In a Stranger's Arms

by Hale Deborah

  Manning sighed. “Templeton, you’re a big boy, so I’m not going to give you a baby’s answer. I know at your age, lots of things seem simple. A man loves a lady, so he marries her. When you get older, you’ll understand it can be way more complicated than that. Your ma’s a fine lady and I’ve got all the... respect in the world for her.”

  His mouth had a tough time forming those words, as if it wanted to say something else altogether. Manning wasn’t sure what, nor did he dare to think about it too closely.

  “Is there some other gal you like better?” the boy demanded.

  “No!” Manning almost wished there was. Why had his fool heart taken a notion to the one woman he’d the least right to? “No, Tem. It’s just... well, you don’t want your ma forgetting your pa, do you? Some folks aren’t lucky enough to find love once in this life, let alone twice. But that doesn’t mean they should do without the help of a husband or wife for the rest of their lives. Especially if they have children to raise.”

  Tem looked grave and thoughtful—even more than he usually did. “My ma and pa didn’t fight like you and her do.”

  Of course they hadn’t. Caddie and Delbert Marsh would have had a whole world in common. Del wouldn’t have grated on her aristocratic sensibilities like sandpaper on fine-grained hardwood. When Del roused her considerable passion, he’d have been entitled to satisfy Caddie and himself.

  Manning opened his mouth to apologize for what Tem had overheard.

  The boy’s sensitive brow furrowed deeper, as if digging for long-buried memories, then sifting to make sense of them. “They didn’t fight, but I don’t think they loved each other the way you said, either.”

  “I see.” He didn’t. Manning struggled to digest Tem’s words.

  “It’s my fault you and my ma get cross with each other.” The words exploded out of Tem like something rotten left in a corked jug to ferment. “If it wasn’t for me, maybe you’d get to like each other.”

  Even before the child finished speaking, Manning started to shake his head. “No, Tem. No. You’ve got to believe me. One of the few things your ma and I agree on is how much we care about you and Varina, and what fine young’uns you are.”

  For reasons Manning could not guess, his intended reassurance backfired. Tem buried his head in the nest of his arm and knees and commenced to sob his tender young heart out.

  Words heaved out with his tears. “I... told Mama... I didn’t find that treasure. That’s when... she went in your room.”

  The dog whimpered and tried to lick his master’s face.

  Manning winced. He never should have made the boy an unwitting confederate in his deception. No wonder Caddie had been driven to snooping through his papers. “It’s all right, Son. Your ma and I worked all that out... sort of...”

  “’Cause you had to run off on account of the fire.”

  True enough. Manning wasn’t sure where their confrontation might have led if the fire hadn’t interrupted. It had given him and Caddie a chance to back away from their highly charged feelings and each to look at the situation from the other’s point of view. In spite of his burns and the fear of losing what he’d worked so hard to build, Manning couldn’t say he was sorry the fire had started when it did.

  Maybe that’s why he felt more forgiving toward Lon than Caddie did.

  “I started that fire.”

  The words could only have come from Templeton, but Manning still found himself peering around for another source. Surely the boy couldn’t mean it?

  “I didn’t aim for it to get so big.” Tem sniffled. “I only wanted to make some smoke so you and Mama would quit fighting and come see.”

  “Oh, Tem.” Manning’s insides quivered like cold jelly to think what might have happened. “Thank God you weren’t hurt!”

  Shoving the dog out of the way, he gathered the child in his arms. How could he live with himself knowing his actions had driven the boy into danger?

  Tem burrowed into Manning’s embrace, soaking his shirt with tears. Finally, when the child had cried himself out, he asked in a quiet, hesitant voice, “Aren’t you mad at me?”

  “Sure am.” As much as he could with his bandaged hands, Manning ruffled the boy’s hair. He tried to keep any sharpness out of his voice, white still impressing on the boy what a serious matter this was, “You could have been hurt, Tem. Maybe killed. We could have lost the mill. I want you to promise me you won’t set any more fires.”

  Tem’s head thumped vigorously against his chest. “No, sir. I sure won’t.”

