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

by Baily, Sydney Jane

  Charlotte didn’t have long to wonder why Reed had let them go so easily. He had been busy at her home, she saw, planting rose bushes in the front. It took Charlotte’s breath away as they rounded the corner, Lily perched on her knee holding the reins.

  Reed and Thomas were nowhere in sight, so the two females scrambled down from the wagon. It had been a splendid day and Charlotte was already in a good mood, savoring the feeling of contentment at going home to a full house—and then to see what Reed had accomplished in such a short time!

  “It’s magic,” Lily exclaimed.

  They paused only long enough to unhook Alfred and lead him around to the stable where Reed’s horse stood. Here, too, there were changes. Reed had tilled the ground where her mother used to grow vegetables and he’d turned over the topsoil, ready for planting. A pile of weeds lay a few feet away.

  Charlotte shook her head in wonder, as she turned Alfred free in the small paddock. It was second nature for her to check his water and fill his food trough and then, she and Lily hurried toward the door.

  They burst into the kitchen and stopped short—a veritable feast was obviously being prepared. Thomas sat on the stool, peeling potatoes, and Reed Malloy was attending to something in the oven that smelled heavenly. As he stood up and turned around, Charlotte’s eyes raced over him.

  She had grown slightly accustomed to his presence but not to the downright raw handsomeness of the man. Now, dressed in well-worn dungarees and a light cotton shirt, a handkerchief tied at his neck to catch the sweat, and comfortable looking cowboy boots, he looked the epitome of a westerner.

  “Yes, Miss Sanborn?” There was downright pleasure dancing in his eyes.

  She pretended to be serious as she frowned and shook her head at him in mock amazement.

  “I didn’t know eastern lawyers could dirty up so well.”

  He laughed aloud at that.

  “Well, you can take over with dinner now that you’re here.”

  He laughed again at her genuine look of terror. “Or at least Lily can take over and you can help her. I’ve got to go take a bath. I’m not fit to sit down to dinner with two such beautiful ladies.”

  Lily giggled at this while her little brother snorted his disgust. Charlotte kept silent, the smile crinkling the corners of her eyes.

  “Have you got packages in the wagon?” he asked as an afterthought.

  “Uh, yes,” Charlotte replied, nervously remembering her dress.

  But Lily gave the warning as she followed Reed to the door. “No peeking, Uncle Reed,” she called after him.

  Charlotte set to helping cook the meal, but had difficulty keeping her mind off the man in the room above them. After he’d heated the water, Reed disappeared upstairs.

  She thought of him removing his work clothes, and then sinking his body into the steaming water, first his feet, then his well-shaped calves and hard thighs, then . . .

  “Sugar!” she exclaimed, shocking herself with her own thoughts.

  “What is it?” Lily asked.

  Her cheeks pink, she merely shrugged. “Nothing at all.”

  Over dinner, she thought more about the dance than she did of the succulent roast chicken.

  “Excuse me?” she asked, realizing that Reed had just asked her a question.

  “I asked what you’re currently writing about.”

  She answered but all the time her mind was imagining them dancing in the candlelight of Drake’s barn in town. She smiled at him directly through her reverie and he smiled back broadly before she caught hold of herself, feeling a sudden hot flush at the stupid expression she must have worn.

  It was much later that night, after the unexpected treat of hearing Reed play the old, untuned piano in the parlor, when Charlotte finally sat down to her work. She still felt dreamy as she searched for the right words to end her article on barbed wire. Who cares about barbed wire? she asked herself.

  The knock at the door made her jump guiltily as if Reed Malloy had known she was in there thinking of him. She kept telling herself that it was natural for her to be interested in the only male to darken her doorstep since . . . well, the only male to darken her doorstep. And such an incredibly male one at that!

  Then suddenly, his head was appearing around the door.

  Chapter Seven

  “Fancy a nightcap and some conversation?”

