by Tracy Sumner
Kate swiped her hand beneath her eyes and whispered a silent prayer for the force of nature that was Charlie Chase.
“Men.” Charlie peeled the cloth from Kate’s finger and dabbed at a smudge of blood. “Not bad. Probably won’t even scar, if you’re worried. My miracle salve will fix this up just fine. No need for tears.”
Kate sniffed. “It’s not that.”
“I guessed as much. You don’t look the kind to snivel about a silly cut. I can see there’s more to the story. Adam’s always telling me it’s not my place to interfere. That said” —she tapped her ugly boot on the floor— “I would love to interfere if you’ll let me.”
A gasp, part laugh, part sob, took Kate by surprise. She dried her face with her sleeve. “Forgive me. I don’t have a handkerchief. Except the bloody one wrapped around my finger.”
Charlotte strode away, disappearing into a pantry. The sound of jars banging and boxes shifting drifted from the doorway. “Handkerchief? What in the world does having a handkerchief at a crucial moment ever do for anybody?” She stepped back into the kitchen, a small tin in her hand. “This stinks to high heaven but works like a charm. Sit. I’ll doctor while you have a much needed glass of Syllabub.”
A beveled glass filled with liquid the color of spring roses hit the table before Kate could protest. She sipped as Charlie dabbed. She hoped the medicinal qualities were not overstated because the stuff smelled worse than high heaven.
“I’m guessing you were acquainted with Tanner before coming to Edgemont,” Charlie said, her curiosity clear. As if she realized this, she set to wrapping cloth around Kate’s finger with marked diligence.
“Yes, in Richmond. It was almost two years ago. Six months later, we became” —she took a slow sip from her glass— “unacquainted.”
Charlie’s hand stilled, her words obviously taking more concentration than her nursing. “A year and a half? That long.”
“Yes, that long.” Kate watched afternoon sunlight roll over the edge of the table and puddle on the floor.
Charlie patted Kate’s hand and slid into the chair beside her. “And after two years, you still spark off each other like a match against flint.”
Kate shook her head. “You have the situation all wrong.”
“Do I?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Well, you didn’t see his face when he saw the blood. Hard to disguise alarm when it rips like a seam in a pair of trousers.”
Kate choked, Syllabub burning her throat. “I didn’t have to...see his face. I remember those looks. Charming. Concerned. Tanner Barkley has the unique ability to make you believe you’re the only person in the room. Then, you meet him the next night, and he’s using the same persuasive smile on someone else. I promise you, and thank God, let me tell you, you don’t know him as well as I do.”
“Maybe, for him, you were the only person in the room.”
Kate rolled her eyes toward the ceiling.
“Are you so sure about him, Kate?”
“Sure enough.” She nodded her head, said more firmly, “Yes, very sure. Positive.”
“He saved Adam’s life once. A careless man in that situation, he was not.”
“Well, he’s even then, because he ruined mine.” Kate grasped a pine spray from the centerpiece and lifted it to her nose, inhaling the heavy fragrance.
“There must be—”
“His article referred to us as colleagues. Very formal. Not too hard to imagine the informal term used in every drawing room in Richmond.” Kate tapped the greenery against her glass. “I won’t go into detail about the people who cleared a wide path for the next year. My fiancé’s mother fainted when she heard the news. At the largest ball of the season, too, no less.”
“Fiancé?”
“My parents arranged it. I was sixteen. Our families had been close since before Abel and I were born. I wasn’t in love with him. And he did not love me. I wrote a hundred letters breaking it off before I met Tanner. I wanted, more than anything I have ever wanted, to simply love my husband. And I thought that was where Tanner and I were headed. I waited for him to open up his heart, declare his love for me. I knew I wasn’t going to marry Abel Asher before I ever let myself love Tanner. And then, well, you can guess the rest.”
Charlie rested her glass on her wrist and shook her head. “This is not the story I expected.”
“Yes, I can imagine.” Kate snapped the rosemary in two.
“How horrible, how humiliating. Why...how? What a...oh, men!”
Opening her fist, Kate examined the sprig lying in a rude twist on her palm. She shrugged with more placidity than she had ever experienced with regard to Tanner Barkley. “Deceitful scoundrels the lot of them.”
