Carrie’s voice called him into focus and recentered him, though his heart thundered still, scared, helpless, drowning. “But you like his son.”
He put a hand to his throat, swallowed and blinked away the dark memory.
“Brody,” he managed, “is one sweet apple that fell far, far away from the rotten tree.” The way Hayden hoped he had. Please God, don’t ever let him be anything like Dora Lee. “Make sure he knows I’ll reschedule the horseback riding when I get back.”
“He would understand if you didn’t.”
“No, he wouldn’t. He’s a kid, and he’s had enough disappointments. I’ll make it happen.” He buried a yawn.
“You sound so tired and worried.”
“I am.” Too tired to create a flippant reply or to pretend everything was peachy. Or to be anything but honest. “I miss you.”
He missed her freshness and her soft, clear eyes, the way she looked at the world through clean lenses. He missed the way she made him feel more whole than he’d ever been.
He really should hang up before he blurted out something more damaging.
“I miss you, too,” she murmured. “I wish you didn’t have to go through this alone.”
“It meant a lot that you offered to come with me. I don’t take that lightly, Carrie.”
“I want to be there to support you.”
“I know.” Then he said again as if he couldn’t help himself, “I love you for caring.”
He swallowed the longing he heard in his own voice and wished he hadn’t used the word love again. It hovered like a butterfly, eager for escape. He couldn’t do that to her. Offering empty words out of his own need would sully what he felt for her, would be unfair, unkind. Carrie was too good for that kind of treatment.
A silence ensued, and then with a sweetness that melted him, she said, “I care very much, Hayden.”
His eyes fell shut.
He knew. He knew. Everything she did and said broadcast her feelings and heaped guilt on his head. He didn’t want anything to hurt her, and yet he probably would. It was wired into his DNA.
They talked awhile longer, mostly about Brody and a little about the innkeeper’s upcoming wedding, a conversation that made him long to be back in the clean, comfortable Mulberry Room and among the most sincere people he’d met in a long time.
Carrie asked him about the dreams, and he realized he hadn’t dreamed at all last night. Then she made him smile with a tale of the Sweat twins and their parrot, Binky, and he teased her about the thunderstorm phobia, wishing he could always be there to hold her when the rains came.
He couldn’t even calm his own storms.
Before they disconnected, Carrie admonished him to eat, to rest, to take care of himself. He’d soaked it up, filling his mind with her voice. Pathetic that a grown man craved nurturing.
“Promise?” she demanded, sounding bossy, but bossy with a spoon of sugar.
“Promise,” he said and fought like a mad bull to keep from blurting out the truth and begging her to come to Kentucky.
* * *
THE REST OF the day Carrie fretted about Hayden. Knowing he was upset and worried hurt her, but she had no idea how to help.
After work, literacy class and an hour of distributing bags of potatoes for Interfaith, she drove out to Peach Orchard Inn with her sisters to meet with Julia about the upcoming wedding. Part of her dreaded a repeat confrontation with Valery, but this evening the vivacious sister was on her best behavior and greeted Carrie as if the harsh words had never been spoken.
Carrie breathed a sigh of relief.
“Tea or coffee?” With perfect hostess skills Valery ushered the sisters into the entry, where a mahogany credenza held pamphlets advertising raft rentals, horseback riding and a host of other outdoor and historical activities for guests.
“Coffee for me,” Carrie said. “I need the caffeine boost.”
Behind the glass doors of the credenza as well as in a shadow box above, the artifacts of Peach Orchard Inn’s past reminded Carrie of Hayden’s dreams.
Was he okay? Was his mother?
“Julia made peach cobbler scones for y’all,” Valery said.
Carrie hummed in approval. She’d not had a bite to eat since noon when Tawny left early for a doctor’s appointment, and lunch had been a quick cup of microwave noodles.
Had Hayden eaten anything at all?
“Sorry, I’m watching my carbs.” Nikki’s shoulders slumped. “And I do mean I’m sorry. Julia makes the best peach cobbler scones in the world.”
“Oh, Nikki, you’re already perfect,” Carrie said. “Why do you worry?”
“So I can stay perfect,” Nikki said, and then laughed at her own conceit.
“Well, I’m having one. Maybe two. With coffee. What about you, Bailey?”
“Absolutely. Bring on the carbs. We’ll make Nikki green with envy.”
The four of them traipsed down the hall to the kitchen, where Julia was sliding the golden scones out of the oven. The smell of cinnamon and peaches filled the air.
The scent brought guests down the stairs, and even the dog and his boy, the quietly pleasant Alex, appeared in the doorway.
Julia handed her soon-to-be son a glass of milk and a scone. “I’m ruining your dinner, Alex.”
He grinned up at her with a missing tooth. “I won’t tell.”
Julia, looking happier than Carrie could ever remember, kissed him on the head with a loud smack. “My coconspirator. I think Daddy will notice when you don’t eat your peas.”
Alex stuck out his tongue in a grimace. “Scones are better.”
After availing themselves of refreshments, the women reconvened in the family parlor at the back of the lower floor. Carrie, thankfully, had been asked to attend the guest book. She could handle that, and addressing invitations in her tidy hand was no problem at all.
