Tennessee Waltz

by Simmons, Trana Mae

  "I'm all right. You can go now."

  "Huh-uh. I'm not in any hurry."

  "Please go," she pleaded. Turning on her other side, her shoulders went rigid and she choked on another sob.

  "Huh-uh," he repeated.

  Smoothly, he laid down beside her, ignoring her gasp of affront. She tried to scramble away from him, but he grabbed her around the waist, pulling her back against him and holding her to his length. Taking advantage of her struggle, he maneuvered an arm beneath her other shoulder and captured her.

  As soon as she stilled, he laid his cheek against hers and whispered, "Tell me what's wrong, Sarah. I can't help you if I don't know for sure what's bothering you. And I can't rest easy knowing you're upset."

  "Please," she said. "The door . . . anyone could come in. If they find us in b . . . bed together . . ."

  He heaved a sigh of compliance. "Damn it," he grumbled, releasing her and rolling off the bed, "we should have built a separate bedroom on this cabin!"

  She rolled over against the far wall, eyeing him warily. "Well, you didn't, and . . . Wyn! What are you doing?"

  He laid the wide board across the hasps and turned, quirking a puzzled eye. "Why, securing the door, of course. That's what you wanted before you'd tell me why you were upset, wasn't it?"

  "Yes. No! But . . . but . . ."

  He sauntered back over to the bed, laid down and held out his arms to Sarah. "Now, where were we?"

  Chapter 20

  Sarah stared at Wyn in horrified amazement, until a tear inched through her lashes and tickled down her cheek. Then, giving an agonized sob, she flung herself into his embrace. His arms closed so comfortingly around her, safe and secure. The sensations were illusions, she well knew, but she would foster the illusions as long as she could. Reality would intrude all too soon.

  He didn't question her again — only held her. She choked on her sobs for a few brief seconds, then happened to open her eyes and catch sight of the shining row of shoes against the wall. Boy's shoes. Girl's shoes. Young children's shoes and, stuffed in one of the boxes, baby shoes.

  Tears drowned her vision and she wailed, burying her face against Wyn's shoulder. Somehow she found his handkerchief in her fist again, and she pressed it against her nose. She couldn't breathe through the clogged stuffiness and opened her mouth to take a breath. Broken words tumbled out instead.

  "Hate me . . . never work. So hard. Hurts. Oh, hurts bad! Only wanted . . . oh, their little feet, Wyn! Cold. The snow . . . Wyn. Oh, Wyn, make the hurt stop! Make it feel better!"

  Vaguely she could hear his whispers — feel the stroking on her back.

  "Shhhhh. Shhhhh, Sarah. Oh, God, Sarah, don't cry. It's killing me."

  "Ca . . . can't stop!"

  He gathered her even closer, and she threw her arms around his back, clasping him frantically. She'd never cried like this — never in her life. It hurt even worse than the times her father threw her tentative feelers of love back into her face.

  She tried once again to stop, but still couldn't. The few times she had cried — in the privacy of her room — she'd never dared show her face until all traces of her breakdown had faded. If she thought she were plain at the best of times, tears left her totally ugly. Thinking of how she would look to Wyn as soon as he saw her now made her cry harder.

  Finally, no matter what her thoughts, her sobs abated. She felt wrung out — exhausted — drained. She tried to keep her face buried, but he gently and firmly pulled away from her, scanning her face.

  "There's so much hurt in your eyes it breaks my heart," he said. "Is it those damned shoes, Sarah?"

  She nodded, crumbling the handkerchief in her fingers, then wiping her cheeks. "I'm sure I look horrible."

  "You look sad. Hurt. There's a big difference."

  "I should have known better." She pillowed her head on her bent arm and looked into his face, knowing how ghastly she had to be but unable to refuse herself the soothing balm of his blue eyes.

  "Tell me," he urged.

  After a moment of gathering her thoughts, she briefly explained it to him. Dan had chastised her about the schoolbooks to the point where she knew she would be making a huge mistake to offer the children shoes. However, every time she remembered the rows of battered shoes and boots in the cloakroom during the deep snow — recalled the children's chattering teeth and how she would sit them beside the stove until their feet warmed each morning — she knew she had to figure out something.