4
“Christ, Adam, they’re a mess.” Tanner wrenched his gaze from the doorway, his ears from the hum of voices raised in occasional song and frequent laughter. Charlie’s guffaw. Kate’s giggle. He frowned. Kate was not, had never been, a giggler.
Adam leaned to the side of the cumbersome pine tree they were cramming into a bucket of wet dirt, his mouth flattening into a scowl. “I’ll be holding Charlie’s head over a trashcan tonight and somehow, I don’t know how exactly, but somehow, this is your doing.”
Tanner reared back. “My doing?” The tree tipped forward, butting Adam’s shoulder.
“Easy, Tan!”
Tanner grabbed the closest branch and yanked. “My doing? Your wife and my...and Kate are stumbling around from too much eggnog and that Syllabub shit, both of them giving me the evil eye, and it’s somehow my doing?”
“Yes, somehow.”
“Well, hell.”
Adam glared over a limp branch, one they had broken dragging the tree up the porch steps. That side would face the corner. “You’re in love with her” —he grunted, centering the trunk in the bucket— “and all you can do is throw sophomoric glances her way and bellyache about her flirting with Tom Walker, who is so in love with his wife he can’t see that she’s chasing after you as hungrily as a bitch in heat.” In response, the tree swayed, bouncing off Adam’s chest. “You’re useless, you know that?”
“Lila Walker isn’t chasing me.”
“Ha!”
Tanner closed his hand part way around the trunk, bark biting into his palm. “And, I’m not useless. I only have one good arm to work with here.”
“Now you’re going to deny being in love with her. Go ahead.”
Tanner shut his eyes and struggled to hold the tree steady, his arm shaking so badly he almost couldn’t control the movement. Pine needles plinked off his shoulders and slithered past his shirt collar. He exhaled and whispered, “I can’t.”
Adam swung his head up and loosened his hold for one stunned moment. The tree teetered to the left and upended with a violent cough of dirt. It whacked the ceiling before landing on the maroon and gold carpet, the tip settling neatly atop the blazing logs in the fireplace.
“Tan, pull that thing out before we burn down the house.”
They each grabbed a limb and tugged. With a spray of orange sparks, the tree skidded across the floor, carpet wadding beneath. A trail of smoke swirled amidst the stench of burning pine.
“Dammit,” Adam said and kicked the closet branch. Thinking better of it, he threw a glance over his shoulder.
“Don’t worry, coward. She’s not there.”
Adam tossed a defiant glare in Tanner’s direction and kicked the tree again for good measure. “You’re in love with her.” Blatant disgust laced his words.
“I suppose so...yes.” He had realized this from the beginning. Admitting it was another story.
“For how long?”
He shrugged, plucking at a pine needle stuck to his sleeve. “Since the first day I met her.”
“And you told her this when?”
“Um, never.”
Adam yanked one glove, then the other, from his hands. “Drowning your sorrow in a sea of milky-white breasts didn’t work?”
> “Does it look like that worked?” A sea of breasts. Tanner cringed as a line of women paraded before him, as they had when Kat called him—what was it—an indiscriminate boor?
Adam eyed him for a moment, then shook his head. “That bad, huh?”
“Bad? Well....” Blondes. Brunettes. Redheads. Hoarse laughter and awkward endearments hissed across wrinkled sheets. No matter how he’d searched, not a speck of amber to be found in any of their eyes.
“You’ll never change, Tan.”
“I changed two years ago,” he said and jerked his shoulder, sending a stab of pain up his arm. “Well, are you going to help me or not? I need to talk with her. Catch her alone somehow. Maybe Charlie can corner her in your filthy kitchen.”
“I don’t know about enlisting Charlie’s assistance. Kate seems to have won her over.” Adam sighed, staring at the tree sprawled across his feet. “Besides, you messed this up pretty good. I don’t know if your relationship can be salvaged.”
“Don’t you think I realize that?” Tanner grasped a limb, needles crackling beneath his boot. “I have to talk to her. Her mother stands guard at her shop.” With a twist, he embedded the trunk in sand. “And, I can’t get near her in Richmond. Believe me, I tried.”
