by Karen Kirst
“Aye, sir. I slept like a bairn.”
George? Cabin? “Y-you hired him?”
Mr. McKenna’s gaze, bright with humor, shifted to her. He ducked his head, but not before she saw his slow grin. He was enjoying her shock.
“Yes, Caroline.” Looking down his hawkish nose at her, Albert addressed her as one would a difficult child. “Mr. McKenna is our stable manager now. He came highly recommended from the Stuarts.”
“Your friends in North Carolina?”
He nodded. Leaning against the sideboard, he said, “I expect you to make him feel welcome. In fact, you can give him the grand tour of the property. I’ve got a meeting at the bank this morning.”
“Bank? Why are you going there?” Anxiety rose up to choke her. “Is there a problem?”
His brows pulled together over his nose. “You’re acting strangely this morning. Perhaps you need to eat your breakfast instead of peppering me with questions.” He started for the door, pausing but for a moment to address Duncan. “We’ll talk later.”
Duncan dipped his head. “Aye, sir.”
When they were alone again, he motioned with his fork and winked at her. “I recommend the flapjacks.”
She stiffened. “I don’t need your recommendations, Mr. McKenna. Cook has been with us since I was eleven.” Stalking over to the sideboard, she filled her plate without paying attention to what she was doing, her thoughts focused on one thing—her life had just gotten more complicated.
When she took the seat across from him, he blinked in surprise. “A hearty appetite, I see. Wouldn’t have guessed it. But then, I learned a long time ago not to judge people on their appearance.”
The arrow hit home. Sipping her tea, she wished he’d leave.
“Does Cook have a name?”
The cup rattled as she replaced it in the saucer. “Of course she does.”
“What is it?”
Caroline raked her memory and came up empty. The buxom, wiry-haired woman who prepared their meals had always been referred to as Cook. “If you’re so interested, why don’t you ask her?”
He smirked, his gaze condemning. Duncan McKenna thought she was a snob.
“You don’t know it. To you, she and the other staff aren’t people. They’re simply fixtures here to make your life easy.”
His condemnation shouldn’t sting. He was a crude, ill-educated stranger who was clearly envious of those who’d achieved success.
“You don’t know anything about me, Mr. McKenna. Who’s the one judging now?”
Surging to her feet, she tossed her napkin over her plate and opted to escape. These days, trying to protect her father’s reputation consumed all her energy. She didn’t have the capability to cope with an infuriating employee on top of everything else.
Chapter Two
He’d driven her from her breakfast. Not exactly gentlemanly behavior. Nor was it wise to provoke the boss’s daughter.
Duncan scraped his chair back and hurried into the high-ceilinged, papered hallway in the center of the house, catching up to her on the veranda that ran the length of the rear exterior. Pots of cheerful yellow blossoms lined the white railing and flanked the steps. White wicker chairs were arranged to take advantage of the pastoral view, verdant fields that gave way to forest framed by majestic, blue-toned mountains.
“Caroline, wait.”
On the crest of the steps, she slowly pivoted. Her delicate features were arranged into a controlled mask, but he could see the rapid pulse leaping at her neck. She wasn’t as nonchalant as she’d like him to think.
“I don’t recall giving you leave to address me by my first name.”
“You were right back there. I don’t know you and have no business commenting on your character.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “You didnae touch your food. I’ll leave you alone to enjoy your breakfast.”
She regarded him with a less-than-friendly gaze. Despite her attitude, she presented a vision that, if a man wasn’t careful, could blind him to her obvious faults. Her sapphire-blue dress, a perfect choice for her fair complexion, draped over her figure like a glove. Her white-blond tresses were arranged in a sophisticated style, parted down the side and swept into a tight chignon at the back of her head. There were no diamonds today, only a ribbon choker about her neck and a blue-and-white cameo nestled in the dip of her collarbone.
“I lost my appetite.” Presenting her back to him, she pointed to the stables situated close to the house. “Let’s get this over with.”