  Charlotte nodded wordlessly before she caught herself. Reed pushed the door open with his shoulder and she could see he carried two glasses in one hand and a bottle of brandy in the other. Now where did that come from?

  “Are you sure I’m not disturbing you?”

  “Oh no,” Charlotte said quickly. “I wasn’t getting any work done anyway.” She immediately wished she hadn’t said that as he honed in on the remark like the well-trained lawyer he was.

  “Why is that, Miss Sanborn?” He settled in the chair on the other side of her desk and, after attempting to clear a place on the little Pembroke table, finally set the glasses on top of the nearest pile of books.

  He didn’t look at her as he poured, but she was well aware that he awaited her answer. To give herself time, she moved around the front of her desk and leaned against it.

  “Naturally the events of the past weeks have caused a bit of turmoil in my head.”

  “Yes, of course.” His remark was toneless as he handed her a glass. “And I suppose the sooner it is all over with, the better for your career?”

  “My feelings have not changed any, if that is what you’re asking. I maintain that I am not well-matched to be their full-time caregiver.” She couldn’t believe they were at this again within seconds of starting a conversation.

  He narrowed his eyes, taking a sip of the brandy. “I see.” He stared into the rich amber liquid and Charlotte wondered just what it was he saw.

  She looked at his dark, thick hair, that now familiar lock of it hanging rakishly over his forehead—he looked like anything but her idea of a stuffy city lawyer. Her gaze went to his mouth, to the firm, well-defined lips that she had seen both smiling at her and held in a grim straight line. She preferred the gentle curve of his smile.

  His eyes flickered to hers and their gazes locked. Charlotte was unable to look away from his intense blue stare.

  “How about a compromise, Miss Sanborn?” She didn’t say anything, mesmerized by his sensual gleam that didn’t waver.

  “What if you were only a part-time guardian?”

  Charlotte frowned. “And how would that be?”

  “I’m not entirely sure, but an idea is coming to me. What if you were to move east with the children, have them live with you, and let their grandmother look after them whenever you were too busy.”

  Charlotte just stared at him for a full five seconds; she was utterly flabbergasted that he could expect her to rearrange her whole life and move thousands of miles from her home in order to make his duty as executor easier. What made him think that she had no roots here, no friends, no stake in her homestead? Of all the unmitigated gall!

  “You’re gurgling, Miss Sanborn.”

  “That’s because I can barely frame a civil word to you, Mr. Malloy. How dare you presume to move me and the children about to suit your liking, as though we’re pawns?” She looked down at her glass and took a sip of brandy.

  He had hit a nerve with that one, and she freely admitted—to herself only, of course—that moving was one thing that terrified her. This home, and Spring City, were all she’d ever known.

  His eyes widened in surprise at this reproachful utterance. He leaned forward, looking earnest. “I believe you’re making excuses, if you’ll pardon my saying so. As for the children, they’re young and completely unaffected by all this traveling. They find it exciting. As for you,” he paused and she stared into dark sapphires and was mesmerized once again.

  “As for you,” he continued, “I don’t presume, but I can suggest. I believe your writing career can only benefit from being in the midst of a large city as opposed to
being stifled out here. Besides, many great writers and thinkers have come out of New England—Longfellow, Whittier, Hawthorne.”

  “Thoreau, Emerson,” she added, with an involuntary grimace. “All men. If I were to move anywhere, Mr. Malloy, I would be better off moving to Wyoming. At least there, I could vote, and have a say in the laws that you so aptly use in the defense of your clients.”

  He smiled at her. “I assure you, the Woman’s Suffrage Association is active in Boston. The women of Massachusetts already have a great deal of power, Miss Sanborn. Perhaps you heard about the 1860 strike parade of shoe workers? That was led by 800 women.”

  She wasn’t convinced. The issue was not, after all, her being a woman in Boston. The issue was her own terror at facing the unknown, with two small children, in tow.

