Love Inspired Historical November 2015

by Linda Ford

Her jaw went slack. “But…you were wearing her clothes. And your hair…”

  “I was pretending to be her.”

  “Why would you do that?” she demanded, brows knitting.

  The story spilled out in a jumbled rush. Megan’s reaction volleyed between fascination, horror and disbelief.

  Jane answered her many questions, belatedly realizing she probably shouldn’t have revealed quite so much. “You can’t tell anyone, Meg.”

  “I won’t keep secrets from Lucian.”

  “Fine. Tell him, but no one else. Promise?”

  “You have my word.”

  “Why did you tell him about my feelings for Tom?”

  She looked startled. “That was very long ago. Before we were married, in fact. Did he say something to you?”

  “At the dance.” Hands on the chair rests, she propelled herself up, plodding to the window and staring out at the sloping side yard. “He said Tom wasn’t in love with you anymore.”

  “Ah.” She came to stand behind her. “And you can’t accept that.”

  “That’s not the problem.”

  “What, then?”

  Whirling, she threw her hands up in defeat. “Don’t you see? I’m not like you, Meg. I’m not outgoing. Crowds make me skittish. I like children, but not enough to throw on a costume and perform for them. What kind of person refuses to bring pleasure to children? A self-centered one, that’s who.” Pacing over to the ceiling-high shelves, she gave the rolling ladder a little push. “Unlike you, I don’t view the world as a place of limitless possibilities. I can be quite cynical at times.”

  Megan came to stand in the middle of the plush Oriental rug, hands folded serenely at her waist. “Lots of people find attention nerve-racking. That doesn’t make you self-centered. Look at how you’ve cared for Tom’s niece, despite the great personal cost.”

  “It took her nearly breaking her leg for me to agree.”

  “You were merely trying to protect yourself from further pain. The Lord has blessed you with a sensitive, compassionate soul. You possess many fine qualities. If Tom can’t appreciate you for who you are, you don’t need him.”

  “He hinted that he’d like us to be more than friends.”

  “What?” Coming over to where Jane leaned against the shelves, Megan gripped her arms. “Why are you here then? You should be with him, exploring what this means for your relationship.”

  “I told him I wasn’t interested.”

  Her forehead creased. “I am thoroughly confused. The man you love wants to court you, and you rejected him?”

  She stared at the tips of her shoes peeking out from beneath her hem. “I can’t be the woman he truly wants.”

  “You’re not giving him or yourself enough credit.” She gave her a tiny shake. “You have to be honest with him. You have to tell him how you feel.”

  Pretending to be Jessica and facing Lee alone was one thing. Revealing her heart to Tom? She didn’t possess that kind of courage…not when he’d be trading one O’Malley sister for another. Once he discovered what a poor substitute she was for Megan, he’d reject her.

  She could handle a lot of things. Having Tom only to ultimately lose him was not one of them.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Rifle in hand, Tom left the cabin with the order for Clara to stay put. His hogs’ squealing was probably nothing, but he couldn’t let it go unchecked.

  Jane’s note crinkled in his pocket, irritating him anew. He understood that he’d messed up. His admission had embarrassed her. And while he dreaded another awkward exchange as much as she must, it wasn’t safe for her to go gallivanting around Gatlinburg alone right now.

  Passing the barn, he entered the woods where his hogs liked to root around for grasses and mushrooms.

  He wished he’d kept his mouth shut.

  No, that wasn’t true. He wished her response had been different.

  Memories pressed in, one after another, all of them featuring Jane. The day he’d discovered her in her wedding dress, beautifully broken, shocked and furious with him. The day she’d ordered him about and he’d let her, soaking up her attention like a lonely little boy and falling asleep under her touch. Then there was the food fight. Dancing with her. Arguing with her. Kissing her.

  He wanted more memories. More dances. More kisses. He yearned to have it all with her.

  The unnatural stillness sank in right about the time the coppery stench of blood assaulted his senses. Hand curling over the gun’s forestock, he lifted it, turning in a slow circle. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and he had the distinct impression he was being watched.