  The Birthday Day had seemed perfect. On birthdays, children received gifts. No one would be impolite enough to turn down a birthday gift.

  But the mountain families had — including Dan. They had taken the shoes as charity instead of the heartfelt gifts she had meant them to be. After she stumbled through the tale of her suffering that morning — her complete agony — as the children carried their shoes up and dropped them on her desk, she brought her downcast gaze back to Wyn's face. The look he gave her in return was troubled rather than understanding.

  She dropped her eyes again. "I know I was wrong. I'll . . . I'll send the shoes back on Jeeter's next load. The church can use them."

  "Pa and I will buy the shoes off you if necessary."

  She lifted her eyes hopefully. "If necessary?"

  "I was recalling something the twins asked about this morning. How much the shoes cost, so they could figure out how they could earn them on their own. Perhaps the mountain families would accept some sort of compromise like that."

  Her hope fled. "These people don't compromise. It's their way or none."

  "Is that how you felt when Pa and Mandy came up with the compromise about the library?"

  "Well, no. But that was different."

  "How?"

  She thought about it. "I don't know. But it has to be, doesn't it? They gave me credit for having a good idea, and came up with some way it could still work, without damaging those overflowing pockets full of pride these people have."

  He tenderly touched her cheek. "I think there's a debutante within our midst that has a few full pockets of pride herself. And she's pretty smart. Bet she can come up with something to get her own way."

  Sarah pursed her lips, studying him but her mind drifting.

  She started to speak, but Wyn broke in, "The only thing I ask is that you talk to me about whatever idea you come up with first. I'll be candid with you and tell you whether or not it will work, and you have to promise that you'll pay attention to me and realize that I'll only tell you the truth."

  Excitedly, she sat up on the bed. "I can come up with something. I know I can."

  "I would hope so. You've been here among these people for several weeks now. I've met people who could live here all their lives and never be smart enough to understand this lifestyle, but you are. The reason you can is because you care. You honestly care, Sarah, not just for yourself but for the people."

  She reached out a hand and cupped her palm on his cheek. "Thank you, Wyn. That means a lot to me."

  "Enough that your thanks might include a kiss?" he asked hopefully.

  "Maybe even more than one," she murmured.

  When she attempted to lie down beside him again, he stopped her and sat up. Leaning forward, he stared at her for a long, silent moment, his eyes caressing her almost as though he were memorizing her features. The he tilted his head and kissed her. Very, very gently. Very tenderly.

  All too briefly.

  When he ended the kiss, she followed his withdrawal yearningly. He tapped her on the lips with his fingertip.

  "No. Only one, Sarah. Only one. And only that one because I can't bear to see you unhappy. We'll work this out, Sarah, sweetheart. Get your self-respect back, as well as the respect of the children's parents. Then you can go on back to New York with your pride and esteem intact."

  Sarah stared at him with wide eyes. How could he do that? How could he call her sweetheart and in the same breath tell her to go home? But he was right about one thing. Pride filled her own pockets, too, a
nd she would sooner die than ask Wyn why he wanted to get rid of her instead of seeing if they could make a relationship work.

  He had informed her days ago about some heavy thinking he needed to do. Evidently, he did that thinking and she came up lacking. Or, more to the point, his feelings for her came up lacking.

  Her debacle with the shoes clinched things. He probably realized she would never fit in here without a lot of help and someone overseeing her actions at all times.

  He only felt sorry for her right now because she was crying, as any decent gentleman would. He'd made his choice, although putting it that way wasn't exactly right, either. His choice had been made two years ago when he left Rose and returned to his family. She would have meant a change in mind, not a choice. She would have meant expanding his life to some perimeters he didn't feel necessary. He had his hands full caring for his family. He didn't need to take on a woman who would only cause him more worries and problems.

  Until that moment, she didn't even realize she had done her own share of heavy thinking. That she had come to her own conclusions. Didn't even realize exactly what her own doubts were — what her downfalls would be.