  “In fact,” he continued, “you would not only fit well in our fair city; you would be welcomed as another literary light if you chose to write under your own name. Frankly, I would be extremely pleased to have you as an addition to my circle of friends , and to show you around.”

  This last bit of news interested her the most; the idea of being escorted around Boston by Reed Malloy held great allure. But Charlotte was taken aback by this sudden insistence that she move east.

  “My career isn’t stifled,” she said finally, latching on to his earliest point as the only part of his speech she could debate. “After all, you had heard of me in Boston.”

  “Only because your cousin brought you to my attention.”

  She took another sip of her brandy.

  “I will . . . take it into consideration, Mr. Malloy. It had not occurred to me that I could share the responsibility of the children.”

  She lied—it had occurred to her, but only as a ridiculous daydream of sharing them right here in her own home with this handsome man whose very voice seemed to strum a chord in her. Something in that must have shown in her clear, artless face, for his own took on a bemused look.

  He tilted his head to one side, considering, and then he smiled and something about the sheer sensuality of watching his mouth caused her stomach to clench. He stood up, setting his glass down in a slow movement and letting his gaze come rest on her again.

  “It would make it easier on both of us,” he told her, and he seemed to lean in closer, until Charlotte could smell the clean male scent of him, all sandalwood and the warm aroma of brandy.

  Her heart started to thump somewhat painfully in the base of her throat. His interests seemed to be shifting from their discussion to something more personal as his hand reached down and took one of hers in a firm, warm grasp.

  The jolt that went through her at his touch was as strong as it had been the first day they’d met, and she sucked in her breath as he lifted it to his lips. His eyes left her own wary green gaze only once, noticing the telltale heartbeat, throbbing at the side of her throat, and she watched his pupils dilate.

  Gently, he kissed the back of her hand, and then, to her amazement—almost to her undoing—he turned her hand over and branded her soft palm with another searing kiss. She gasped and yanked her hand away as if she’d been burnt. His sudden inclination was clear to her, and the most frightening part was that she wanted to go along with whatever this improper Bostonian wanted to do.

  “I’d best be getting to bed,” she heard herself say, before flaming up in embarrassment, hoping he didn’t think she had that on her mind. Silently, she cursed. That was the second time she’d embarrassed herself in the same way. In truth, his eyebrows shot up devilishly as if he knew exactly what she was thinking.

  “What I mean to say,” she added, stepping away from him and heading for the door, “is that it’s late.” He was grinning like a cat with a canary in easy reach, but she heard him bid her good night as she slipped out the door. It wasn’t till she was on the stairs that she realized she’d fled her own study!

  *****

  When the tap came at her door the next evening, she was not as surprised. He was gracious enough to leave her to her work during the day, but it seemed, even he longed for some adult company at night. She had told herself if he came again, she would not let herself be scared off—no matter the turn of events.

  Charlotte took a deep breath, smoothed her hair, tugged absently at her white cotton blouse where it tucked into her skirt band, and beckoned him to enter.

  This time, he had two cups of coffee, but her first sip told her there was whiskey in the cup. It slid warmly down her throat, and she smiled.

  “I appreciate your thoughtfulness. It is a real treat to be waited on in my own home, and it has been a long time since I have had nightcaps.”

  He coughed at that, then crossed one denim-clad calf over the other, stretching his long legs out in front of him.

  “What is it?” she asked, seeing his amused look.

  “It’s just that you don’t seem old enough to have had a nightcap a long time ago unless it was the knitted type and you wore it to bed.”

  She blushed at this; he had caught her out, but she laughed good-humoredly at the image of her in a knitted nightcap.

  “Well, you’re right, Mr. Malloy. This study has not seen nightcaps of the liquid variety since my father’s day. But I do, on occasion, have a glass of wine at Fuller’s restaurant in town.”

  He sipped thoughtfully. “You mentioned that your father was a writer, too, didn’t you?”

