll come for supper when I get back.”
Unable to decline without casting suspicion on himself or Catherine, Kyle shook Richard’s hand, then bolted out the door and escaped into the lashing wind.
Rain streamed down his neck in cold rivulets as he mounted his horse and headed toward Laona, a small hamlet perched on the southeastern edge of Fredonia. Buildings loomed like shadows in the early evening, then sprang to life as whitish-blue streaks of lightning snaked around them. Sharp cracks of thunder startled his horse, but Kyle rode on, his anger growing bone deep as he passed by his own sawmill on Liberty Street.
Fierce Grayson pride had served Kyle for years. It had helped him live through his father’s death, the hard struggle of building a small lumber empire with his three brothers, and watching the woman he’d planned to marry take her vows with his eldest brother instead of himself. Despite the pain and setbacks, Kyle had survived. He’d been hardened by the experiences, but they had made him wiser. Dealing with his problems head-on had made him a successful and respected businessman. He wasn’t about to start dancing around the truth at this point in his life. Not even for Tom Drake.
It took him half an hour to ride to Tom’s mill on Shumla Road, but the cold rain hadn’t diluted Kyle’s anger or washed away the ache of betrayal in his chest. Though the crew was gone and the saws were silent, Tom’s mill was alive with the storm. Thunder rumbled to Kyle’s left, then several streaks of blinding white light ripped open the sky with brilliant razorlike fingers. His gelding shied, but Kyle lifted his face to the wild, snapping air and inhaled the energy of the storm.
Beneath the anger, raw pain pulsed thro
ugh his veins. He’d trusted Tom. Five years of friendly competition, of coexisting profitably in a plentiful lumber market, and their shared delight in going nose to nose on big orders like the railroad contract had garnered respect and admiration for each other as well as a deep bond of honor Kyle would have died to protect. But Kyle no longer knew what to expect from a man he’d thought was his friend.
Faint light glimmered from Tom’s office window just as Kyle had expected. Tom had taught him that any owner worth his sawdust maintained his books as meticulously as his saws, so Kyle had followed Tom’s example by reconciling his books and preparing his bids before leaving his mill each evening. If not for the need to collect money from Tom, Kyle would be at his own desk instead of leaving his work unfinished.
Kyle dragged in a breath of moist air and tried to calm himself, to think clearly—and give Tom the benefit of doubt, one last time.
He backhanded the rain from his eyes and entered the office where Jeb Kane, Tom’s mill foreman, was leaning against a tall wooden file cabinet covered with a sundry of saw parts. Kyle had known Jeb nearly as long as he’d known Tom and had always admired the man.
Tom glanced up in surprise, then a smile of welcome filled his face. “What the hell are you doing out in this storm?”
Kyle didn’t return the smile and Tom’s expression flattened.
“Good God, what happened?”
“Nothing, Tom. I just need to talk to you.”
Tom pressed his fist to his heart. “From the look on your face, I thought someone had died. My heart’s jumping like a bullfrog. What’s so damned important that you would plow through this rain and scare ten years off my life?”
“I need the money for that section of pine you bought from me. It’s been three months.”
Tom’s gaze locked with Kyle’s. “Jeb and I were just discussing that problem. My saw broke down again last week and it set me back a bit. Can you give me another couple of weeks?”
Shades of Honor Page 26