Suddenly Reunited

Jane O’Malley’s young heart broke in pieces when the man of her dreams left town after being rejected by her sister. Years later, Tom Leighton returns home, and Jane’s old feelings for him rush back as forcefully as the Tennessee mountain springs.

Tom left Gatlinburg behind without a word to allow his hurt heart to heal. Now he’s a man with a young niece to raise and amends to make in town to the people he abandoned—especially to Jane. The girl from his past has become a gorgeous, kind woman. Can he prove to her that she’s the only woman he wants?

“I haven’t been as understanding as I should’ve been. I know you didn’t intend to hurt me or anyone else. You did what you had to do, and I can’t fault you for that.”

Stepping close, his pant legs brushing her skirts, he very carefully cupped her cheek. A rogue sigh slipped through her lips. The rasp of his work-roughened palm against her skin wrought an intensely heady feeling inside. If only this wasn’t a platonic caress.

“My sweet Janie girl,” he murmured. “The memories of your laughter, your sweet smile, the way things were always easy and fun between us, kept me going this past year. You represented peace and calm at a time when my life was falling apart. I need your friendship.”

Friendship. Not love. Not devotion.

If he guessed how badly she yearned for more, he’d be revolted.

“Friendship,” she croaked. “Always. You have it.”

KAREN KIRST was born and raised in East Tennessee near the Great Smoky Mountains. A lifelong lover of books, it wasn’t until after college that she had the grand idea to write one herself. Now she divides her time between being a wife, homeschooling mom and romance writer. Her favorite pastimes are reading, visiting tearooms and watching romantic comedies.

The Bachelor’s Homecoming

Karen Kirst

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Delight yourself also in the Lord,

and He shall give you the desires of your heart.

—Psalms 37:4

To the ladies of Southside Baptist Church

who are fans of the O’Malleys—

thank you for your encouragement and support.

Mary Blakley, I’m blessed to know you

and to count you as a friend.

Retha Smith, your smile brightens my day.

Gina King, I love when we chat about the characters. Thanks for the cards.

Carole Gresham, Wilma Hayes,

Greta Griffin and more,

thanks for liking my books.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Epilogue

Dear Reader

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Gatlinburg, Tennessee May 1884

“Do you, Jane O’Malley, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

Jane opened her mouth. Say no. Say you’ve made a mistake.

“I—”

Family and friends had crowded into the quaint mountain church and were looking on with hushed expectation. Roy’s fingers tightened around hers, gentle brown eyes offering silent support. He’d been nothing but kind throughout their courtship. A perfect gentleman, save for the one time he’d attempted to kiss her—a proper kiss, not simply a buss on the cheek—and she’d shied away. How patient he’d been. How understanding.

What was the matter with her? Here was a hardworking, responsible man who desired to marry her...the too-quiet, too-shy, unexceptional O’Malley sister. She couldn’t throw away this one chance at a normal life for a man who didn’t want her, whose whereabouts and well-being were a mystery.

Moistening her lips, blood rushing in her ears, she struggled to push out those two simple words. Words that would change her life forever, bind her to a man she liked and admired but didn’t love.

The lace at her throat scratched. The blooms in her hair enveloped her in their cloying scent, nearly gagging her. Surely her sisters had tied her corset too tightly. Her lungs clamored for air.

She closed her eyes, and Tom Leighton’s face loomed in her consciousness. Though he’d been gone two years, his image was still crisp and clear. Like a photograph inscribed on her mind.

Dear Lord, give me the strength to follow through with this. Marrying Roy is the only way to purge Tom from my heart and soul.

“Jane?” Roy leaned in, his whisper threaded with anxiety. “You’re not gonna swoon, are you?”

The church doors crashed open. Jane jumped. Everyone twisted in the pews, craning to see who dared interrupt the ceremony. Roy dropped her hands as a petite brunette hurtled down the aisle, thunderclouds scrunching her features.

“I object!” The unfamiliar young woman jabbed a finger in Roy’s direction.

The groom audibly gasped as the color drained from his face. “Laura?”

Seated on the first pew, Jane’s identical twin sister, Jessica, mouthed something she couldn’t make out. Their mother fanned herself furiously. Her overprotective cousins exchanged looks of foreboding.

The reverend leveled a stern stare at the intruder. “What is the nature of your objection, Miss...”

“It’s missus.” Smirking at Jane, she planted her hands on her hips. “I’m Mrs. Laura Crowley. Roy’s wife.”

Chaos erupted. Several of Jane’s family members, including her cousins Caleb and Nathan, shot to their feet, forbidding features radiating anger. Her newest brother-in-law, Quinn, restrained them both and appeared to be urging them to stay calm. Her sisters shared matching expressions of dismay.

The reverend attempted to restore order. “Is this true, young man?”

“Y-yes. We were married at one time, but she deserted the marriage.” He threw up his hands. “I thought you had it annulled, Laura.”

“I didn’t draw up any such papers.”

“Why not?” he growled. A vein bulged in his neck. The telltale sign of rage in the otherwise even-tempered Roy gave Jane yet another shock. “You abandoned me. The least you could’ve done was set me free.”

“You drove me to leave.”

“That’s a lie.”

The reverend cleared his throat. “Ah, perhaps we should take this discussion to a more private setting.”

“What’s there to discuss?” Laura said. “Roy and I are husband and wife, which means there will be no wedding today.”

Jane must’ve made a noise, because Roy turned to her, entreaty and a slight edge of panic in his eyes. “Hear me out, Jane. Please—”

“No.”

By now, the truth was sinking in that she’d nearly taken part in a crime. Unknowingly, of course, but the damage would’ve been done regardless. If she’d gone through with it, she would’ve been living with him without the protection of a valid marriage license. And if she’d had children with him...

The room tilted dizzily. Perspiration dotted her brow.