  “Then I guess we can let it go at that. I know how hard it must have been for you to tell your ma the things you did, and to tell me about the fire. It’s brave to do things we’re scared of when we know they’re right. I’m real proud of you for that much, Tem.”

  If he had half this little fellow’s courage, he’d tell Caddie the truth about Del’s death. Manning tried to justify himself by asking if that would be the right thing for her and the children. Perhaps if Del hadn’t been a model husband, as Tem implied, Manning could redeem himself by doing his best to make her happy.

  Even if it afforded him the kind of pleasure he ill deserved.

  “Tem set the fire? Are you sure?” A chill went through Caddie, though the July evening air on the porch was oppressively hot “When I think what could have happened...”

  She half rose from her seat on the porch to go check on her son and satisfy herself that he was safe. Manning’s next words froze her and made her collapse back onto the bench.

  “Seems the boy was trying to distract you and me from the hollering match we were having.”

  “Oh dear.” She could hardly face the thought that she had put her child in danger. “I reckon I owe Lon an apology. And you for the things I said this afternoon.”

  Of course, her unfounded suspicion of Lon had only been a pretext to vent her impotent rage at the thought of having Lydene as a guest in her home.

  Caddie picked up the material she’d been sewing into a fancy summer dress for Varina, stabbing her needle into the dotted muslin. She had no right to blame Manning for that. How could he know about Del and Lydene when Caddie would have sooner slit her throat than tell him of her humiliation?

  “This isn’t your fault, Caddie. It’s mine.”

  She glanced up from her sewing to find him staring off into the distance. His elbows rested on his knees and his shoulders rounded to accommodate the invisible load he carried.

  How she wanted to slip her arm around those broad, burdened shoulders and ease whatever troubled him. Swallowing a sigh, Caddie forced her attention back to her sewing. Manning had made it clear he didn’t want that kind of bond with her. She owed him so much already, she couldn’t bring herself to beg for more.

  Though part of her wanted to so bad she could almost taste it on her tongue, like the fumes of moonshine whiskey.

  Neither of them said anything more for a while as a chorus of frogs tuned up for their nightly concert down in the hollow. Caddie kept her eyes firmly on her sewing, though her ears strained for the soft rumble of Manning’s voice, and her nose greedily inhaled the tang of wood sap and sawdust that hung about him. She remembered how he looked without a stitch of clothes on and how delicious his bare skin felt against hers.

  “Caddie?”

  The unexpected caress of her name on his tongue made her tremble. She clutched Varina’s dress tighter and lowered the cloth to her knees. “Yes?”

  “I’ve tried to keep things businesslike between you and me.” Manning scratched his brow and shook his head, clearly pondering a riddle that admitted of no easy solution. “Because of how we started out together and the differences between us. Marriage is hard to do right by at the best of times. I thought it might be better not to try at all, than to try and fail.”

  He glanced over at her, his expression earnest and somehow wistful. “Does that make any sense?”

  Too much.

  “I believe it does.” Her voice caught in her throat
. Only a strong push of will succeeded in dislodging it, “Has something made you change your mind?”

  “Maybe not change, exactly.” He looked half-afraid of admitting more. “But question.”

  Question was a start. Caddie’s heart broke into a skip-to-my-loo. She wanted to reach out and run her fingers through his hair. Pull him close and kiss him until his eyes crossed. But she’d carried on too brazenly before. Played with fire and gotten singed for her trouble.

  So she sat there on the porch on a summer evening, like a demure Southern belle entertaining her first suitor. Trying to give the proper encouraging signals without appearing too forward.

  She pretended to examine her sewing again, then glanced back up through her lashes. “Did you have something more you wanted to say?”

  “No!” He blinked, as if waking from a spell her eyes had cast on him. “I mean... yes. Tem seemed pretty upset. Not just about the fire, though that was part of it. He asked me why you and I got married if we didn’t—”

  As he spoke Caddie nodded. “He told me he thought I didn’t like you much, and that he wished I would.”

