An Improper Situation (Sanborn-Malloy Historical Romance Series, Book One)

by Baily, Sydney Jane

  “At least the children are relatives,” he offered, but it was clearly not meant to ease her mind, and Charlotte grasped that he’d known all along what was worrying her. And he was amused!

  “It’s not funny, Mr. Malloy. I have to live here. What if my neighbors want to ride me out of town on a rail?”

  Perhaps he was trying to look serious but he was failing. He finished up the tart in two more bites.

  “I didn’t think you cared a fig for what people thought of you. They all think you’re eccentric anyway, don’t they?”

  That hurt. What’s more, she did care. She longed to fit in, if only she knew how. She had feared for years that it was too late, that any attempts by her to enter into the social life of Spring City would be rebuffed and she would be laughed at.

  But what did Reed Malloy think? That she was odd, that she didn’t care about anyone else’s opinion? Did he think she was made of stone?

  The expression on her face must have been morose, indeed, for he came to crouch before the swing, his eyes locked on hers.

  “I was only teasing. I’m sure that the good people of Spring City think that you’re as upstanding and straight-laced as they are. Even more so, since you live the life of a hermit.”

  She winced. “I never meant to be a hermit.”

  She tried to laugh as if none of his words mattered. But failing dismally, she lowered her eyes and started to play with the red cloth covering the basket on her lap.

  “What did you intend for your life? You don’t like being thought of as odd or as a hermit or a wanton.” He was speaking so plainly, he deserved an honest answer.

  “I guess, at this point, I’d settle for ordinary.”

  Without warning, his hand was on her chin, raising her face and forcing her to look at him. “That you’ll never be, lady writer. Don’t pretend to be any different from who you are, but,” and he paused, seeming to search her green gaze for the very essence of her being, “don’t hide from what life has to offer either. There’s more to the world, Miss Sanborn, than this homestead outside of a little town called Spring City.”

  He was going to kiss her. She knew it, absolutely, from the look on his face to the intensity in his sky-blue eyes. His hand was still on her chin. All he had to do was hold her there and then bring his mouth a little closer.

  “We’re hungry,” came Lily’s call from just inside the screen door.

  Charlotte gasped and she watched Reed’s eyes widen slightly with surprise. Then he smiled.

  “As for the rumors, they’ll all blow over,” he paused, fixing her with that sparkling gaze once more, filled with mischievous laughter, “or maybe we’ll give them a real reason to gossip.”

  With that threatening statement, he took the basket from her, retrieved his own, and left her alone on the porch, her pulse still racing.

  Charlotte stared after him, trying to calm the flutter that seemed to have taken up permanent residence in her stomach.

  Chapter Five

  The peculiarity of having them in her home began to wear off by the following week. The awkwardness of running into Reed Malloy as she went to the water closet or came out of the bathing room in her father’s banyan, of finding a man’s razor by the bathtub and little girl’s stockings in the wash bowl—all of it had happened and been passed over and was now being ignored as if it had always taken place.

  Amazing, as far as Charlotte was concerned, was that items, broken for years, were fixed as if by magic, such as the hole in the study floor and the cracked stair tread. She would hear Reed whistling outside with a saw in one hand, the kids sitting nearby chatting with him, and then by the end of the day, the work was done. She always thanked him, which he would shrug off, giving her an enigmatic smile.

  She thought that, perhaps, he was using her home as a welcome change from all that he knew in the city. He was dressing in denims bought at Webster’s store in town, barely combing his hair, sitting on her porch swing at all hours with one of her father’s books in his hand—one day Uncle Tom’s Cabin, another day The Count of Monte Christo—and happily wielding a hammer when necessary.

  After nearly two weeks with her visitors, Charlotte was starting to wonder how long this could go on with her hiding in her study, Reed and the children discovering things to do during the day, and then everyone congregating for meals.

