Ryleigh sat back in the rocking chair in the parlor of the home Teague had grown up in and rocked the baby in her arms. She still considered her son, Sean, a miracle. Actually, she looked upon the last two years of her life as a complete and wonderful surprise. She’d found . . . everything she never thought she’d have.
She and Teague married three weeks after Jefferson Logan had made his surprise visit and Desi Lyn, joined by Mrs. Calvin, had come home, accompanied by the rest of Teague’s family. Josiah presided over the ceremony and couldn’t have been more pleased. Almost the entire town had been in attendance, crowding into the church to witness the event. She still grinned every time she recalled the comment made by most of the townsfolk as they walked down the aisle as man and wife. “Well, it’s about time!”
Contentment whispered through her as she gazed down into Sean’s face and smiled. He had her thick, black hair and brilliant smile, but his eyes were definitely the MacDermott gray, though sometimes, especially when he was angry, she caught a glimpse of violet blue.
She let out a happy sigh and switched her focus to the family crowded into the parlor. Everyone was here―Teague’s brothers and their wives and children―to celebrate the upcoming release of her book, Hearts of Vengeance. A proper party was scheduled for tomorrow at the Prentice, but for now, they were all here, crowded into the house because of the rain pattering against the windows.
“I’m still surprised Brock said anything to you at all.” Her sister-in-law, Stevie Rae, opened the advance copy of the book about the MacDermotts and the Logans, although the names had been changed to protect the innocent as well as the guilty. “He only ever told me what happened once. After that, he never spoke of it again.”
“Eamon is the same way,” Theo piped in as she tried to find a more comfortable position on the settee, her big belly making it nearly impossible. She shouldn’t have traveled from Morning Mist Farms this late in her pregnancy, but she hadn’t wanted to miss the party. “Spoke about it once then never again. I don’t bring it up, but you know, I think talking with you helped, Ryleigh. He seemed, I don’t know, lighter somehow.”
Ryleigh grinned. She loved these women and had from the moment she’d met them when they flocked to Paradise Falls for her wedding to Teague.
It had taken more than a year to write Hearts of Vengeance simply because her life had changed in so many ways. Not only had she worked on the story, but she’d given birth to the light of her life and managed to write for the Paradise Falls Guardian as well as run the newspaper with Wesley.
“There’s someone at the door for you, Aunt Ryleigh.” Desi Lyn came to a skidding halt in front of her, almost stepping on Theo’s toes. She pushed the halo of her hair out of her face with frustration.
“Who is it?”
She shrugged as only an eight-year-old can. “I don’t know. He didn’t say, but he looks mean.”
Ryleigh rose from her seat and adjusted the weight of the baby in her arms. For a six-month-old, Sean was heavy, but healthy, for which she was grateful.
She glanced over at Teague who stood with his brothers. Their gazes met, and he smiled that crooked smile that tugged at her heart. He gave a slight nod, handed his glass of whiskey to Brock, then joined her in the hallway.
“Is something wrong?” His smile was wide as if he had a secret he couldn’t wait to tell.
She shook her head. “Desi Lyn said there’s someone at the door, but I can’t imagine who it is. Everyone is here.”
He just continued grinning at her. Ryleigh tilted her head and studied him. She knew him well enough to question that silly smirk, but he wasn’t spilling his secrets just yet. Still, curiosity rambled through her as she reached for the door and opened it.
“Father?” she squeaked, so surprised, she couldn’t do more than that.
“Hello, Ryleigh.”
She never thought she’d see him again. After Xander had gone back to San Francisco with her message, Magnus Steele, in a fit of anger, disowned her. And though it had hurt at the time, it no longer did. She accepted the fact that she and Magnus would never see eye to eye, never agree on anything. It didn’t matter that Magnus had cut all ties to her. She had a family now. Teague’s family. Friends who had become family.
Cordelia Steele moved from behind her husband and grinned. She had not been as cruel as Magnus and wrote frequently, even visiting after Sean had been born, though it went against Magnus’s wishes.
Ryleigh flung herself into her mother’s embrace, careful not to crush the baby in her arms. “Mama!”