  Creeping toward the smell, he rounded a thick bush and felt his muscles turn to stone.

  There, laid out across the forest floor in methodical fashion, were his hogs, ten in all, necks sliced open from ear to ear. A twig snapped behind him, and he whirled, prepared to sink a bullet into whoever was there.

  “It’s just me.” Palms up, Josh stared grimly back at him.

  “I could’ve shot you,” Tom growled, anger over the senseless crime bubbling to the surface.

  His friend stalked closer. “Sorry. I was too focused on that to announce myself.” He jerked a thumb at the gruesome scene.

  Searching the surrounding woods, he said, “Did you see anything strange?”

  “I came the same way you did. Stopped by the house first. When Clara mentioned hearing the hogs, I figured I’d come looking for you.” Going closer to the carnage, he scanned the ground.

  Tom slowly lowered his weapon, still not sure if they were alone.

  “Won’t get much meat from these,” Josh said, shaking his head in disgust. “What a waste.”

  Hogs foraged freely in the woods, their diet supplemented with corn until they’d fattened up for the slaughter in late fall. If he tried to process and cure it now, the meat would spoil.

  “Who do you think did this?”

  He hadn’t had a chance to tell Josh they’d gone to the authorities. He was not going to be pleased once he found out he and Jane were in the sights of a criminal.

  “You may as well tell him the truth.” Both men spun at the feminine intrusion.

  “What are you doing here, Jessica?” Tom said, concerned. She hadn’t set foot on his property for days.

  “I came to see Jane. I had a question about our order.”

  “Jane’s not here.”

  Tom took a single step closer to Jessica. “Are you okay?”

  Her eyes had a haunting quality…flat, devoid of emotion, lifeless. And because she looked exactly like Jane, their appearance troubled him.

  “Why wouldn’t I be?” Her voice dripped sarcasm. “My dear sister assumed my identity and discovered that the man I love is a criminal. Then she turned him in to the authorities. No big deal, right?”

  Josh moved between them. “Hold on. You talked to the sheriff? When? How does Lee know?”

  Tom outlined the events leading up to Shane’s investigation. Jessica didn’t interrupt once. Just stood there, head drooping, arms wrapped tightly about her middle. His heart went out to her.

  Jane was right. Her twin desperately needed someone to lean on.

  “Your sister regrets hurting you,” he said at last. “If you could move beyond your anger—”

  “Don’t you dare lecture me, Tom Leighton!” she sneered, emotion finally flaring to life. “You think you know Jane. You think you see the real woman beneath the reserved veneer. Well, you don’t. You don’t have a clue!”

  A muscle in his jaw worked. Her accusation lodged in his chest like an arrow, surprising him. Was what she said true?

  Picking up her skirts, she ran in the opposite direction.

  “Should we go after her?”

  Josh shook his head, looking as if he’d like to murder someone. “How are we supposed to keep those two safe?”

  He buried his hands in his hair. “If I could have them locked up until this business is over with, I would. If anything ever happen
ed to Jane…” He clamped his lips together.

  Folding his arms, Josh pinned him with a direct stare. “When are you going to admit you have feelings for my cousin?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Jane?” His brows shot up. “You know, the cute redhead who’s pined after you since she hit puberty? I’ve been waiting for you to admit it. My patience just snapped.”

  Tom gaped. “Jane doesn’t pine after me. I’m like a brother to her. And how did you guess…about me? My interest?”

  Amusement eased the severity of his features. “I’ve watched my brothers succumb to the love of good women. I know the signs.”

  “I thought you’d be angry.”

  Clapping an arm about his shoulders, Josh said, “Angry about my best friend and my cousin together? Not a chance.”

  “We’re not together.”

  “Not yet. Trust me on this, if it’s meant to be, things have a way of working out.”

  *

  Tom was leaving the sheriff’s office an hour and a half later when he caught sight of Jane and Nicole outside the mercantile. He didn’t immediately go to her. Jessica’s strange accusations, along with Josh’s startling—and no doubt faulty—theory prevented him.