A dignified figure rounded the house and made to intercept them. The epitome of studied elegance, the lady was an older, more pinched version of Caroline. Her eyes weren’t nearly as stunning, the color a washed-out, watery blue, and her blond hair was threaded liberally with silver. He didn’t need Caroline’s introduction to make the connection. Louise dismissed him with a single glance.
“Caroline, what are you doing?”
“Father asked me to give Mr. McKenna a tour of the property.”
“We have to plan our menus for next week.”
“Can we do that after lunch?”
Her mouth puckered and lines fanned out above her upper lip. “I suppose I can rearrange my schedule.” Squinting, she fussed with her daughter’s sleeves, plumping the fabric. “This color is all wrong for you.”
Pink rose in Caroline’s cheeks. “No one is going to see me in it, Mother.”
He caught the implication. No one that counted, himself included. As a hired employee, his opinion about such things didn’t matter. They viewed him as unimportant because they assumed he was poor and uneducated. Bitterness surged. He’d happily left this sort of narrow-minded attitude behind in Boston.
“I told you to stick to pastels.”
“We’re boring Mr. McKenna.” Caroline’s smile was brittle. “We’ll discuss this later.” Head held high, she started for the nearest stable entrance.
“Excuse us, Mrs. Turner,” Duncan said.
Her nose wrinkled in distaste and she disappeared into the house.
Duncan entered the long building. The air was sweet with the scent of hay. High windows had been opened to let the breeze circulate. Dust motes danced in the square of light spilling through the open entrance.
Speaking in brisk tones, Caroline showed him the tack and equipment rooms on his left. A sturdy ladder led to a hayloft that extended the length of the building. The cobblestones beneath their feet were worn to a shiny patina and swept clean. Box stalls flanked either side of the wide center aisle. Only about half of them were occupied. One by one, she introduced him to the ten horses they owned. When she got to the last one, affection lightened her voice.
“This pretty lady is Rain.” Pulling a carrot from her pocket, she fed it to the mare and ran her hand lovingly along its neck.
Duncan found himself captivated by the pure joy Caroline radiated and the way it softened her. He wouldn’t have pegged her for an animal lover. His conscience pricked him. The Turners weren’t the only ones capable of making judgments.
Joining her, he greeted Rain, taking in the healthy state of her dapple-gray coat and black mane. “She’s yours?”
“Yes. I was unhappy when we first moved here from Charleston. My father bought her in hopes of appeasing me.”
“How old were you?”
“Fifteen.”
Old enough to have strong ties to her former home. As much as he preferred his current life, there were things—and people—he still missed.
“Did it work?”
Her rose-hued lips rolled together, pressing down. “Rain is my one bright spot.”
Before he could question the cryptic statement, she stepped back, businesslike once again. “As you can see, we have ample space to board our frequent visitors’ animals. Next week we ha
ve several guests joining us. You’ll have extra duties.”
“I can handle it.” He shrugged. “You have an impressive setup.”
She lifted her chin. “Ours are the largest, most well-equipped stables in Gatlinburg.”
Duncan refrained from telling her that the McKenna stables were triple this size.
An adolescent boy walked in the far entrance, thin arms straining with a pair of buckets. Duncan strode to help him.
“Thank you, sir, but I can manage.” His brown hair was cut short, and there was a gap between his front teeth. “Good morning, Miss Caroline.”
“Anthony, I’d like you to meet your new boss, Duncan McKenna.”
The lad snapped to attention, chest puffed out. “Glad to meet you, Mr. McKenna.”
“Likewise.” Duncan pointed to the buckets. “Sure you won’t be needing assistance?”
“No, sir.”
“I’ll return shortly to see to Rain,” she told Anthony. “You may turn the others out to the paddocks.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Duncan stopped beside a room she’d failed to show him. He touched the handle. “What’s in here?”