She’d polished off her first scone and started on the second when Valery said, “Have you heard from Hayden?”
Uncertain of what he’d told Valery and Julia about his abrupt departure, she said, “I talked to him this morning.”
Julia rested her hands on the book of samples in her lap. “How is his mother?”
“He told you about her illness?”
“Valery pried it out of him.”
Valery shrugged. “I wanted to be sure he was coming back. Couldn’t have him running out on us.” She smiled a cat’s smile. “Or should I say on you?”
Carrie sidestepped the comment. Her nerves were already raw with worry.
“His mother is not doing well. He thinks her kidneys are failing. You can imagine how frightening that is.” She picked a crumb from the corner of the still-warm scone, remembering the strain and fatigue in his voice. Even when they’d discussed other topics, the anxiety was there. “Hayden’s very worried.”
“So are you.” The innkeeper’s blue eyes studied her. “Is it concern for Hayden or for his mother that put the frown between your eyes?”
She picked another crumb. “He’s alone. I hate that he’s going through this without anyone else’s support.”
“No family?”
“None. No siblings, and his father died when he was small.” Other than his assistant and agent, he’d never mentioned anyone close. If he had close friends or someone special, he’d never told her. There was always that wall around him. A nice wall, polite and charming, but a wall nonetheless.
“Sad.” Valery sipped at her tea. “Why didn’t you go with him? Unless my radar’s off, the two of you have a good thing going.”
Nikki laughed. “Your radar is right on, although baby sister is afraid to believe a guy like Hayden could have a thing for her.”
“If he’s any kind of man at all, he sees my sister’s value,” Bailey said
with a sniff, and Carrie adored her for it. “Val’s right, Carrie. You should go to Kentucky.”
Hadn’t she asked him to take her? And he’d refused. “I’m not sure he wants me there.”
“Are you nuts? Of course he does. He just doesn’t want to inconvenience you.”
“Nikki’s right, Carrie,” Julia said. “Hayden doesn’t like to impose. He even makes his own bed here at the inn, no matter how many times I’ve told him I would do it.”
Was that Hayden’s reasoning? Had he refused to let her come along out of concern for her? Not because he didn’t want her there?
“Do you really think he believed I wouldn’t want to be there for him? That going was too much trouble to ask of me?”
Nikki stretched her manicure out in front of her and studied her pumpkin-colored nails. “Julia, if you and Valery haven’t figured it out yet, our girl Carrie is in love with Mr. Book Writer.”
“Nikki!” Heat rushed up Carrie’s face. “Don’t.”
“Well, you are, even if you’re too scared to admit it. And I think Hayden feels the same.”
“Don’t be silly. He’s a famous writer.”
“Like that makes him immune to human feelings? Although when I think about the graphic stuff he writes, I wonder.”
“Hayden is the kindest, most generous man,” Carrie said. “Did you know he drove to the cat lady’s house with a signed book and an order of Cambodian pork and spent an afternoon talking to her? Nobody does that. Not to mention the fact that he paid to have Penny Thomson’s remains returned to Honey Ridge.”
All four women looked at her with wide eyes. “He did?”
Carrie clapped a hand over her mouth. “I wasn’t supposed to know that. Mr. B. let it slip.”
Julia leaned toward her, eyes narrowed. “How much did he donate to the library?”
Carrie groaned. “Too much. Please don’t let him know I told you. He’s very private.”
“And alone. We’re back to that.” Bailey pinched off a crumb of scone. “A man who does good things shouldn’t face his mother’s critical illness without the support of family or friends or someone—” she gave Carrie a knowing look “—who loves him.”
“Look,” Nikki said, her expression serious. “I’m not the best person to give out sage advice. That’s Mom’s area, but I see something potentially awesome happening here.”
Her pulse fluttered in her neck. “Meaning?”
Nikki bit her lip. “Ever since the other thing happened, you’ve been running scared, but you know the old saying, when one door closes—”
Bailey leaned forward and pointed. “Another opens.”
“Another door is opening, little sis. Don’t be afraid to walk through it. What’s on the other side may be your knight in shining armor.”
Valery hoisted her teacup. “That would be Hayden.”
Nikki whipped out her cell phone. “Let’s make a reservation right now and get you on a plane first thing in the morning.”
“I couldn’t.”
“Do you want to?”
She wrung her hands in her lap. Get on an airplane? Fly to Kentucky by herself? Did Hayden really want her there and was too caring to ask?
Was he worth the risk?
The answer came easier then. Like Nikki said, sometimes a person had to take a chance. If she loved him, she’d step outside her comfort zone and be the woman he needed.
In a squeak, insides quaking but sure, Carrie took a leap of faith. “Yes.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
The probability that we may fail in the struggle ought not to deter us from the support of a cause we believe to be just.
—A. Lincoln
1867
THAD HAD THOUGHT he couldn’t hurt any worse. He’d suffered a war, a fire that left him fearful and scarred and the loss of his wife and daughter. He’d thought the pain was behind him.
But Josie’s rejection of everything he stood for, of the man he was, of the honor he’d fought for, cut through him like a dull bayonet.