  A pair of middle-aged women came around the corner, tossing him curious glances, and he backed closer to the building to give them room. His hat in his hands, he debated whether or not to tell Jane about the hogs. Shane had agreed that it had likely been done in retaliation and had warned him it might not be the end.

  The sisters hugged, preparing to part.

  He stuffed his hat on his head and, instead of crossing the street to speak to her, continued down the boardwalk.

  Jessica’s wrong. You do know Jane, he told himself. He might have misread her reaction to his kiss, his touch, but he knew the woman she was inside. Pure. Good-hearted. Loving. Exasperating at times. Blind to her own strengths. Stubborn.

  Years ago, when he’d set his sights on Megan, the feeling that he was trying to meet impossible requirements had been constant. In his mind, he’d foolishly set her on a higher plane, one he’d been desperate to join her on. His feelings had been genuine, but skewed. Not based in reality.

  Megan had done him a huge favor. If she’d agreed to his proposal, they would’ve both been miserable, condemned to a loveless marriage.

  Risking a glance across the way, he saw Jane waving goodbye to her sister, her unhappiness a tangible thing. He faced forward before she could catch him spying.

  Tom had been witness to his brother’s blessed marriage, the evidence of a real, shared love based on mutual respect and appreciation. He’d seen it but hadn’t experienced it for himself. Until now.

  The love he had for Jane was based on truth. He was fully aware of her faults and strengths, her quirks and preferences. He saw her as she was, not how he wished for her to be.

  But Jane didn’t want a future with him. Friendship was all she required, and, no matter that it would slowly destroy him, he had to be satisfied with that.

  “Mr. Leighton!”

  Pivoting sharply, he waited for the young man he recognized as the postmaster’s son to catch up.

  “My father saw you passing by and asked me to give you this telegram. From a sheriff in middle Tennessee. I’m afraid it’s bad news.”

  The passersby flowing around him, the shouts of the kids playing marbles in front of the blacksmith’s, the single riders clopping along Main faded as Tom accepted the slip of paper. He took no notice of the man’s departure. Stomach knotting up, he read the brief message.

  Charles was dead. Killed in a barroom brawl.

  He stood there for who knew how long, reading the words again and again until they blurred.

  His brother had changed his ways. He wouldn’t have been in a saloon. He’d been serious about making up for lost time with his daughter.

  “Tom, what’s wrong?”

  Jane’s voice seemed to come from far away. Her cool fingers encircled his wrist, forcing him to meet her worried gaze.

  “My brother’s gone.” The words didn’t want to come. “He’s dead.”

  Dismay swirled in the fathomless depths. Glancing about, she twined her fingers with his. “Where’s Clara?”

  “At your aunt’s.” He hadn’t told her about Charles’s intent to return, and now he was glad he hadn’t.

  “Come with me.”

  “I need to see Clara.”

  “You need a moment to sort through this first,” she implored.

  He allowed her to lead him into Plum’s. Most of the tables were unoccupied, so he was surprised when Jane asked the girl if they could use the office. Holding tight to his hand, she directed him through the spacious kitchen, briefly greeting the cook, and into a tight corner room with a single desk, a pair of scuffed chairs and makeshift shelving overflowing with papers and books on the wall.

  “Have a seat. I’ll be right back.”

  Dropping into the chair, he rested his elbows on his knees and stared unseeing at the floorboards. His only brother was dead. Gone, like their ma. It was just him and Clara now.

  His insides roiled.

  Jane returned and, depositing a large cup of coffee on the desk, took the chair opposite. “It’s freshly made.”

  Sitting up, he ran a finger around the rim, not interested in food or drink. “I don’t understand what he was doing in a saloon. He sounded sincere about changing his ways.”

  “What happened exactly?”

  “Don’t have details. Only this.” He handed her the telegram.

  “Perhaps you could write to this Sheriff Olsen.”

  “Yeah.”

  Placing the paper between them, Jane laid a hand on his forearm. “I’m so sorry, Tom.”