  As far as Charlotte could see, this had nothing to do with her being an adequate guardian when, except for occasionally lending a hand at bathing time, she was doing little in the way of parental duties. Reed Malloy was not only doing it all; he seemed to be relishing the assignment immensely.

  And, of course, she was relishing the sight of him in his well-fitting denims!

  It was another delicious supper, and she added a little more butter to her boiled potatoes, while shooting a quick glance to the man at the other end of the table. Should she say something to him tonight?

  The children were settling in comfortably, too comfortably perhaps. They’d rearranged their room and were talking about sending for their toys. Reed seemed unconcerned with his business in Boston, having mentioned the capability of his partner and associates.

  The truth was, even now, when she knew something had to give, she was loathe to say anything and disturb the peaceful arrangement they’d fallen into so quickly.

  Her writing had not suffered. In fact, she’d taken some comfort in knowing there were other people in the house, and without having to forage for food in town or at the neighbor’s, she’d had more time to complete her work.

  Reed had sent off another article for her that afternoon on his trip to town. She had spent an agreeable afternoon playing with the children. More games and flower-picking and—

  “A dance?” came a veritable squeal from Lily that brought Charlotte out of her reverie, as she mashed yet another boiled potato under her fork. She realized she’d been staring at Reed without hearing a word he was saying.

  “That’s what I said.” He was helping himself to seconds of the corn. “A barn dance. And we’re all invited.”

  Charlotte nearly choked on a piece of roast beef. As it was she coughed loudly and, with eyes watering, asked, “What do you mean ‘We’re all invited’?”

  Reed stared back at her. “Just what I said. Even you, Miss Sanborn.”

  “Even me,” she repeated indignantly. “Well, of course, me, I live here. But how could you be? I mean, no one even knows you.”

  “Despite that, Miss Sanborn, it’s a friendly town and when I was at the post office today, or rather, at Jackson’s,” he clarified, referring to the general store that handled the express and the regular mail, “I saw the notice about the dance. While I was looking at it, one of your townspeople—Miss Prentice, I believe—told me to come along as they could always use another dance partner.”

  Charlotte thought of the petite Miss Prentice with her tightly wound blond curls and her big blue eyes and wondered just how long her conversation with Reed had lasted.

  Of course, Eliza Prentice would latch onto a fresh bachelor the moment he wandered into town, thinking nothing of striking up a conversation with a stranger and immediately asking him to a dance. She was an incorrigible flirt, despite the fact that she was already betrothed. But how much had Reed told Eliza about his accommodations?

  “Are you sure you’re telling me everything, Mr. Malloy?”

  His eyes widened visibly but he said nothing. The children looked from one adult to another, visibly excited over the idea of a dance.

  “Are we going?” It was Thomas this time, and he actually sounded eager to venture out in public.

  “Yes.” “No.” Their adult voices were simultaneous. Charlotte sighed.

  “Does the whole town know that you’re staying here, or not, Mr. Malloy?”

  “I assure you, I always maintain the utmost discretion. Of course, we don’t know what Mrs. Cuthins might have imparted.” His grin was broad. “As far as the fair Miss Prentice is concerned, I’m here on busi
ness, which I am, am I not?” He didn’t wait for a reply. “Of course,” he added, “everyone will see we’re together when we enter the dance.”

  The kids squealed again, assured that they were all going, but Charlotte was not budging.

  “I’m definitely not going and I’m not at all convinced it is a dance for children, my cousin’s children, Mr. Malloy, but I am sure you will have an enjoyable time.” She hoped that sounded firm and final because she could see that Reed Malloy had other ideas.

  As expected, he fixed her with a challenging look, accompanied by the children’s protests.

  “Why can’t we go, Aun’ Charlie?” Thomas asked, stuffing a piece of meat in his mouth at the same time.

  “Don’t you like to dance?” Lily added as if she couldn’t imagine such a thing. She eyed Charlotte with wonder.