  His last, brief, final kiss had been an act of sympathy, not shared love. That hurt her more than anything. That pain was deadly — devastating. That pain would carry her away from here as soon as she could go — as soon as she could finish the last three weeks of the school year. That would also be enough time to at least write down all her ideas and the contacts needed to carry them out. The mountain people could either then follow through with her other offers of assistance on their own, which would suit their pride, or turn her down flat, which might suit them just as well.

  "Wyn!" Someone pounded on the door. "Wyn, are you in there? Why's the door locked? Miss Sarah never locks the door."

  Wyn rolled off the bed and reached down to pull her to her feet. The bedsprings protested the movements, and she realized they'd squealed more than once the last few minutes. She cast an alarmed look at the door.

  Wyn gently shoved her toward the stove and washbasin in the other corner of the room. "Go wash your face," he said in a low voice. "The twins are probably here for their evening homework help. I'll tell them I'll help them at the store this evening."

  "No!" She wiped her eyes yet again, then continued, "Please. I need to keep busy this evening. I'll go wash my face, but let them in. I'll work with them here."

  "If you're sure."

  She only nodded, but inside her mind she said, Oh, I'm sure. Night will come soon enough with all my thoughts tumbling around inside me. I want to put it off as long as I can.

  She wondered if he realized she hadn't promised to check with him before she carried out any more of her ideas.

  ~~~~

  More than once the next few hours, Wyn wished Sarah had left that evening's tutoring of the twins to him. No customers showed up at the store, and Dan had already stocked the shelves with the latest load of supplies from Jeeter. Wyn wandered up and down the aisles, here straightening a can; there picking up a nail from the floor and tossing it back into its box.

  Sarah, though, if she were as unnerved as he, probably welcomed the distraction of working with the twins. It would keep her from recalling her distress over the failed gift of shoes. It would also keep her from dwelling on his blundering attempt to let her know there could never be anything further between them.

  He didn't meant to tell her that way. But he hadn't expected it to come crashing down on him that suddenly, either. He hadn't expected to realize he had fallen deeply, irretrievably in love with Sarah Channing while he stood there and watched her tear-streaked face.

  And he hadn't expected to realize how much his love would bring her down — make her suffer — put her through the same type of agony as the shoes had many times over. Or how much Sarah would be giving up, if he were stupid enough to pursue his quest to make her love him in return.

  The problem was — the major problem — the one that broke his heart and made him aware of just what he would be giving up in return for his safeguarding of Sarah's heart — was that he was pretty darned sure he could make her love him in return. And he was damned sure he would never love another woman like he loved Sarah. His feelings for Rose paled compared to the wrenching desire he felt to see Sarah happy and fulfilled in her life.

  And that was another major problem. His love, should she return it, wouldn't make Sarah happy. It would make her suffer. His love would turn on him — on them — and he'd end up all too soon aware he was the one responsible for the gold dust fading from Sarah Channing's eyes, leaving them an ordinary, dull brown. The one who caused those firm, beautiful shoulders to bow. The one who stood by helplessly and watched her dwindle into nothingness — watched her love for him turn to resentment.

  That happened to plenty of mountain women. Of course, it had never happened to his mother, but she'd had his pa's love to lean on. And she was a mountain woman born and bred. She and Mandy, while not born in the Great Smokies, nonetheless came from Kentucky, meeting his pa and Calvin Tuttle when they forayed out from Razor Gully in search of an adventure before settling down for good.

  He'd heard the story many times — how Mandy and Maria left their homes in the Cumberland Mountains and found jobs clerking in a store in Lexington. How they all met, and how all four of them hated the city and came up with the idea of a store and boarding house on Sawback Mountain. Each new MacIntyre child had to hear the story as soon as he or she was old enough to understand it.