Looking out over the rows, she realized every single person in attendance was staring straight at her. Some with pity. Some with suspicion. And some with anticipation, as if taking pleasure in this spectacle.

“I can’t do this,” she said, more to herself than anyone else.

Scooping up her voluminous skirts, she fled.

Through the narrow door of Reverend Monroe’s office she ducked, slamming it behind her. Raised voices reverberated through the barrier. She banged her hip against the desk corner in a desperate bid for escape. Rubbing the sore spot, she tumbled through the door that opened into the graveyard. The heat and humidity of a cloudless spring day closed in on her, suffocating and relentless.

She couldn’t face anyone just yet, not even her twin. She needed solitude. Privacy. A moment’s peace to process the destruction of her hopes. Not the hopes one would expect a prospective bride to have, nor the ones the attendees likely thought the arrival of Laura Crowley had crushed.

The loss of Roy wasn’t the cause of her devastation.

It was the loss of what marriage to Roy might’ve finally accomplished...rooting Tom out of her heart once and for all.

* * *

Tom Leighton was almost home. After nothing but rolling plains and endless wheat fields these past years, the verdant, forested mountains were a feast for the eyes. Patches of brilliant purple phlox peeked out between soaring sugar maples, yellow buckeyes, white ash and basswood trees. Like an open-air cathedral, the thick canopy high above was a bird-filled roof, allowing only slivers of sunlight in. Cool air scented with moist earth and magnolia blossoms evoked lifelong memories and an overwhelming sense of relief.

They’d made it.

Glancing over his shoulder at the slumbering child curled up between crates in the tightly packed wagon bed, he offered up a prayer of thanksgiving. Traveling alone with a five-year-old girl across four states had presented a myriad of dilemmas. By the grace of God, he’d dealt with each challenge and was now a couple of miles from the Leighton farm and the cabin he’d grown up in.

Coming home to Gatlinburg hadn’t been the easiest decision. Folks would not have forgotten the reason he’d impulsively sold his barbershop and skipped town. Still, moving back here among friends that were like family had made the most sense now that he was officially Clara’s guardian.

The familiar disappointment and anger knotting in his chest, thoughts of the difficult past year crowding in, he almost didn’t see the woman weaving through the dense trees to his right. A vision in pure white, waist-length hair flowing free, she walked with her head bent, oblivious to her surroundings.

Guiding his team to a halt on the edge of the lane, Tom set the brake and simply watched her. Who was she? Why was she alone? Unwilling to leave without offering his assistance, he disembarked. He checked to make sure Clara hadn’t stirred before rounding the wagon and, not wanting to spook the stranger, took halting steps into the forest.

The sun’s rays slanted through the leaves, and her hair came alive, a deep, glistening red. The air left his lungs. He knew of only two women in this town with hair that color. He’d been particularly fond of one of them.

Intrigued and a little hopeful, Tom moved to intercept her. “Hello there.”

Startled, she pulled up short, one hand flying up to clutch her throat. Her sweet countenance was the same and yet different. More mature. Womanly. Her cheekbones were more pronounced, her rosy mouth fuller. Her moss-green eyes reflected wisdom that hadn’t been present when he’d left.

“Jane O’Malley.”

Grinning, he closed the distance between them. She’d grown several inches, the top of her head coming even with his nose, and her gangly form had blossomed into that of a young woman—tall and graceful in her elegant, beaded white dress.

Hold on...was that a wedding dress?

“T-Tom?”

Her cheeks, he noticed belatedly, were wet with tears, and her already pale countenance went whiter still. She swayed on her feet.

He caught her against his chest, hands instinctively curving about her waist. Too late to worry about his gloves soiling the pristine material.

The faint scent of lilac hit him. “Jane? What’s wrong? Are you ill?”

Clutching his biceps, she blinked up at him. “I must be dreaming.”

* * *

The smooth voice like rich, warm cream belonged to Tom. And those vivid green eyes shining like stars against tanned skin? Tom’s.

But it couldn’t be him. There was nothing left for him here. He’d sold his barbershop. His mother was dead. And the woman he’d adored—her older sister, Megan—was happily married to another man.

“What’s happened?” He brought his face closer, a frown pulling his brows together.

She studied that face, muscles locking up as she struggled to absorb the truth of what she was seeing—Tom Leighton...not a figment of her imagination...real flesh and bone.

His pleasant, boyish features had thinned out, grown leaner, tougher, the angles of his face more pronounced and cheeks hollowed. His wavy, rich brown hair spilled onto his forehead and curled over his shirt collar. Longer and messier than before.

Reaching up, she explored the scruff on his jaw with her fingertips. “You’re really here. I’d thought...”

His Adam’s apple bobbed. “What are you doing out here all by yourself? Does your family know where you are?”

Disappointment set in, followed by outrage. This was how he greeted her after all this time? No I’m sorry for worrying you, Jane. No you’re all grown-up and I can’t believe I ever left without saying goodbye.

She pushed out of his arms.

“I’m not a little girl anymore. I don’t need a keeper.”

He frowned. “That’s not what I meant.”

“You’ve been gone two years, Tom. Two years without a word. No letters. No telegrams. Would it have killed you to tell me you were leaving?”

A sigh gusted out of him. “I’m sorry about that.”

“Didn’t they have paper and pencils where you were?”

“I should’ve written. I see that now—”

“You have no idea how many unfortunate scenarios I’ve entertained. Not knowing whether you were alive or dead...”

An active imagination was both a blessing and a curse. Oftentimes the endless scenarios playing out in her head didn’t have happy endings. Countless nights she’d tossed in her bed, unable to sleep for worrying about him.

Turning away, she swiped at the moisture on her cheeks and fought a fresh onslaught of emotion. She pulled at the dress’s itchy collar. Had her sister Nicole not known how uncomfortable this confection would be when she’d designed it? One last remaining purple blossom fell from her hair. She crushed the fragile petals beneath her heel. His inadequate words did nothing to ease her deep-seated hurt.