“Personal storage.” She made a dismissive gesture and continued walking.
He thought it odd to keep such items in a stable, but he chose not to question her.
They exited into the sunshine. The humidity closed in around him. If Tennessee’s climate was anything like North Carolina’s, he was in for some sweltering summer days. He reached up and tightened the strip restraining his hair. He needed to cut it. His parents and brothers wouldn’t recognize him. After working in the great outdoors these many months, his skin had taken on a cinnamon hue, and he’d acquired more freckles on his forearms. He’d let his hair grow to his shoulders, and his beard was thick. He stroked it now, thinking it was probably time to shave it off.
Caroline caught the gesture and frowned.
He mentally shrugged. Or not.
She showed him the various sheds, smokehouses and other buildings. To his surprise, she was knowledgeable about the farm’s workings. At the barn, which was half the size of the stables, she introduced him to another employee.
The gentleman had stooped shoulders, flyaway black hair and skin like leather. His Native American heritage was obvious, and Duncan wondered if he were Cherokee. His brown-black gaze, when it lit on Caroline, brightened like the sun coming out from behind the clouds.
“Wendell takes care of the livestock,” she told him matter-of-factly. “But his primary task is making sure the landscaping is up to Mother’s exacting standards.”
“Miss Caroline is the true gardener around here,” Wendell said with obvious pride.
Bending to pat the orange cat sniffing at her skirts, she frowned. “Don’t let my mother hear you say that.”
Duncan watched the exchange with interest. He couldn’t imagine pristine Caroline Turner getting her hands dirty.
“We have to continue on, Wendell.”
After he shook hands with Wendell, Caroline led Duncan outside. To their right, chickens pecked at the ground inside their pen. She checked the watch pin attached to her bodice, and her features grew pensive.
“You’ll have to explore the rest of the grounds on your own.” Without another word, she headed in the direction of the house.
“You’re abandoning me midtour then?”
She turned and shaded her eyes with her hand. “I have an important matter to tend to.”
“A shopping excursion that can’t wait?” Plunging his hands in his pockets, he strolled to her side. “Or a gossip session with your friends? Is it your habit to abandon your duties, Caroline?”
That pulse at the base of her throat leapt again. Her fascinating eyes, however, remained frost-edged. “I don’t know how you conduct yourselves over in Scotland, but around here, the hired help is expected to treat their employers with utmost respect. My father has high expectations, Mr. Turner. Fail him and you’ll be cut loose.”
Duncan wasn’t sure why he was intent on baiting this woman. The only reason he could think of was that she was a handy target for the anger he’d thought he’d released long before now. He wanted to tell her that money and prestige didn’t make her better than him. He was tempted to tell her that her family’s wealth was a drop in the bucket compared to the McKennas’. He did neither. He’d rather have her honest dislike than fake regard.
Duncan liked what he’d seen so far of this part of the country. While he didn’t plan on settling here, he didn’t intend to ruin what time he did have.
“I didnae step off the boat yesterday.”
“You could’ve fooled me.”
With that parting shot, she left him standing there, making him wonder what it was that made her so unhappy.
* * *
The isolation of this part of their property unsettled Caroline. The forest had closed in after she’d passed the stable manager’s cabin—Mr. McKenna’s home for the foreseeable future—and the terrain had become steeper. At the gurgling, rock-strewn stream, she slid to the ground and, keeping hold of the reins, inspected her surroundings. She couldn’t see any signs of other human life. Lofty trees marched in uneven succession in all directions. The forest was mostly a study in contrasts of brown earth littered with decomposing leaves, darker brown trunks and vivid green foliage—from leafy bowers twitching in the breeze to ferns growing in profusion on the forest floor to lichen patches on trunks and moss ringing the trees.
A testament to God’s artistic perfection, the Smoky Mountains were wild and beautiful but not without hidden dangers. Somewhere nearby, someone lurked, possibly watching her.