  “I’m extremely busy right now, children. And . . . I, well, I don’t go to dances often.” Try never, she added silently. “As for you—”

  “Who would have thought it,” Reed said slowly, interrupting her words, “the highly opinionated, independent Charlotte Sanborn, . . . a wallflower.”

  “A wallflower!” she said horrified. Thank God the children wouldn’t know what that meant. She would never have phrased it thus.

  “A shrinking violet, then?” he offered, his tone helpful though his eyes were glittering.

  In truth, she was quite shy, and something about groups made her feel a bit lost. Anything that she could say so well on paper, never came out of her mouth with the same finesse and effect.

  Charlotte sighed. This was getting too complicated by far. The sooner the children and their handsome lawyer were out of her house the better. Suddenly, Lily exclaimed aloud as her knife slipped and she cut her index finger. Charlotte was out of her chair instantly, taking hold of Lily’s hand and pressing the small wound tightly with a clean towel to staunch the bleeding.

  Lily looked very pale and Reed stood up, putting his hand on her small shoulder. “I suppose we’re supposed to cut the meat for them,” he said, and if Charlotte hadn’t known better, she would have sworn he seemed a bit off kilter, sounding doubtful for the first time since she’d known him. Maybe it was the sight of blood on the little girl’s hand.

  After a moment, Charlotte said, “There, it’s not bad at all. It’s barely a graze. The bleeding has stopped.” Thaddeus had done much worse many times. “Come on, Lily, let’s go clean it up a bit.”

  Reed started to follow and Charlotte shook her head, still holding onto the little girl’s hand. He was fussing like an old biddy and it would only make Lily more frightened. “There’s no need for you to come along, Mr. Malloy. It’s a small cut; all it needs is a clean piece of gauze. You and Thomas finish your supper.”

  She hustled the little girl up the stairs to where she kept a few medicinal items. Charlotte was beginning to think it would be good for the children to experience the freedom of the west—it seemed they were coddled much more than she or her brother ever were. It was also relieving to know that Reed wasn’t completely at ease as a mother hen; she had started to think he was damned near perfect at everything.

  “Aunt Charlotte?” Lily broke in to her musings, shifting in the chair as Charlotte applied witch hazel with a cotton pad.

  “Hold still,” she admonished gently.

  “Aunt Charlotte?”

  “Yes, Lily?” She was cutting a small piece of gauze.

  “We can go to the barn dance can’t we? My finger won’t ruin it?”

  Charlotte looked up from what she was doing, holding the gauze firmly in place. But there was no manipulation in the little girl’s face. She simply assumed they would be going and would blame herself if they didn’t.

  Charlotte felt her heart melt. Certainly, the children could use a little amusement and gaiety in their young lives that had already experienced such bereavement. She looked away from the girl’s soft brown eyes and began to tie the end of the gauze.

  “No, honey, your finger won’t ruin it. By the time of the dance, you probably won’t even have to wear the bandage. Now, how about some dessert?”

  *****

  It was late by the time supper was over and the children were bathed and tucked in bed. It was story time and Charlotte was now expected to do the honors since she had done so with such success each night since the game of tag had bonded them all together more closely.

  Though she was sure Reed Malloy was as well read as herself, he seemed content to sit on the window seat, his face shadowed, and listen to her. She sat on Thomas’s side of the bed, her back turned to Reed and both children were commanded to keep their eyes closed or the story would stop.

  Lily held her bandaged finger out straight on top of the bed clothes and Thomas turned on his side. Both their faces held rapt expressions as Charlotte conjured a kingdom of princes and princesses, and fairies both good and slightly bad, and, of course, dragons and griffins.

  By the time she finished telling the old tale she remembered her father reading to her out of a big book with illustrations, the children were fast asleep. Charlotte turned to Reed and he nodded, blowing out the lamp. Together, they tiptoed out of the room and down the stairs.

  “You did well tonight,” he offered as they stepped out onto the front porch for some air.