For so long, she’d struggled to accept that she’d likely never see him again, never hear his warm laughter or gaze into those shining eyes. Tom represented all the heroes she’d ever read about. And while she knew he hadn’t viewed her as anything more than a little sister, she’d missed his friendship in the most dreadful way.

His casual apology was more of an insult than anything.

Tom touched the spot between her shoulder blades. Gentle. Imploring. “I truly regret causing you worry, Jane. I was in a bad place when I left.”

He didn’t have to remind her. Her older sister Megan had rejected his proposal and chosen to marry Lucian Beaumont, a wealthy aristocrat from New Orleans who’d come to town for a brief visit and wound up falling for her. Megan’s choice had effectively ended her and Tom’s long-standing friendship.

In their small mountain town, there’d been no escaping the gossip. His dreams had been crushed, his pride wounded. Crazily enough, Jane had hurt for him. She’d hurt because she knew how it felt to care and have no hope of those feelings being returned.

“I suppose the main reason I didn’t contact anyone was because it was easier to sever all ties. I realize now how selfish that was.”

When she didn’t comment, he audibly exhaled. “Have you come from a party?”

“A wedding, actually.”

Silence. Then a stunned, “You’re married?”

“Ah, no,” she murmured. “Turns out my intended groom already has a wife.”

“What?” Tom encircled her wrist and turned her to face him, manner unyielding. “You’d better start at the beginning.”

Amid the birds’ intermittent chirping came a soft cry. She tensed. “What was that?”

Releasing her, Tom strode in the direction of the lane. Jane picked up her skirts and tripped after him, dense carpet of ferns catching on the delicate lace. “Sounded like a child. Do you think someone’s lost?”

Intensely focused on the wagon that came into view, he went directly to the rear and held out his arms. Jane’s steps slowed when she caught sight of a blur of pink calico and bouncing brown curls rushing into his hug.

“It’s okay, Clara. I’m right here.”

Planting a quick kiss on the little girl’s head, he eased away and jerked his chin in Jane’s direction. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

Her frock wrinkled and creases from her blanket lining one cheek, the girl lifted a shy gaze to Jane. Her green eyes matched Tom’s exactly.

Jane pressed a trembling hand to her middle. He had a child? Mind racing, she tried to calculate the girl’s age. Four, maybe five years old? It didn’t add up. Unless, like Roy, he’d been harboring a terrible secret before he left.

No, she couldn’t let Roy’s perfidy influence her outlook. Tom had been desperately in love with her sister. Besides, he was an honorable man who patterned his life after the Bible’s teachings.

“Who is she, Tom?”

Countenance solemn, he said, “In the eyes of the law, you might say she’s my daughter.”

Chapter Two

This second, mountain-size shock robbed her limbs of strength. Jane sank onto the ground, skirts puffing around her like a giant, satiny cloud.

His face a mask of concern, Tom swung Clara down and quickly approached, crouching to her level. Open at the collar, showing the column of his throat, the gray-and-white-striped shirt hugged his broad, sturdy shoulders and defined chest. She recalled the leashed strength in his arms as he’d propped her up.

There was one question answered. Wherever he’d gone, he hadn’t been working in a barbershop. That kind of indoor profession didn’t add bulk to a man’s frame.

“I’ve never known you to swoon, Janie girl, but you look seconds away from it right about now. I’ve got a canteen in the wagon. Water’s not cold, but it might help. Want me to get it?”

“No, thank you.”

Behind him, Clara edged closer, eyes wide with wonder. Such a pretty, delicate child, with a round, inquisitive face and a pert nose.

“Clara, this is my friend Jane O’Malley.”

Friend. An innocent word that sounded hateful when he spoke it. Had he had the same reaction when Megan insisted on being nothing more than friends?

“Hello, Clara.” She dredged up a smile. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Clara continued to stare first at Jane’s hair—no doubt a wild mess since she’d plucked all the pins out to rid herself of the flowers—and then at her apparel.

“You have the same eyes,” Jane told him quietly. “And hair.”

Shadows gathered in the green depths. “She’s my niece. I’m her legal guardian.”

Tom’s only sibling, a brother named Charles, was ten years older than him. He’d left town years ago and hadn’t returned.

“You were with Charles and his family all this time?”

He gave a short nod, lips tightening. “On his ranch in Kansas.”

She’d imagined him in all sorts of places and situations, none of them as ordinary as Kansas. Piloting a riverboat in Louisiana. Cutting hair in New York City. Sailing to Europe on a huge ship. Those pursuits would’ve kept him so busy he couldn’t be blamed for not thinking of her. But working on a ranch in the middle of nowhere?

The reality stung. He’d had ample opportunity to contact her—he’d simply chosen not to. She bit back the urge to ask about Clara’s parents, to ask anything more of him. Pride prevented her, as did consideration for the girl’s feelings.

Clara dared touch one of the seed pearls on Jane’s sleeve. “Are you a princess?”

“No, sweetheart.”

Tom’s perfectly formed, expressive mouth softened into a slight smile that held affection for the little girl. “She sure does look like one, though, doesn’t she?”

Then he turned that smile on Jane, and her foolish heart hummed a happy tune.

She flinched.

No. She couldn’t do this. Not again.

“Jane?” Confusion colored his tone.

Struggling to her feet, she shook out her skirts and tugged the tight bodice down, backing away as she did so. “I have to go.”

He stood to his full, impressive height, one hand outstretched. “Let me take you home.”

“No.” Her harsh tone elicited a frown from Clara. Tempering it, she continued her retreat. “I mean, no, thank you.”

“Jane—”

“I don’t need your help, Tom. I’m perfectly capable of finding my own way home.”