Adam wiped his wrist across his brow, grabbed the moss Charlie had scoured the woods for, and settled the greenery around the trunk. Sitting back on his heels, he examined the arrangement, his gaze thoughtful. “If Kate’s trying to stay away from you, do you think it might be for the best?”
Tanner tugged his fingers through his hair. Laughter—shrill, low, indifferent—trickled from the parlor. Charlie, telling someone to dip the string of cranberries in red wax, the dried peas in green. Kat, laughing, saying she would dip hers in both, thank you very much. Lila, who was chasing after him like a bitch in heat, complaining about a drop of wax on her boot.
Weary, he rubbed his eyes, his jaw. Lord, he was lonely to the pits of his soul. A shiver shook him, but not one caused by the wintry bite in the room. He shivered because he felt so removed—from love, from home, from family. Almost a year had passed since he had last talked to his. An argument with his father about his future at the bank; a future he wanted no part of. He had not seen his niece since her chubby legs had just begun to catapult her across the floor.
Yes, he could abandon his pursuit of Kat Peters. Raise a white flag in defeat. Let her return to Richmond, marry Crawford whose-it. Wait to stumble upon her on a crowded street, a plump child in her arms, a downy, auburn head snuggled against her breast. Her beautiful eyes inspecting his face, then dodging away.
No. Kat belonged to him.
Tanner shook himself from his musing, found Adam’s attention centered on him. Too perceptive, as usual. He sighed and shoved his hand in his trouser pocket, digging deep. Closing his fingers around metal, he drew a hairpin from his pocket and flipped it into the air with his thumb.
Catching it, Adam twirled the hairpin between his fingers. He angled a dubious look at Tanner. “A hairpin?”
“I went to Kat’s house the afternoon the story came out. She was leaning from a window, threw a rock at my head. The hairpin landed beside me, on the brick walkway.” His face heated, and he shrugged for lack of a better explanation.
And to hide his embarrassment. He knew what he wanted to say but couldn’t force his vocal cords to comply.
Adam turned the hairpin over and back. “You’ve carried a rusty, crooked hairpin” —he arched his brow in a way Tanner found to be very condescending— “this hairpin, in your pocket, for two years?”
Tanner cleared his throat, coughed. “Yes, I mean, most times. Or in my desk drawer. I don’t understand why exactly. I guess the damn thing makes me feel closer to her, when I got to missing her, well...badly. Also, um, I have this ring. My grandmother’s. I planned on giving it to her. Before. Before the story.” He halted, realizing his explanation was inane and childish. Flustered, he kicked the bucket, causing the tree to sway.
Adam’s lips curved in a deliberate, sweeping smile. He tipped his head and laughed, long and deep.
Tanner’s temperature soared with each chuckle. He fisted his hands by his side. “Just forget I asked for your help, all right?”
Lips twitching, Adam tossed the hairpin back to Tanner. “Oh, don’t go getting your dander up. I’ll help. Somehow, I’ll help. Because damned if you are not the most lovesick pup I’ve ever seen. A hairpin. For two years.”
Tanner pocketed his treasure and swung away. At least one of them could enjoy his misery.
A pleasant hum buzzed in Kate’s head by the time the tree decorating began. The artificial bravado gave her the courage to ignore Tanner. Handsome, scowling Tanner, who kept trying to wedge himself between her and—she glanced at the man beside her—oh, heaven, she couldn’t remember. But he seemed nice enough, whatever his name was. Harry, maybe. Or Joseph? A little short, Harry-Joe, but what was the attraction with a tall man? And, Harry-Joe’s eyes weren’t as striking as...well, who really needed to gaze into eyes as blue as a summer sky?
Kate bounced on the balls of her feet and flung her popcorn garland at the tree. It sailed high and snagged, quite inelegantly, on a different branch than she had intended. “Excuse me,” she said to Harry-Joe. “Can you help me? My decoration is caught.”
Harry-Joe stretched, grasping the garland and presenting it to her like a trophy.
“Jesus.”
Kate jerked, leaned down and in, peering between a broken-branched hollow. Tanner, eyes narrow and, damn it all, very, very blue, peered back at her. They stared, so still Kate could hear pine needles scraping against her cheek.
She even imagined she could hear Tanner breathing.