“Mr. Thad, sir.”
Abram appeared at the entrance of the mill’s basement, an area adjacent to the waterwheel that housed the cogs and pulleys and tools needed to keep the mill in operation.
Thad brushed an exhausted hand over his damp forehead. “What is it, Abram?”
The lantern, hanging from a post, flickered as the hired man approached his boss.
“Time to go, sir. You’s working too hard.”
“Machinery don’t repair itself.”
If the sharp tone bothered Abram, he didn’t let on. “Yes, sir, but you been working too hard and too late for the past three days. Something wrong?”
Thad stretched his neck to the right and then to the left. A hard knot had settled between his shoulder blades. “Nothing.”
Abram studied his face as if he could read the heartache, but he kept his thoughts to himself. Even though Thad was not a harsh manager, Abram’s slave days were too deeply ingrained to refute Thad’s claim or to pry deeper.
“Go on home, Abram. I’ll be along directly.”
“Yes, sir.” Abram turned and started out, but at the stairway, he turned back. “Mr. Thad, I ain’t seen Miss Josie around here lately.”
His fingers convulsed. “You won’t, either.”
“She having herself a woman fit? Miss Josie, she good at that.”
Thad chuckled. A woman fit sounded about right for Josie. He missed the flare of her temper and her contrition after it had taken control. He missed the times she’d threatened to disembowel him and leave him for buzzards and then the way she’d kiss him or bring him spring-cold lemonade to give the lie to her threats.
“Apparently, I’m not the right man for her. Now, you go on home like I said and get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Abram nodded and left Thad to his thoughts and chores. He greased the cogs and examined the pulleys while shadows gathered and the old mill settled around him. Every squeak and groan had become dear and familiar. He was a good miller and an honest one. He was needed here.
Perhaps he should go back to Ohio, back to where the word Yankee was not considered profane. But he’d promised Will a year, and he was not a man to break a promise.
He’d lived with a broken heart before. He could do it again.
With his thoughts spinning, he barely heard the sounds coming from outside the mill. Hoofbeats. Voices.
He put down the oilcan and cocked his head to listen. No customer would come this late. Was there trouble at the farm? Was something wrong? Had someone come to fetch him?
He trotted up the steps, and as he reached the second floor, he heard voices. Not a one belonged to the Portland farm.
“I seen a light, Jim.” The voice, young and thin, sounded nervous. “I know I did. Someone’s in here.”
Heavy, thudding footsteps, like boots and brogans, sounded on the floorboards. Light, brighter than any lantern, cast long, flickering shadows across the upper floor.
“Stop being a coward and git on in there and do what we come to do.”
“You know how they treated Oscar and me.” The voice sounded familiar. “We don’t cotton to Yankees and their lot running our town.”
Thad mentally sorted through his customers’ voices and landed on Jim Swartz, Josie’s friend. What was he doing here?
The younger voice rose to a shout. “Let’s teach them a lesson they won’t ever forget.”
Hair stood on the back of Thad’s neck. There were at least four of them. He didn’t know what they were up to, but clearly no good was afoot.
He could hear the men moving through the mill and saw the flicker of their lights, torches from what he could tell.
Sliding sideways along the wall, he worked his w
ay toward the office and his rifle. God knew he’d never wanted to raise arms against another man, but the mill was his responsibility.
In the darkness, he fumbled for the weapon, running his hands along the wall.
A shout prickled the skin on his arms.
“Run, boys. She’s set!”
Footsteps thundered through the mill. Men shouted. “Go. Go! Get out of here!”
“Jim, Jim!” The young, thin voice rose in a near scream.
Thad rushed to the mill entrance, rifle raised, his eyes adjusting to the darkness, though he could only make out shadows.
Thad fired his rifle into the night, but he was too late. Heads covered in white sacks, three mounted horsemen raced into the night, fiery torches aloft.
A bloodcurdling scream yanked Thaddeus around.
Flames shot from the lower floor, where stacks and stacks of unprocessed grain, corn shucks, cobs and empty bags awaited the miller’s hand.
A room now glowing in the dark.
Thad’s blood turned to water. He went to his knees. Not fire. Not a fire.
His mind flashed to that night more than a year ago and to his daughter’s screams.
“Daddy! Daddy!”
“Gracie,” he whispered. “Dear God, no. Not again.”
Another terrified scream ripped the night air. “Help. Somebody help! Please help me!”
Sweating now but shivering, too, Thad staggered to his feet and ran for the mill exit. Once outside in the sweet air, the smell and vision of smoke dissipated. He wiped a shaky hand over his eyes.
He had to get help. The farm. He’d head there.
Another scream, this one of fear mixed with pain, spun him around.
Someone who’d intended harm to the mill and to him remained inside the burning building.
Thad clamped down on his back teeth. He couldn’t go in there. He couldn’t.
The man inside deserved whatever happened to him. He’d been up to no good. If he died, the fault was his own. Let his suffering be a lesson to the others.
The scars on Thad’s body throbbed, a reminder of the pain and agony of fire eating through flesh.
The flames grew brighter, the screams more desperate.
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