  Charlotte was glad the dark, clear night hid her blush. “Thank you for saying so, Mr. Malloy. I could tell stories from now until doomsday and I don’t think I’d grow tired of the telling—though I hope most of my readers stay awake for the outcome.”

  He laughed and Charlotte liked the sound, deep and genuine. “You are a consummate story teller, Miss Sanborn, but I was actually referring to your handling of the situation with Lily’s finger.”

  “Oh.” She made a minor mental adjustment, withdrawing the first mistaken compliment and substituting the other in its place.

  “I am finding that being with the children is easier than I envisioned, but then,” she continued, moving toward the porch swing, “we’re all just playing around, after all. School is not in session, no one has become sick, and I haven’t cooked a meal or shopped for provisions since you got here.”

  She couldn’t help smiling at him. “You have been here constantly lending a hand and keeping them out of my way while I work.”

  Reed followed her to the swing, and Charlotte moved aside quickly, startled when he sat down beside her, but she continued her thought: “It is not real life, Mr. Malloy.” I wish that it were, she thought to herself. She could certainly get used to this—all of it and all of them.

  He remained silent a moment, looking straight ahead across her front yard to the long line of trees that went up as far as the road to town. She was aware of her heart beating faster, just because they were alone and he was close. She told herself she was a fool, to be moved just because a man was near, but his muscled leg against the side of her skirts felt warm and powerful.

  She had to concentrate when he started speaking, and stop herself from thinking of the strong, sensual lips that were forming the words.

  “I don’t know what to tell you, Miss Sanborn. I am not a man to give up, and you don’t seem a quitter to me, either. What I’d like is for us both to be on the same side, then I’m sure we can work this out.”

  He looked down at her, so close beside him. “Your cousin wanted you to be their guardian. You don’t want the responsibility because of your work. The children want a home and are excited by coming out west. Their grandmother wants them, but Ann didn’t want her to raise them. I’ve got a law practice to which I must return, but I can’t shirk my responsibility as executor of the will.”

  He brought one ankle to rest comfortably on the knee of his other leg, as he draped his arm along the back of the wooden swing. That was almost her undoing, the feel of his fingers resting ever so lightly just behind her left shoulder. It was as if all her skin was supersensitive, honing in on whatever part of his body came close to her.

  “You’re a smart wom
an,” he concluded. “You tell me how I should tie this all up in a neat package and make everyone happy.”

  She stared at him and was at a loss for words. They could not be on the same side since they were of opposite opinions as to where the children should be. If she let the children stay, it wouldn’t be the same as it was now. There would be all the little details to work out, and she wondered if the upkeep money he’d mentioned covered her need to hire a woman to help with the cooking and cleaning.

  Could she concentrate on her writing with them in the house? She would be there with them alone, and Reed Malloy would be thousands of miles from Spring City. She sighed and turned away. Why should that be the one thing uppermost in her mind now?

  “Thanks for the input, Miss Sanborn,” he said, wryly.

  She laughed and the sound was foreign to her own ears. It startled her and she raised a hand to her throat. “Well, it has been fun.”

  “That was the last thing I expected you to say.”

  “Do I seem such a stick?” She was extremely interested to learn Reed’s perception of her. He was a man who must know a lot of people—many of them women—and she wondered how she compared.

  “No,” he said firmly, with a shake of his head. “Your laughter is lovely, just not heard often enough. You have your priorities and they don’t seem to include any amusements. Instead of being a wallflower, Miss Sanborn, try being a wildflower.”

  She should have been affronted at his presumptiveness, but she smiled at that curious image he’d conjured. “I do have to support myself, all on my own hook, even though I need very little money for my lifestyle.”

  She stood up, moving away from him to lean against the railing, resting the side of her head against the porch post. She surveyed the stars of the sky so familiar to her, aware all the time that he was studying her profile.

  “I honestly don’t know how to resolve this situation. I only know what my lifestyle is, for good or for ill. It seems to have suited me so far. If I had the children then I’d need . . . a wife, I guess.” She looked at him.