Behind her, Harry-Joe coughed and touched her elbow. She started, bumping into the tree, rousing a chorus of groans and bouncing ornaments.
“Would you like some Syllabub, Miss Peters?” Harry-Joe asked.
“Yes, thank you.” Though, the last thing she needed was more Syllabub. She reached into the wooden crate by her side: crocheted ornaments, paper link chains, holly sprigs, cornucopias overflowing with candy. She chose a delicate lace star, considered a moment, and hung the ornament in a bare spot. Stepping back to see how it looked, she encountered a hard chest. She did not have to turn to know who stood there. She smelled him. Tobacco, mint, man.
“Mr. Barkley, what a surprise.” She nudged the star a little higher. Her voice, surprisingly, sounded quite steady.
Tanner stepped beside her, his elbow brushing hers, a snowflake dangling from his finger. “Do you need any help with your garland, Miss Peters?” He waggled the snowflake in her face.
She knocked the ornament away, snatched a green sprig from the crate, and had it halfway to the tree before she realized she held mistletoe. A log splintered in the fireplace; her skirt brushed Tanner’s boots. All disturbed the rhythm of her pulse. Her hand quivered, and the mistletoe fluttered to the floor.
Kate blinked and angled her chin to find Tanner watching. She could not escape the look. Or what the look meant.
“Come here,” he whispered.
She shook her head as he leaned in.
Leaned in close, until she saw the flecks of gold at the outer edge of his pupil. His lips parted, exposing straight, white teeth.
Oh, no, she thought, the words quite possibly escaping.
His breath touched her just before his lips did. A feather-light press, gentle. His fingers invading her hair. A cupped hand sliding, tangling, forcing her forward. She stumbled. Left shoulder, right knee, left hipbone. He cradled the crown of her head, walking them back, into a darkened corner, then flush against the wall.
She resisted, she truly did. Kept her lips sealed tight, her hands fisted by her side, her spine ramrod straight. Unfortunately, the wine she’d consumed had strengthened her resolve in some areas and weakened it terribly in others. And, so much time had passed since he had kissed her like this, as if he were starving for the taste of her. When his tongue to
uched her lips, she sighed, releasing a burst of air and restraint. He brought his hand to her waist, his snowflake hitting the floor.
His tongue circled, crept inside her mouth, cautiously, as if he feared rejection.
Rejection. She almost laughed—instead, going against any good sense, she showed him how ridiculous she found the idea. Her fingers found his cheeks, his neck, his shoulders. His muscles strained beneath her hands.
He groaned—so low she wasn’t sure if she heard it or felt it—and tightened his hold, winding one arm around her. His fingers spread over her ribcage, detailing every groove. His thumb pressed into the hollow at the nape of her neck, tilting her head. Deeper. The taste of whiskey and Syllabub mingling. Deeper. Into each other, into the corner. Deeper, as a shudder worked its way up her spine, through her mouth and into his.
Closer. A restless compulsion to get closer controlled her. He responded, leaning over her, angling her into the corner. She pulled him in, fitting her thumbs in the buckle and strap at the back of his trousers. Cool metal against her skin failed to awaken the possibility of discovery. Instead, she focused on savoring the sensations and pushing aside thoughts that interfered.
A rough edge on his front tooth. The taste of gingerbread. The scent of soap on his cheek. His brace biting into her breast. His thumb brushing the underside of her arm, sliding lower, hand curling. His fingers tangling in her dress, his skin scorching her.
Another minute...just another minute.
Tanner froze, closed his hand about her arm, and shook gently. His breath cuffed her cheeks in harsh bursts. Kate swayed, absorbed in the symphony of colors swirling around her. She kissed his cheek, moved lower and sucked the skin along his jaw between her teeth. Lifting her lids, she found his gaze, wide and dark, slipping low, to her breasts.
“Kat, stop. I must be crazy.” He moved her away and tugged his hand through his hair. “Stop. Before someone sees us. While I can still think clearly.”
In reply, she pulled his head to hers and kissed him, open-mouthed. No remorse, no modesty. Lips, tongue, teeth. The colors behind her lids exploded. Bright yellow, red. Dark blue: the exact color of his eyes when they made love in that narrow bed of his. Elbows and knees cracking paint-chipped walls. Feet dangling off the end.