  Charlotte found it easy to tell Reed about her family. Her stories of childhood were similar to the fantastical stories she told the children at bedtime, only these were of a family from the past; it seemed so long ago that she was a little girl with parents. She told him of her father’s love of history and his work chronicling the lives of the early settlers here; those who came even before the rich veins of gold were discovered.

  “I have read much history, Miss Sanborn, but I apologize, I have never heard of your father’s work.”

  She wrinkled up her nose. “That is because my father’s manuscripts lie right here in the drawer of this desk, still unpublished. One day, perhaps I’ll remedy that.” She shrugged.

  “Anyway, he continued to work on them until he died, though to earn a living, he had to turn to the more practical field of teaching. He was the schoolteacher in Spring City for many years. But what he wanted was to strike it rich in one of the mines and then . . . then I’m not sure what he would have done.”

  She spoke with such sangfroid that Reed asked, “Weren’t you close to him?”

  “Not particularly. He didn’t see that I had similar interests, but then he wasn’t close to anyone except my mother. He was extremely engrossed in his work—I guess I get that from him. And Mother, who saw that I was more similar to him than not, probably wished for a normal little girl. I know she missed her old life and all the social niceties of the city. But I’m sure you know more about that than I do.”

  “Some women live for it,” he said obliquely.

  Charlotte had the notion that he was not talking about her mother at that moment, but she nodded. “Fortunately, I’ve never known any other way than my life here, so I am content.”

  “What about your brother?” Reed asked, sipping his coffee.

  “Thaddeus was seventeen when he left.” She bit her bottom lip. “Now that was an all-overish feeling—coming inside this house after he rode off the first time. I see him about once a year, but I am not sure where he is now.”

  While Charlotte talked, she came around her desk and settled down on the floor in front of the fire. It seemed odd to her now, to think of her younger years. Sometimes, it just seemed as if she’d arrived here, fully grown, to look after Teddy and then to live out her quiet life without ever really connecting with anyone. She shook her head.

  “What?” he asked, coming to sit cross-legged beside her on the floor. “What are you thinking?”

  “I was just wondering what it would have been like to have a more normal upbringing. Would it have shaped me differently? Certainly, my nature was already fixed
as my mother pointed out to me time and again,” Charlotte smiled wryly.

  “But I wonder now, seeing Lily and Thomas if the tone of the household, with Father so preoccupied and Mother so restless, must have had something to do with Thaddeus being rootless and with my being somewhat of a stick in the mud now.” Though there were many moments lately, she thought, when she’d felt more akin to the wildflower that Reed had mentioned.

  “For the most part, there was no place here for children, not in my parents’ lives.” She sipped at her coffee again thoughtfully.

  “And now?” he asked.

  “Not now either,” she continued. “I think if I had been more attached to people as a child, I would feel the need for company as an adult and would find this solitary existence much more of a burden than I do. Once I got used to Teddy being gone, this lifestyle turned out to be a blessing. I can do as I please. But then, here,” she gestured around her to take in all of the house and the land and even Spring City, “there is not that much trouble I can get into as a single woman anyway.”

  She held her cup in both hands and breathed in the rich smell of the coffee, wondering why she was being so talkative tonight. Normally, she went weeks without speaking to another soul and now she was unburdening her thoughts on Reed Malloy, who seemed to be studying her intently and listening carefully.

  “Oh, I’m talking bunkum,” she finished.

  “No, I believe there’s something to what you’re saying.” His eyes remained fixed on hers. “I have always been outgoing and have enjoyed public oration since I was a youngster. I’m sure the confidence and security instilled in me as a child partially led to my following my father into the practice of law.”

  Reed looked into the fire a moment, smiling at something far away in his thoughts.

  “And the good-natured teasing of my sisters kept me humble, no matter my achievements.”

  But his confirmation of her notion worried Charlotte, especially in light of how they each had turned out. She was frowning, as she considered parents, a large family, and a secure home. He reached up and touched the deep furrow between her brows, but she was too distracted to be alarmed at this intimate gesture.