  If only Tem could understand. She hadn’t wanted to like Manning Forbes. Certainly hadn’t wanted to feel whatever emotion plagued her at the moment. But her heart hadn’t given her any choice in the matter.

  “Then maybe...” Manning reached over and laid one bandaged hand on top of hers “... we ought to see if it’s possible to get along a little better. For Tem and Varina’s sake. Act as if we married for some reason other than just salvaging Sabbath Hollow.”

  Caddie tried to swallow a big lump that suddenly materialized in her throat. The provocative touch of Manning’s fingers, the deep, soothing melody of his voice and the soft twilight glow in his eyes all filled her with a fragile, frightening sensation of hope.

  She reminded herself he was forcing himself to do this on account of the children, and perhaps compassion for a woman so desperate for a man’s regard.

  For now, whispered her heart. He might not start out to care for her, but if she tried hard, she might win him just the same. Curb her pride, try to see his side of things, be quicker to apologize if she wronged him and to forgive if he wronged her.

  And if that still wasn’t enough? Could she stand to live with a man she hungered for, but who didn’t want her?

  “I—I’ll try.” Those words might have been fifty-pound cannonballs for the effort they cost her to push forward.

  Manning smiled. The kind of smile she’d only seen him offer the children, until now, a smile that lit his whole face with the warm, rosy-golden hues of sunset. “Good. So will I.”

  She was pretty sure he was going to kiss her. The expectation of it hung around them in the sultry, fragrant summer air.

  “Caddie?”

  “Yes?”

  “You and Del—did you have a good marriage? Did he make you happy?”

  From out of nowhere, a raw January wind tore through Caddie. What had her son been telling Manning? What had a sensitive child like Tem guessed about the state of his parents’ marriage?

  Some lingering vestige of Southern clannishness wouldn’t let Caddie disparage the husband who’d given his life for the Confederacy. Early on, her mama had taught her that well-bred folks never spoke ill of the dearly departed.

  “Del was a fine Southern gentleman.” For the most part. “We loved each other and had a happy marriage. Why do you ask?”

  “I just... wondered.” The smile bled out of Manning’s face and the tide of an approaching kiss ebbed. “You never talk about him.”

  “I think about him plenty.” Caddie battled to keep the disappointment from showing in her eyes. Once again she’d spoiled something that could have been very special.

  If she’d told Manning the truth—about the slights, the silences, the growing discontent, the final betrayal—she knew he would sympathize. That’s the kind of man he was. But she didn’t want his pity; she wanted more. Somehow, this dear baffling Yankee had made her feel she deserved more.

  Even if he couldn’t be the one to give it to her.

  Chapter Eighteen

  CADDIE HAD LOVED Del Marsh. Probably still did. Maybe always would.

  I think about him plenty. Her words haunted Manning as he helped prepare for the barbecue.

  He should have known better than to pin his hopes on his own wishful thinking, and the recollection of a little boy whose memories had been colored gray and black by the war.

  If the Marshes’ marriage hadn’t been happy, Manning would have jumped at the chance to make it up to Caddie. Now he didn’t know what to do.

  Mulling over her passionate response to him the night of the fire, he wondered if she might have been lonely for a man in her bed. Any man who could substitute for Del Marsh in the dark.

  That didn’t explain the honey-trap look she’d dangled in front of him the next morning. Before he’d dashed it off her face with his guilt-ridden gruffness.

  They hadn’t fought any since his talk with Tem. Manning almost wished they would. If he couldn’t provoke Caddie’s passion in bed, at least it was something to cross verbal sabers with her and see her magnificent eyes flash.

  Instead they acted like cordial strangers separated by a trench full of eggshells.

  “Hey, boss!” Bobbie Stevens’ cheerful hail nudged Manning out of his puzzled, regretful musings. “Where do you want the boys to set all this stuff?”

  Manning turned to see Bobbie perched on the driver’s seat of the big draft wagon they’d bought for hauling their wares to the rail depot in Westchester. The wagon bed had been loaded with chairs... and a surprise for Caddie. Manning could hardly admit to himself how much he hoped she’d like it.