She hadn’t finished expelling him from her storybook dreams. If she allowed him to reclaim what progress she’d made, she’d never know true peace or contentment.

And for the second time that day, she fled.

Frustration pushed Tom to call after her. “I don’t remember you being this hardheaded.”

She paused long enough to glance over her shoulder. Her luminous eyes challenged him. “People change.”

Framed by the forest’s varying shades of green, her startling white wedding garb and flowing red mane carved an image on his brain he wouldn’t soon forget.

He, more than anyone, was acquainted with the truth of that statement. His brother had transformed into someone unrecognizable after Jenny’s death, and there’d been nothing Tom could do to stop it. As for Jane, the sweet, adoring girl who’d followed him around like a lamb after its mother had been replaced by a self-assured, stunning young woman.

With a dismissive shake of her head, Jane ventured deeper into the forest, hem flaring with each stride of her long legs.

He didn’t like the thought of her on her own out here, especially considering her current mental state, but he couldn’t very well tie her up and toss her in the wagon.

“I’m hungry, Uncle.”

Clara tucked her hand in his, the utter trust she’d placed in him a humbling thing. He was all she had now. That she depended on him for everything weighed heavily at times. Not because she was a burden, but because he’d come into this upside down. He’d never been married. Didn’t know what it was to be responsible for another human being, although he’d had plenty of practice these past months.

“Come on, then, my little bird. I’ve got a can of tinned peaches with your name on it.”

Her rosebud mouth parted. “Really? Clara Jean Leighton is right there on the label?”

Chuckling, he lightly tapped her nose. “Not exactly.”

When he had her settled with her snack in her spot between the crates, he climbed onto the hard seat and put the team in motion. Impatience kept his bone-deep exhaustion at bay. These final miles felt like the longest of the entire journey.

Pulling into the shaded, overgrown lane leading to his place, memories bombarded him, and he wished his ma were here to welcome him. To meet her only grandchild. She would’ve relished the role of grandmother.

“We’re here, Clara.” His throat grew thick, and he had to blink away the gathering moisture.

Gripping the side, she observed her surroundings with solemn curiosity.

Tom hadn’t expected his family farm to be in good condition—his ma had been gone a long time—but the disintegration of his former home gutted him. Set against the magnificent backdrop of the Smoky Mountains, his land used to be lush and vibrant, the yard around the one-story cabin kept neat and his ma’s roses flanking the narrow porch. Now vegetation consumed the buildings. The cabin’s shingled roof was barely visible beneath bands of ivy, the porch running the length of the building completely obscured. To the left and slightly behind it were the barn and toolshed, the smokehouse and corncrib looking like stacks of weathered wood amid a profusion of man-size weeds. The handful of apple and peach trees were in desperate need of pruning. The snake-rail fence separating the yard and fields beyond had completely fallen apart in some spots.

He was in for a massive job. Chest tight, he wondered how he’d manage to set things to rights before the first frost in six months’ time. Unearthing the vegetable garden and readying the ground for seed alone was going to take days of hard labor.

And what to do about his niece? She couldn’t very well accompany him to the fields every day.

Leaving her in the wagon, Tom used a hatchet to carve a path through the waist-high weeds and hack out an opening in the ivy. Stepping through onto the porch, he passed the single window with its dusty, cracked glass and had to shoulder the door open.

He stopped short on the threshold. If not for the layer of grime coating the cast-iron stove and the cobwebs in the corners, he’d have thought his ma had gone to the mercantile for the day’s necessities. His gaze landed on the gray knitted shawl she’d favored, draped over the rocking chair beside the fireplace, and he picked it up, catching a whiff of her floral scent beneath the overwhelming odor of dank air and dust.

The unreality of her death coalesced into a truth he could grasp. She wasn’t at the mercantile. She wasn’t in the henhouse gathering eggs with her gnarled, age-spotted hands. She wouldn’t be welcoming him home.

She wouldn’t learn that her firstborn had descended into debauchery to the point Tom hardly recognized him. And that her youngest was now charged with the care and raising of a vulnerable five-year-old child.

Oh, Charles. What have you done?

* * *

“You should try to eat something.”

Gripping the pot, Jane scrubbed harder at the stuck-on bits. “I’m not hungry.”

Jessica shared a worried look with their mother, Alice, who was bustling about the kitchen packing for her extended trip to Cades Cove, a day and a half’s ride from Gatlinburg. Their eldest sister, Juliana, lived there with her husband and two boys, and Mama had been counting down the days until she could see them again.

Abandoning a loaf of sourdough bread on the worktop, Alice came and put her arm around Jane. “I’ll postpone this trip if you need me to, honey. I can send a telegram to Juliana. She’ll understand.”

“That’s not necessary. I’ll be fine.”

“You’re sure?”

Her ma’s troubled look mirrored the one from yesterday when Jane had finally stumbled home, the same one from this morning when Jane had announced she wasn’t attending church services.

“I’m positive.”

Jessica carried her dinner plate over. “With the amount of desserts the café requires, we’ll be so busy she won’t have time to spare a single thought for that snake Roy.”

The café owner, Mrs. Greene, had been stricken with a lingering illness this past January. Unable to continue running the café without assistance, she’d approached the twins with a job offer. Getting paid for doing something they enjoyed and excelled at made sense. Their afternoon hours were used to bake and decorate pies, cakes and cookies, which they delivered before the supper rush. The additional income helped with all sorts of things, from extra fabric and hair ribbons to replenishing their chicken flock and luxuries such as store-bought chocolates.

Alice’s lined face pinched. “I wish you could’ve been spared all this.”

“You couldn’t have known,” Jane rushed in. “Roy’s a relative newcomer to the area. No one was aware of his history.”

“He could’ve mentioned having a wife before he proposed.” Her twin rolled her eyes. “While I hate that you had to suffer public humiliation, I’m glad you didn’t wind up with him.”