“My darling girl! I’m so happy to see you.” The woman laughed as she pulled away, her gaze drifting to the baby. “Let me see my grandson!” She laughed again, her pleasure unrestrained at seeing her first-born grandchild.
Ryleigh handed the baby to her mother, then stood back and simply stared at her father. He hadn’t changed. Always a big man, he seemed even bigger. Imposing. Desi Lyn was right. Mean. Her eyes narrowed. “Why are you here?”
Magnus ignored the question, his gaze going from Ryleigh to Teague. Bushy gray eyebrows lowered over dark blue eyes. “You, I assume, are Sheriff MacDermott.”
Teague gave a slight nod. “Teague,” he corrected. “Yes, sir, I am.” He grinned, then stuck out his hand. “Thank you for coming. I wasn’t sure you would. Please, come in and join the party.”
Ryleigh stiffened as the implication of Teague’s words became clear. He had invited her estranged father? Why? She didn’t have a chance to ask.
“Tell her,” Cordelia prodded, nudging Magnus over the threshold with her shoulder as the baby reached out and tugged on the ribbon to her hat.
Magnus took a tentative step into the house. “I . . . uh . . . I read your book.”
Ryleigh moved closer to Teague. For protection? For support? “How? It hasn’t come out yet. I just received the advance copies last week.”
He smiled that smug smile she remembered so well and rocked back on his heels, folding his hands behind his back, the pose so familiar, she felt tears prick her eyes. How many times had he stood exactly that way, berating her for her clumsiness, for her ideas that didn’t mesh with his?
“Your publisher.”
“Mr. Young? He sent you a copy?”
His smile widened. “Mr. Young works for me. I own the publishing house. He recognized your name and notified me.”
She stiffened, a thousand thoughts running through her head with his announcement. She’d known he’d always wanted to expand his business, build his empire, as he said so often, but this . . . was intolerable. “So you told him to publish my story because I’m your daughter.” Her voice came out tight, her throat closing over the words.
Teague snaked his arm around her waist to pull her closer, and she relaxed a bit. She calmed even more as Brock and Eamon moved across the parlor to stand just on the edge of her vision. Theo, Stevie Rae, and Mrs. Calvin joined them, flanking her from the other side.
“Tell her,” Cordelia prodded again.
The big man let out a sigh and shook his head. “No, Ryleigh, not at all. I left all decisions in his hands. He wouldn’t have published Hearts of Vengeance if he didn’t think it was good. And it is, Ryleigh. It’s a wonderful book. You did well . . . and I’m proud of you.”
“Goodness, Magnus! Tell her.” Cordelia nudged him again.
He took a big breath and something changed in his demeanor. For a moment, he became less daunting, seeming to almost shrink inside the somber black suit he wore. “You’ve got quite the husband, Ryleigh. He wrote me and told me of your accomplishments. He also told me a few truths that I didn’t want to admit to myself. And he was right. I’m sorry. For how I treated you. For all the arguments we had. For not believing in you when I should have. For everything. Will you accept my apology?”
Tears pricked her eyes, and her heart melted. Not in all her thirty-three years did she ever expect an apology from the great Magnus Steele. It just wasn’t like him. He never thought himself to b
e wrong, and even if he did, he’d never admit it. She swallowed the lump in her throat, but still her voice came out tight. “Yes, of course.”
And then he did the most unusual thing. He stepped forward and hugged her, wrapping her in his arms. Stunned at first, she held herself stiffly, then relaxed into his embrace, remembering the smell of the bayberry cologne he’d always used. She pulled away and looked up into his face. There was love shining in his eyes, the best gift of all.
“Well, now, this is cause for celebration! Whiskey for everyone . . . except the children,” Eamon joked and led the family into the parlor, along with her parents.
Ryleigh turned to Teague as she closed the front door. “You did this?”
Teague nodded and flashed a crooked grin at her as he took her arm and walked her outside and into the yard, where they could be alone. “I did.”
“Why?”