  “Let’s set some of the chairs out here on the porch.” Manning made a sweeping gesture indicating the front of the house. “The rest we can put around the edge of the parlor for folks who want to be near the dancing.”

  “You heard the boss, boys.” Bobbie alighted from the wagon, using a special rung Manning had installed for the purpose. “Who knows but I might have a go round the dance floor if they play something good and slow.”

  With a broad grin stretched across his face, Bobbie bent down and tapped one of his wooden legs, a hollow sound that never failed to twist Manning’s gut in knots. “These make a fine excuse to hold on to a young lady a little tighter than might be polite otherwise.”

  ‘‘I guess that’s one way to look at it.”

  “The only way, boss.” The young, man held himself with a certain jaunty belligerence, as if daring self-pity to take him on. “Unless you want to throw away the rest of your life. I know plenty of boys didn’t make it after amputations. I reckon they’d have been glad to trade me places, so I’d better do all I can with a life I’m damn lucky to have.”

  To Joe McGrath and the other young fellow, Bobbie called out, “Careful with those chairs, mind! We want to sell them once they’ve done their duty here, and nobody’s going to buy them if they’re all scratched and dented.”

  Something prompted Manning to speak. The words had scarcely left his mouth before he wished he could recall them. “Do you ever think about the man who shot your legs up?”

  “Hate him, you mean?” Bobbie sniffed the air, redolent of smoldering oak and hickory. “Suppose I might if I let myself ponder on it any. I don’t, though, ’cause then I might have to ponder on the fellows I shot. If you’ll excuse me, I’d better go keep a close eye on the boys so they don’t bang up those chairs.”

  “Go ahead.” With all his heart, Manning wished he could adopt Bobbie Stevens’ practical philosophy.

  He would like to have taken his mind off their conversation by helping carry more chairs in. His hands weren’t up to it, though. So he settled for directing the boys where to put them, and later holding open doors when they toted in their other delivery. When they’d finished unloading everything, he sent them off to the kitchen for a drink of lemonade to cool off.

  “I hop
e you’re going to have a little something stronger than lemonade on hand at the barbecue.” Bobbie winked.

  “Maybe a little something,” Manning allowed. Not that he’d be drinking any of it, then using that as an excuse to make a fool of himself over Caddie.

  He followed Bobbie and the boys back to the kitchen. The sound of Caddie’s voice lured him outside, where she and Miss Gordon were supervising the barbecue pit in consultation with Jeff Pratt.

  “Does that smoke smell right to you, Jeff?” Caddie looked dubious.

  Jeff inhaled. “Maybe a little more hickory, Miz Caddie. I was always partial to plenty of hickory smoke in my barbecue.”

  “I agree entirely,” said Miss Gordon. She stood beside Jeff, his hand tucked in the crook of her elbow.

  Safe in the knowledge that Jeff couldn’t see her, Caddie was watching the pair with a sweet, brooding look. No doubt she was remembering her courtship with Del Marsh.

  “What do you think, Mr. Forbes?” asked Jeff. The young man had developed an almost spooky ability to identify folks by their scent or the rhythm of their walk.

  “Smells fine to me, but I can’t claim to be any great expert on the subject. I’ll defer to you and Miss Gordon. Caddie, could I get you to come inside for a minute? There’s something I’d like your advice on.”

  “Certainly, my dear.” She’d begun calling him that around the children. Perhaps the habit was starting to stick. Manning wished he didn’t like the sound of it quite so much.

  As she swept through the door he held open for her, she asked, “What’s the problem?”

  “Not a problem.” He inhaled the faint aroma of spices that hung around her from all the baking she and Miss Gordon had done. “I wanted to make sure you approve of the way we’ve set up.”

  Caddie stopped abruptly. Following close on her heels, Manning bumped into her. When he tried to draw away with an apology for his clumsiness, Caddie caught him by the suspenders and held him close.

  “It’s all right,” she whispered, “if you were just trying to get me inside so Jeff and Dora could have a few minutes alone. I was looking for a reason to excuse myself.”