Jane fell silent. Her sister had made her feelings plain from the moment of their engagement. While Jessica had been all for her getting over Tom, she hadn’t approved of Jane’s choice. That her instincts had been right didn’t help Jane’s flagging self-confidence and made her question herself. What was it about her that had prompted Roy to keep his past hidden? Was she not the type to inspire confidences? Trust?

“Speaking of being busy, I have a favor to ask.” Alice retrieved a second basket from the shelf. “As you are both aware, the Leighton farm is in a terrible state. Tom will have his hands full the coming weeks trying to clean it up and won’t have time to see to meals. I’ve baked some bread and gathered jars of apple butter, jam and vegetables. There’s a wheel of cheese, as well. Would you mind delivering it for me?”

Jane lent extra attention to drying the pot, tummy doing a somersault at the prospect of seeing Tom again. She’d made up her mind to steer clear. Resuming their friendship wasn’t sensible or safe.

“I’m meeting Lee for an afternoon ride in an hour. I’d be happy to accompany Jane over, though.”

Missing the glare Jane shot her twin, Alice patted her shoulder. “Thank you, dear. If I’m going to leave at dawn, I must finish this packing.”

When Jane had gathered her satchel and the journal she kept on hand—one never knew when inspiration might strike—she met Jessica at the wagon. Several crates lined the bed.

She plopped onto the high seat. “This is a bad idea.”

Jessica snapped the reins, and they rumbled out of the yard. “Look, it’s just a simple errand. We’ll drop off the supplies, stay long enough to be polite and then you can return home with the team. I’m meeting Lee in town, and it’s a nice day. I’ll walk home.”

“I guess.”

“I still can’t believe he came back. And with Charles’s daughter, no less. Where are her parents, do you think?”

“I didn’t ask.” Though she’d fretted over it since their run-in yesterday.

She’d mentally reviewed their encounter more than once, the distance of time and ebbing of her initial shock allowing her to recall his slightly haggard expression, the weariness that had clung to him. Whether it was due to their long journey or the events that had prompted him to leave Kansas, she couldn’t be sure.

When they rode onto Tom’s property fifteen minutes later, Jane experienced a surge of dismay. This was far worse than she’d imagined, too much for one man to tackle.

Jess let loose a low whistle. “Ma wasn’t exaggerating.”

On the porch, Tom hacked away at the profusion of vines.

Jess chose a shady spot in which to leave the horses. “Are you ready?”

Her younger sister—by four whole minutes—might not be a sensitive soul, but she understood how difficult seeing him again would be.

“We say hello. Drop off the food. And go.” Sounded straightforward. “I’m ready.”

They each grabbed a crate and waded through the path of trampled weeds to reach him. Grasshoppers jumped out of their way. A fat beetle crunched under Jane’s shoe.

Grimacing, she eyed the chimney and wondered what creatures had lodged inside.

Engrossed in his task, Tom hadn’t noticed their approach until they were almost upon him. His eyes widened. “Jane. Jessica.”

Brushing his shirtsleeve across his damp forehead, he rushed to take Jane’s crate and, setting it down, relieved Jessica of hers. He was out of breath and his blue-gray shirt clung to him in places. Caramel-hued trousers hung low on his lean hips, encasing solid, muscular legs that seemed to extend for miles.

He was healthy and virile and too handsome for her peace of mind.

“Welcome home, Tom.” As his hands were full, Jessica gave him a quick side hug. “I could hardly believe it when Jane told me she’d run into you. How have you been?”

“Not bad.” His answering smile slipped a bit when his gaze connected with Jane’s. Concern flickered.

“Ma thought you could use some supplies.” Jessica seemed oblivious to the undercurrent of tension as yesterday’s encounter hung between them.

“That was thoughtful of her. Thanks for bringing it by.”

“How’s Clara?” Jane said.

“Not impressed with her new home. Can’t say as I blame her.” Shifting his burden, he cocked his head. “Come on in and say hello, if you’d like. She’s supposed to be resting, but I’m certain she’s playing with her doll instead.”

He was right. Wearing the same pink dress that she’d had on yesterday, she danced a worn corn husk doll across the kitchen table’s grimy surface. She stopped what she was doing to stare openmouthed at the women. The reaction wasn’t an unusual one. Children—and sometimes even adults—rarely encountered identical twins, much less redheaded ones.

“Clara, say hello to Miss Jane and Miss Jessica.” Sidestepping the bedrolls laid out on the floor, where they’d obviously slept instead of on the musty beds, he deposited the foodstuffs on the table. Red slashed his cheekbones. “Sorry about the mess.”

Jane couldn’t halt the sympathy welling up on his behalf. He’d always been a tidy person, had kept his barbershop and tools of the trade as clean as a whistle. Of course the cabin would cause him embarrassment. Cobwebs hung from the rafters. The mantel sported an inch-thick coating of dust. And while the floor had recently seen a broom, it would benefit from a good scrubbing.

In its current condition, his family home wasn’t fit for a child. Tom, either.

How would he manage with his niece underfoot?

Not my problem. She tried to harden her heart. I can’t afford to care. Can’t fall into that dark, desperate place again.

Clara came up to Jane and touched her wrist. “Princess.”

She shot Tom an incredulous look. “How can she tell us apart?”

“I don’t know.” He scraped a hand along his unshaven jaw.

“We do tend to wear our hair differently,” Jessica mused, finger combing her long ponytail. While Jess didn’t give much thought to her hairstyle, Jane tended to wear hers up in twists or tidy buns.

“Jane’s hair was loose yesterday,” he said.

She must be mistaking the admiring light in his eyes. He’d made a habit of teasing her about the color. And of course, he preferred blondes, like Megan.

Bending down, she indicated the doll. “What’s your baby’s name?”

“Jenny.”