  “Clara’s going to be devastated. She still talks about him, you know. Has this crazy notion he’s coming back.”

  “You’re going to help her through this.” Sorrow darkened her eyes. “And I will, too.”

  Jane had good intentions. The truth of the matter was she was leaving. And by the time she returned, she expected him to have found someone else to take her place.

  *

  Yearning to hold him, Jane instead clasped her hands tightly in her lap.

  The strain around his eyes, the way he held his body unnaturally still, bore testament to the intense blow he’d been dealt. She could hardly grasp the news. For Tom, Charles’s death must be especially difficult. They’d been cheated out of a chance at reconciliation, and he’d been left with nothing more than unpleasant memories. And—knowing him—regrets.

  Pushing away the untouched coffee, he lumbered to his feet, back bowed as if bearing the weight of a mountain. “I can’t put off telling her.”

  She stood, as well. “I’ll go with you.”

  “No.”

  Hurt flared at the harshness of his response. She tamped it down. He was in the grip of grief.

  “I’ll come by your place later tonight, then. Check on you both.”

  His eyes were a turbulent storm. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “But—”

  “Clara’s my sole responsibility now. Leaning on you, expecting you to shoulder her care, was a mistake. I shouldn’t have asked it of you.”

  Scarcely believing what she was hearing, she seized his hand. “Don’t say that. These last few weeks have been—” She bit her lip, unwilling to share her deepest feelings.

  “What, Jane?” He sounded soul-weary. “They’ve been what?”

  Tom dipped his head, studying her with an intensity that made her feel exposed.

  “I’m glad I got the chance to spend time with her. I wouldn’t trade that for the world. I don’t regret my decision, so please don’t wish that you hadn’t asked.”

  “Understood.” His despondency nearly felled her.

  She squeezed his hand. “I’m here whenever you need me.”

  With a final nod, he snatched his hat off the desk corner and strode out without inviting
her to join him. As his footsteps receded, she had a sinking feeling he wouldn’t reach out to her again.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  She woke the next morning with a slight headache. The memories of the day before rushed in, and she pulled the covers over her head as bone-deep sadness spread like an illness through her system.

  The hours between her conversation with Tom and bedtime had stretched endlessly. Half a dozen times she’d gotten her reticule and gone out onto the porch, fully intending to go to him. The need to offer comfort had been eclipsed only by the knowledge he didn’t want her around.

  Groaning, she dragged herself out of bed and got dressed, the mundane motions of brushing and arranging her hair doing little to detract from her misery. Outside her window, the first streaks of dawn chased the darkness across the sky. A quarter moon hung suspended above the mountain peaks.

  How was she supposed to get through the day, knowing he was grieving his brother while also trying to comfort a sad little girl, and yet somehow stay away?

  Tying her boot laces, she trudged into the cold, dark kitchen and started a fire in the stove box. She would bake the day away, she decided. What she couldn’t sell to Mrs. Greene, she’d sell at the mercantile or donate.

  After downing several cups of coffee, she rechecked the time. There’d been no stirring from the vicinity of Jessica’s room. Now that she thought about it, she couldn’t be positive she’d heard her return from the barn last night.

  Unease tugging her skin taut, Jane strode through the cabin and banged on her door. “Jessica?”

  Pushing inside, she stared at the made-up bed in dismay. Her twin must have risen extremely early.

  Trying to hold on to her equanimity, Jane explored the upstairs and all the outbuildings.

  Normally, they were diligent in sharing their plans, letting the other know when they were leaving and the general time they planned to come home. However, Jessica was still furious with her and communicated only when absolutely necessary.

  What if she’d gone to see Lee and something terrible had happened? Jane trusted he wouldn’t do anything to harm Jess. His business partner would have no such qualms.

  She entered the barn last, stopping short at the sight of the empty stall. Jess’s horse was gone. A sense of urgency seizing her, she retrieved her weapon and the ankle holster Josh had fashioned for her years ago from her room before saddling her own horse and making her way out to Lee’s.