  Near sundown, Wyn's only break in his troubled yet decisive thoughts came when Robert walked in as he was thinking of closing and washing up for supper. His brother-in-law settled on one of the cane back chairs at the wood stove, which was cold this evening. During the warmer weather, like now, Wyn never lit the stove, but in the winter he and Dan kept the fire hot for the visitors and customers. The spit-cans scattered on the floor had brown stains around every one of them, but most of the men hit their mark. As well as not drinking, Robert didn't chew, and he nudged one spit-can aside to stretch out his long legs.

  Wyn settled beside his brother-in-law, pleased with the diversion. Sorrowfully, he noticed Robert sat with the scarred side of his face in the shadows.

  "Glad to see you out and about," he told Robert. "You've been hiding in that room upstairs for the last two days, when it's been time for you to see people besides the family again. I'm not gonna say your face isn't bad, but hiding isn't gonna make it go away."

  Robert raised an eyebrow and shook his head slightly. "I'm not the only one hidin' from myself. At least I've got an excuse. You never know when a customer who's got a young'un with her will show up here at the store. Right now I'd scare the bejesus out of a young'un who hadn't seen me before. Give the poor thing nightmares for months."

  "And what the hell am I supposed to be hiding from?"

  "Not what. Who. That pretty schoolteacher who's gotten to be Sissy's friend. You know, I never met that there Rose I heard you took up with while you were gone from Sawback Mountain. And since she never had no desire to come meet me, neither, I doubt I'm missin' much."

  "Sarah's not really a schoolteacher. You weren't here when she arrived, but I would have thought Sissy would tell you. Sarah's a Channing from New York City. Her father died a couple weeks before she brought Mairi back here, and Sarah's an heiress with more money than every one of these families all put together will see in ten lifetimes. Maybe more even."

  Robert let out a low whistle. "Why the hell's she hangin' around Sawback Mountain then?"

  "Teaching school," Wyn told him succinctly.

  "Well, she's doing a danged good job of that," Robert admitted. "Sissy's already worryin' that we won't have as good a teacher here when Bobbie gets ready for school. That we might get another one like that there Pruneface Elliot"

  "Ah, women always find something to worry about."

  "Yeah." Robert gave a wry chuckle. "Trouble is, lots of times they come up with things d
amned important enough to worry about. Then we've got more thing added onto our list of worries too."

  Wyn let the silence stretch out for a moment. Then, he said, "I ordered your copper tubing. And this time, make sure you check the connections closer."

  Robert grunted, but something about the way he acted bothered Wyn. Everyone knew all along Robert would go back to making 'shine after he failed to find a job up in West Virginia. Robert enjoyed the process and having his whiskey praised by his customers. If Robert could have found a job in Lynchburg or one of the other distilleries, he could have lived his life the way a lot of men only dreamed of doing — making money and supporting their families at jobs they enjoyed.

  Yet Wyn somehow sensed this long-standing ache in Robert's life wasn't what troubled him now.

  "You been out to the still yet?" he asked.

  Robert shook his head. "All I know's what you told me. But I'm going out tomorrow. And I'd like to take your rifle with me."

  Wyn got the picture immediately. "I didn't see any sign of tampering at that still. Cabbage has never operated like that before."

  "Well, maybe Cabbage thought I was leaving for sure and got a little pissed when I showed up back home and opened my still again. But since Cabbage carried me here to the store, and even sent one of his boys after Leery 'cause he knew Doc MacKenzie was gone, I ain't really thinkin' he did anythin' out there."

  "Hell, Robert. Just because those footprints I saw out there looked like they were made from newer boots doesn't mean revenuers are snooping around. Pa's sold several pair of new boots here recently. I asked him."

  "Can I use the rifle or not? And you might's as well go ahead and order me a rifle of my own, next order you send in."

  "I'll do that, but you explain your need for a rifle to my sister."

  "No one will explain anything to my wife," Robert growled. "I'll keep the gun somewhere she won't see it."

  "You make damned sure you also keep it where no young'uns will run across it," Wyn snarled in defense of his censure of Robert. "One of them young'uns might be Bobbie. I've been thinking of starting to train the twins on gun safety — Pa always said each of us would learn in time, and Ma agreed with him. But I haven't done it yet, and I don't have time right now. I don't want them running across a rifle and trying to figure out how it works. You can't call a bullet back once it's fired."