“That’s a pretty name.”

“That was my mama’s name.”

“Oh.” Unaware of the child’s situation and the whereabouts of her parents, Jane refrained from further comment. She straightened and risked a glance at Tom. Deep grooves appeared on either side of his mouth. In him, she glimpsed a curious mix of regret and anger.

The news was likely not good. Why else would he have guardianship?

“I hate to ask, but would you mind keeping Clara company long enough for me to take a quick inventory of the property? I need to determine the most pressing tasks.”

Jessica turned to her, unwritten apology in eyes that matched her own. “I’d stay if I could, but Lee will be waiting for me.”

So much for making this a brief visit. Refusing Tom this simple request wasn’t something she could find it in her heart to do. “It’s all right. I don’t mind staying.”

Slapping his battered black Stetson on his head, he cupped her upper arm and ran his hand down the length of it, setting her nerve endings on fire. “Thank you, Jane.”

To his niece, he said, “Mind your manners, birdie.”

“Yes, sir.”

Jessica waited until he’d gone. “I’m sorry, sis.”

“I’ll be fine.” She’d continue to say the words until they rang true.

“I know. It’s just that you don’t need this on top of everything else.”

Clutching her doll against her, Clara watched them with too-serious scrutiny. What troubles had befallen this precious child?

Jane ushered her twin toward the open door. “I’ll see you at home later.”

Turning back, she lifted her satchel off her shoulder and, hanging it on a peg near the door, pasted on a bright smile. “How would you like to help me clean up this kitchen for your uncle Tom?”

Chapter Three

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Hot, overwhelmed and running on an empty stomach—the tin of beans and handful of jerky they’d had for lunch long gone—Tom’s question came out more sharply than he’d intended. He’d come upon Jane and Clara at the creek with what looked to be the entire inventory of his kitchen laid out across the grass.

Bent over the water, Jane sat back, the cup in her hand dripping a trail of dark splotches on her navy skirt. “Clara and I are helping you.” With a significant glance at his niece, who was carefully drying a saucer, her tone carried a hint of reproof.

Slipping off his gloves and shoving them in his pocket, he removed his hat and fluffed his sweat-dampened locks. He motioned her farther down the line of shade trees. “Can I speak with you for a minute?”

She came hesitantly. He smoothed his expression. No matter his current mood, the near despair that had set in as he’d inventoried the seemingly endless list of repairs, he wouldn’t take it out on her. She’d endured the worst kind of humiliation yesterday, and he wasn’t about to add to her distress.

“I didn’t expect you to work while you’re here,” he said. “This is my problem. My responsibility.”

“You can’t do it all yourself.” Standing in a patch of light, she squinted, doing a slow inspection of the undulating fields and blue-toned mountain peaks rising to the sky. “How are you going to manage with Clara?”

Focusing on his niece, the familiar drive to provide for her settled in his chest. “I’ve no idea.” Life had delivered more than her fair share of harsh blows. She deserved a bit of happiness, deserved better than trailing him around the farm day and night while he worked. “Suppose I’ll have to find someone to watch her during the day.”

Jane stared at the ground, teeth worrying her lower lip. Sunlight glinted in her glossy locks pinned into a simple twist with short strands about her ears. Dainty pearl earbobs matched the line of pearl buttons on her bodice. A pleasing mint green, her blouse was crafted of the softest cotton, the hue a perfect foil for her flame-colored tresses, expressive eyes and sun-kissed skin.

This close, he could make out the faint smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose and the crest of her cheeks. In the past, he’d taken great pleasure in teasing her about those freckles. Now he experienced the strange urge to trace them with his fingers.

Tom shook off the unsettling thought. This was Jane, after all, the baby sister he’d never had.

“Thanks for befriending Clara.”

“She’s a delightful child.” Her smile was there and gone too quickly. “I’m still wondering how she was able to recognize me.”

“I don’t have any trouble.” Their eyes and mannerisms set them apart. Jane’s were soft, dreamy. Innocent. Jess’s contained a boldness, a yearning for adventure. And Jane’s voice was huskier than Jessica’s.

“That’s because you’ve known us your entire life.” One cinnamon brow inched up. “And we haven’t attempted to trick you.”

He kicked up a shoulder, fully confident. “You could try, but you’d fail. I’d know you anywhere, Janie girl.”

Something akin to anguish passed over her face, and he wondered what he’d said to cause it. Then it dawned on him. Here he was teasing her as if she wasn’t suffering from a broken heart, as if the man she was supposed to marry hadn’t deceived her in the most horrific way.

Taking her fine-boned hand in his larger one, he skimmed a thumb across her knuckles. “How are you holding up?”

Head bent, she seemed engrossed by their linked hands. “I’m fine.”

“You never did tell me who you were supposed to marry.”

“No one you know. He moved here last summer.”

She sounded lost. Dejected. Anger sparked and simmered in Tom’s gut. How could anyone willingly wound her like that?

Jane gestured toward the pile of dishes. “I should return to Clara before her interest wanes and she wanders away.”

His niece had indeed abandoned her task and was tossing pebbles into the water.

“You two have already made friends.” Jane was sensible and sweet natured. She’d treat Clara with kindness. The more he considered this potential solution to his dilemma, the more he warmed to it. “Would you be willing to be her caretaker?”

Her jaw sagged. “Me?”

“Yes, you.” He smiled at her astonishment. “You’re wonderful with her. And besides, I trust you wholeheartedly. I wouldn’t worry about her if she was with you.”

Her expression shuttered. “I can’t.”

Surprised by her vehement refusal and the lack of forthcoming reasons, he said, “It’s a paid position.”

“I wish that I could help you, but Jessica and I bake in the afternoons. The café owner, Mrs. Greene, has been ill and has cut back her hours. She hired us to provide the desserts.”