He tilted his head as he gazed down at her, the MacDermott gray eyes like smoke rising from a fire, then wrapped his arms around her, drawing her closer. He lowered his voice to the timbre that always made her shiver. “Because I love you, Ryleigh Steele MacDermott. From the moment you stepped off that stagecoach and fell on me, you changed my life, and I couldn’t be happier. I’m proud to call you my wife, even though you’re so much more than that.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “And when you smile, I feel like the sun is shining only on me.”
Ryleigh chuckled as she placed her hand to the back of his neck and pulled him closer, her mouth taking possession of his as he’d taught her. As she did, the sun peeked from behind the clouds, bathing them in golden light.
Turn the page for an excerpt from
Mischief and Magnolias
Chapter 1
Natchez, Mississippi
September 1863
Shaelyn Cavanaugh leaned against the railing of the second-floor gallery of her home and focused on the two men coming up the road, their blue uniforms unmistakable. They rode at a swift pace, a trail of dust behind them.
Since Natchez, Mississippi, surrendered to the Union forces, it wasn’t unusual to see blue uniforms, especially since they’d made Rosalie, the home next door, their headquarters. But the two men didn’t turn into Rosalie’s drive as she expected.
Her breath caught in her throat when she glimpsed light auburn hair, much like her brother’s, gleaming in the sunlight. “Ian!”
His companion had raven-black hair, though it too reflected the sun’s light. Traveling with Ian, he could be only one man—the one she had promised to wait for. “James.” Her hand gripped the wrought-iron railing, her knuckles white. Tears blurred her vision. Her heart beat a frantic rhythm in her chest as excitement surged through her veins.
“They’re home!” she cried. “Mama!”
She lifted her skirts and ran for the outside staircase at the back of the house. “They’re home!”
She jumped, missing the last few stairs, and hit the veranda at a run, her skirts held high as she ran into the house through the French doors in the small sun parlor.
“Mama!” Shaelyn darted into the central hallway, her footsteps clicking on the marble tiles as she ran to the front door, flung it open, and rushed headlong into a pair of strong arms. She rested her head against a firm, hard chest, and squeezed tight. A button pressed into her cheek, but she didn’t care. They were home. “Thank God,” she whispered into the uniform.
“Well, that’s quite a greeting,” a deep, rich voice as smooth as drizzling molasses responded. Laughter rumbled in his chest. “Not expected, but certainly welcomed.”
“Hmm. Where’s mine?” his companion asked in the clipped tones of New England.
Shaelyn recognized neither voice nor accent and turned her head to glance at the auburn-haired man. Ian Cavanaugh did not look back at her, which meant she did not have her arms around James Brooks.
Her face hot with embarrassment, Shaelyn pulled away from the man. She drew in a shaky breath and stared. The most beautiful pair of soft blue-gray eyes she’d ever seen stared back. “Forgive me. I thought you were someone else.”
“Obviously,” the man replied. “Perhaps introductions are in order, although after your greeting, it may be too late.” Amusement gleamed from his eyes as a wide grin showed off his white teeth in a charming smile. She wanted to touch the dimple that appeared in his cheek. “Major Remington Harte.” He gestured to the man beside him. “This is my second in command, Captain Vincent Davenport.”
“Miss.” Captain Davenport bowed from the waist.
Shaelyn nodded in his general direction, but her focus remained on the major. She’d never seen hair so black or so thick. An insane impulse overwhelmed her—she wanted to run her fingers through that mass of thick, shiny hair and feel its silkiness. Struck by her own inappropriate thoughts, she stilled. He wasn’t James. She shouldn’t want to run her fingers through his hair.
“Are you Brenna Cavanaugh?”
“What?” Startled, Shaelyn shook her head. “No, I’m her daughter, Shaelyn.”
Footsteps rang out down the hallway. Shaelyn dragged her gaze away from the man in uniform for just a moment as her mother joined them at the door. “I am Brenna Cavanaugh.” A sweet smile accompanied the hand she offered the major. “May I help you?”
Introductions were quickly made, and Shaelyn watched the exchange of pleasantries, but her gaze was drawn back to the major. He looked dashing in his uniform. The dark blue complimented his eyes quite nicely. The material molded to his body, emphasizing his broad shoulders, lean waist, and slim hips. He stood tall, well over six feet she guessed, as her gaze swept the length of his body with admiration. She noticed a silver-tipped cane in his hand, which he leaned on. He must have been injured in battle.