Her hands clammy, she removed the black pouch from her pocket. She picked up her skirts and, picking her way across the rocks, laid it on the remains of a tree stump. Like every time before, she questioned if what she was doing was right. Should she confront her father? They’d never had a close relationship. Questioning his integrity would wound his pride and drive him farther away. But how long could this continue? Her funds weren’t unlimited.
The blackmailer had working knowledge of the Turner factories in Charleston. He knew that despite her father’s semi-retirement, he still had control of operations. He also knew Caroline had access to her inheritance. In January, she’d received the first note threatening to expose her father’s unsavory business practices. If valid, the claims in the documents had the potential to crumble the Turner empire. Over the years, her father had cultivated a reputation of providing the very best in skin care.
Their products—ranging from soaps and emollient creams to perfumes and bath oils—had become synonymous with opulence and self-indulgence. Only the wealthy could afford them. The exorbitant prices were justified by their exotic, hard-to-obtain ingredients. Caroline’s blackmailer maintained that, while Albert had initially adhered to such practices, he’d recently taken to forgoing the expense of locating and transporting said ingredients and substituting them with common chemicals. Until Caroline could find a way to substantiate these claims, she would meet his demands.
She was halfway across the stream when a rustling sound to her right made her stumble. Her boot sank into the cold water. Sucking in a sharp breath, she completed a jerky revolution, searching the woods below and rocky outcrops above. Had he decided to expose his identity? Would he do her physical harm?
But the source of her fright turned out to be a bandit-faced raccoon scouting for a meal. Caroline rushed to the other bank and clumsily mounted Rain, ready to be gone from there. Half an hour later, once again in the safety of her home, she was too distracted to give her mother’s disparaging comments about her muddy boots and bedraggled hem much thought. Caroline absentmindedly changed into a lavender outfit that would please Louise’s sense of style.
On a whim, she eased the bulgi
ng satchel from beneath her bed and ran her fingers along the supple, caramel-hued leather, stirring the dust on its surface and causing her to sneeze. Inside, there were a couple of outfits, grooming accessories and a wad of money. While the satchel had never been used, it wasn’t new. She’d purchased it three years ago as a sort of promise to herself that, if her life became intolerable, she’d leave this town for good and never look back.
So far, she hadn’t worked up the courage to use it. Or maybe she hadn’t reached her breaking point yet.
Movement in the hallway startled her. Shoving it back under the bedframe, she intercepted their housekeeper in the hallway. Shy and skittish as a mouse, the young woman was dependable and hardworking. Louise fretted at times that she didn’t pay attention to details, however.
“I’m going to freshen up your room, Miss Caroline.” She indicated the mound of clean bedding in her arms.
“All right, Sylvia.”
See? She did know her employees. Duncan McKenna was wrong about her. He had to be, because the picture he painted of her was most unflattering.
On the landing, she cupped the cone-shaped knob on the handrail. “Thank you, Sylvia.”
The housekeeper’s slim face registered surprise. She tucked a tendril of dark hair beneath her mobcap. “Oh, miss, there’s no need to thank me. It’s my job.”
Caroline spent the remainder of the day making out menus and reassigning guest rooms for their arrivals the following week. They may have left Charleston years ago, but their ties to that city remained intact. Business associates and friends visited throughout the year, so much so that her home sometimes felt like a hotel. The news that Isaiah Marsh and his son, Theo, had been added to the guest list wasn’t exactly welcome. Isaiah was boisterous and tended to make crude jokes. Theo wasn’t anything like him. The thirty-year-old heir to a fortune was suave, handsome and smart as a whip. A definite catch. It was the calculating aspect of his personality that gave Caroline pause. He was one of a carousel of suitable bachelors her mother had attempted to pair her with. In Louise’s opinion, any single man between the ages of twenty and forty with the right pedigree and desired amount in their bank account was suitable husband material. Thankfully, Theo was as uninterested in wedding her as she was him.