Something wasn’t right. Her words of regret didn’t ring true. The fact he couldn’t interpret her true state of mind drove home the fact she’d grown up. Changed.

“Are you still angry with me?” In the old days, he would’ve slung his arm about her shoulders and cajoled her out of the doldrums. He didn’t feel comfortable doing that now. He hated that his insensitivity had created this distance between them. Couldn’t have guessed his departure, and the cowardly way he’d gone about it, would trouble her to this extent. Oh, he’d surmised she’d be miffed at him for a month or so. But two years?

“I truly am sorry, Jane.”

* * *

Tom was holding her hand.

The soft-as-a-feather scrape of his thumb across her skin mesmerized her. Hot tingles arrowed up her arm and into her midsection. He was standing so near, wide shoulders filling her vision, his brilliant green eyes earnest.

“I...I’m not angry anymore.”

“But you’re disappointed.”

She couldn’t lie. “Yes.”

“And hurt.”

“That, too.”

This close, his lips looked firm yet yielding. If Tom tried to kiss her, she wouldn’t shy away. She’d welcome his embrace. It hit her then that marrying Roy wouldn’t have accomplished anything. Laura’s arrival had saved her from a catastrophic mistake.

Pulling free, she adopted a casual air that was difficult to pull off. “Not sure why I expected you to write to me. I was just a silly kid with a bad case of hero worship.”

His forehead creased. “That’s not how I remember it. We were friends. I—”

“Uncle Tom?” Clara twisted her hem in both hands. “I’m hungry.”

Tom continued to stare at Jane, obviously conflicted. After a moment, he slowly nodded. “I am, too. Guess it’s time for a bite to eat.”

Glad for the interruption, Jane held out her hand to her. “My ma packed lots of goodies. Why don’t we go and see what all there is to choose from? We can finish the dishes when we’re done.”

Clara’s hand in hers was small and warm, her expression trusting but with a hint of sadness and uncertainty. Jane found herself pondering how to elicit a smile from Tom’s charge.

Her hope that he would busy himself with another chore fell flat when he stacked the already washed plates in his arms and followed them to the cabin. He even joined them in riffling through the foodstuffs, his excitement matching Clara’s over the jars of apple butter and assorted jams. They decided to appease their hunger with thick slices of bread smeared with butter and blackberry preserves. Jane insisted on scrubbing the tabletop beforehand, so while she tended that task, Tom readied the food.

A giggle caught her attention. Twisting, she saw them standing together at the long counter beside the cookstove. His hair was a shade darker than hers, but the family resemblance was strong. He dipped his finger in the jar and swiped a tiny bit of sweet jam on the tip of Clara’s nose. He grinned. “Try and lick it off.”

Clara stuck out her tongue. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t reach. “My tongue isn’t long enough.”

“Let me try,” he said, swiping some on his own nose.

Clara giggled again at his antics, and Jane couldn’t suppress her mirth. She’d forgotten how good he was at that. Making others laugh. Making them forget their problems, even if just for a little while.

He looked across the room at her and winked. She quickly resumed her task before she could act on the impulse to join them. She wasn’t part of their family.

And she couldn’t allow herself to be a part of their lives, no matter how much the idea appealed. When the surface was at last clean, Tom carried three plates over.

“You’re joining us, right?” He pulled out a chair for her.

Jane hadn’t planned to. She could use the time to wipe off the wall-mounted shelves above the counter or clean out the stove’s firebox. But she didn’t want to disappoint Clara, who was waiting expectantly.

“Sure.” Taking her seat beside him, she scooted the plate closer.

“I haven’t had a chance to purchase a milk cow. We’ll have to make do with water.” He angled his thumb toward the saddlebags in the corner. “Unless you’d prefer coffee. I could wash out the kettle and brew us some.”

“Water’s fine.”

“Do you even drink coffee? You didn’t use to like it.”

“Sometimes. I require lots of milk and sugar when I do.”

He nodded, the bread balanced in his large, work-roughened hand. “I’ll be sure to have those items on hand next time you visit. And this place spick-and-span.”

Jane didn’t mention she wasn’t planning on doing much of that. Quietly taking in the interaction between uncle and niece, her questions mounted. Tom was completely at ease with the child, his manner natural. He loved her. How had such a rapport between them built? How long had he been her sole caretaker?

By the time he’d gotten her settled on her pallet for a nap, Jane couldn’t resist questioning him. Pride be hanged.

They’d gone out onto the porch, the cloying heat hinting at an impending rain shower, and he’d tugged on his buckskin gloves and begun removing the remainder of the vines. Bit by bit, the sagging railing became visible.

She hung back, out of his way. “What happened to Clara’s mother?”

The muscles in his broad back rippling with effort, he ripped away a handful of vines and tossed them in a growing pile near the porch. Pushing his hat farther up his forehead, he met her gaze squarely, rioting emotions near the surface.

“Jenny died a year after I went to live with her and Charles. Pneumonia.”

“I’m so sorry.” Sympathy squeezed her heart. Poor Clara.

“Me, too. She was a fine woman.”

“How old was Clara?”

“Four.”

Lips pressed in a tight line, he attacked the last section. So he and his brother had been left to comfort the small girl. Cook for her. Do the wash. Mend clothes. Hard to fathom how they’d managed it in addition to ranch work.

“Where is Charles?”

Was it her imagination, or did he yank on the stubborn vegetation with greater force? He discarded another bunch before answering.

“I have no clue where my brother is,” he bit out.

Shock carried her forward. “I don’t understand.”

“Me, either.” He snorted. “It’s not a topic I like to dwell on.”

His rigid spine and closed-off expression warned her to abandon the topic. There was a mystery here, one she would’ve liked to unravel. Short of tying him up and forcing it out of him—something her bolder, braver twin wouldn’t have hesitated to try—she’d have to accept his silence on the subject.