She had always loved seeing a man in uniform. They stood differently: straighter, taller. Proud. They acted differently, too, as if wearing a uniform had something to do with how the world perceived them.
Her gaze met his and she felt the warmth of a blush creep up from her chest. A smile parted his full lips and her face grew hotter. She’d been staring at him and he knew it.
“Is this about Ian, my son?” Hope colored her mother’s tone, a hope she had tended carefully, like one tends a garden.
“Or James Brooks?” Shaelyn added.
“May we go inside?” Major Harte gestured toward the open door.
“Where are my manners?” Brenna smiled. “Of course.” She turned to Shaelyn. “Please show our guests into the sun parlor, dear. I just finished making tea.”
With effort, Shaelyn dragged her gaze away from the major and the pulse throbbing in his neck, above the collar of his uniform, which had mesmerized her. “Please follow me.”
Major Harte’s uneven footsteps echoed in the hallway and the tip of his cane tapped on the marble tiles as Shaelyn showed them into a small, comfortable, sun-filled room at the back of the house, while Brenna pushed through the swinging door to the kitchen. “Please, make yourselves comfortable.”
“Thank you.” The major moved to the fireplace and rested his arm on the mantle while Captain Davenport sat on a rattan love seat.
Shaelyn sank into a chair across from the captain, her fingers settling into one of the rattan grooves, and let out a slow breath—anything to still the anxiety plucking at her spine with its icy fingers and chilling her from the inside out. After a moment, the heat of the major’s gaze rested on her, negating that chill. He didn’t speak as she turned to face him, nor did he smile, but the warmth in his slate-colored eyes captured and held hers.
She opened her mouth, but no words issued forth. She didn’t know what to say. Or do. She’d never had to entertain Union officers, although her brother had marched off to war wearing blue. In all truth, she hadn’t entertained in a very long time, and the lessons her mother had taught her about proper decorum and genteel manners simply escaped her.
Captain Davenport didn’t speak either, and a heavy stillness filled the room, the only sound the rhythmic ticking of
the grandfather clock in the corner. An ominous sense of foreboding stole through Shaelyn with each passing minute. Her heart pounded, not with excitement now, but with dread. A lump rose to her throat. She knew, deep down, whatever the reason for these men to be here, no good would come of it.
Brenna entered the parlor and broke the silence. “Shaelyn, would you please pour?” Her mother placed a silver tea service on the table in front of the divan and took a seat in her favorite wicker chair.
Shaelyn rose from her seat, though her entire body trembled. With shaking hands, she lifted the teapot and started to pour. A few drops of the dark brew spilled onto a linen napkin on the tray and stained it brown.
She glanced up and caught the major’s wince before he addressed his second in command. “Captain, would you be so kind?”
“Of course.” Captain Davenport leaned forward and took the pot from her hands.
Shaelyn gave him a tremulous smile. Every muscle and sinew in her body tensed with apprehension as she moved behind the settee, her hand resting on her mother’s shoulder.
Captain Davenport handed Brenna her teacup and attempted to give one to Shaelyn as well, but she declined without a word, afraid her voice wouldn’t work over the lump constricting her throat.
Major Harte straightened and limped over to the chair opposite the divan, a grimace tightening his features. Shaelyn watched his painful progress and a surge of sympathy rippled through her.
“Now, Major, please tell us why you’re here. If it’s bad news, don’t make us wait, I beg you.” Brenna’s voice shook as she said the words. She grabbed Shaelyn’s hand and squeezed.
He hesitated. Shaelyn wanted to drag the words from his mouth. Whatever he needed to say, she just wished he’d do it. He took a deep breath. She prepared herself, swallowing hard against the bile burning the back of her throat.
“Mrs. Cavanaugh, are you the owner of Cavanaugh Shipping and the steamboats the Brenna Rose, the Lady Shae, and the Sweet Sassy?”
“Since my husband passed away,” Brenna replied. “Yes, I am, but Shaelyn runs the business. She’s quite good at it, despite this terrible war.”
A Kiss in the Sunlight Page 28