Besides, the less she knew about his life, the less involved she’d be. Keeping her distance—emotionally and physically—was the only way to survive his homecoming.

Chapter Four

Jane’s heart and mind were at war. Her heart insisted she stay and attempt to draw him out. Learn what had happened in Kansas. Her oh-so-practical mind, on the other hand, was insisting she leave.

“I’ll go and finish those dishes.”

By now, he’d uncovered the entire porch railing. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll get to them later.”

“I like to finish what I start.” That was the only reason she wasn’t climbing in her wagon right this minute. “I have extra time on my hands since the café is closed on Sundays.”

“That’s kind of you, Jane.” He dropped the last bunch onto the pile. “Least I can do is pitch in.”

Not giving her a chance to decline his offer, he took her elbow and assisted her through the thick vegetation. She was very conscious of the strength of his fingers through the gloves, his gentle hold. He didn’t release her until they’d reached the stream.

Jane remained close to the tree trunk, letting it support her weight. Removing his gloves, he crouched at the water’s edge, dipped his hat’s crown below the surface and tipped the entirety over his head. He laughed when he caught her staring. “Feels amazing.” Finger combing the excess water from the wet strands, he extended the hat with a grin. “Want a turn?”

“No, thank you.”

Trailing his right hand through the water, he approached and flung tiny droplets on her exposed neck. “You sure? Won’t hurt to unwind every now and then.”

Jane shook her head, even though the cool moisture did feel wonderful. Somehow, she’d forgotten Tom’s playful side. All this time she’d remembered him as he’d been after Megan’s refusal. Somber. Disappointed. A man whose life plans had been thwarted.

“Why haven’t you asked about Megan?” she blurted, cheeks burning when his eyebrows hit his hairline.

“No particular reason. I’ve had a lot on my mind, what with Clara and the farm. Yesterday, my mind was too full of your predicament to give anything else much thought.”

Right. Her spectacular nonwedding.

“So?” he prompted. “How is she?”

“Happy. Not only are she and Lucian the guardians of two adolescent siblings, but they recently adopted a three-year-old girl from New Orleans.”

“She always talked about having a large family. I’m happy for her.”

Jane studied him closely. He struck her as genuine, his interest in her sister casual. There was nothing to indicate he yet nursed a broken heart.

Propping a hand on the branch above her head, he leaned in, bringing a whiff of his distinctive woodsy scent. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“Not sure exactly. Do you suspect I came home with the intention of making things difficult for your sister?”

Jane gasped. “Of course not.”

“I respected Megan’s decision. I didn’t like it, but I learned to accept it.”

Mouth dry, heart beating frantically at his proximity, Jane desperately wanted to ask if he still loved her. Her lips refused to form the words.

His brow creased, and he pushed off the branch to pace. “If you think me capable of such behavior, other people might, too. Maybe even Megan herself.” He slapped his hat against his thigh. “I have to see her. Make sure she understands I harbor no ill will. No grand illusions about us.”

Jane stepped into his path, forcing him to stop. “I don’t think that. I know you’d never do such a thing. Megan knows it, too.”

He closed his hands over hers. “Even so, it would be best if she and I had our first encounter in private. Will you go with me? Having you there would put her at ease.”

Tom had no idea what he was asking. No idea how difficult it would be for her to witness their reunion. What excuse, then, could she possibly give?

Caught in his imploring gaze, his touch both wonderful and torturous, she pulled free. Sidestepping him, she sank onto the bank, blindly seizing the nearest dish and soap sliver. She should’ve stayed away. Although it wasn’t in her nature to refuse her ma anything, she should’ve invented a chore that needed immediate attention.

He followed and, taking up the spot beside her, began to wash without a word. She sensed his quiet perusal.

“When would you like to visit her?” she said at last.

“In a few days, once I’ve had a chance to clean out the cabin and round up a milk cow and several hens. But, Jane, I get the feeling you’d rather not go. Has something happened? Have you two had a falling-out?”

“Nothing like that.”

She recalled the day all those years ago when she’d confessed her feelings to Megan. Her sensitive sister had been heartbroken. Megan had known there was no hope Tom would ever love Jane. Not that she would ever voice such a hurtful truth, of course. She hadn’t had to. The evidence was in the way she’d gently tried to reason with Jane, reminding her of their age difference. Back then, seven years had seemed an impossible chasm.

All these years later, he in his late twenties and she of marriageable age, she didn’t register the gap any longer. But while the age factor wasn’t an issue, something Megan never would’ve admitted made a future between them impossible—Jane didn’t possess the qualities Tom desired in a wife. She couldn’t measure up to Megan.

“You and Lucian get along, right? If he isn’t treating you well, I’ll—”

“No.” Surprised by the promise of retribution in his voice, Jane jerked her head up. “Lucian is a wonderful man. He’s good to my sister. To all of us.”

The tension in his shoulders eased somewhat, and he returned his attention to his task.

Studying his profile, she placed the clean dish on the quilt behind her. “We can visit her any day this week. I’m free in the mornings.”

“That’s right. You bake in the afternoons.” Reaching across her, he snagged an extra washcloth for drying. “The townspeople must love that. I often dreamed about your ribbon fruitcake.”

Their desserts were indeed popular with the locals. She used to take such joy from making Tom his favorite treat. That particular item had been off the menu for quite some time. Too many memories.

“Any chance I might get to purchase a slice soon?”

“Right now, we’re taking advantage of the fresh berries for pies and strudels. Perhaps in the fall.”

“I’ll have to be patient, then.” He moved into her space. “Hold still. You have a stray eyelash.”

His fingertips lightly stroked the tender skin beneath her eye. He was close enough that she could feel the cool fan of his breath across her nose. Her pulse rate tripled, and her head felt too light. What Jane wanted was to erase the scant inches separating them, wanted his arms around her, his chest beneath her cheek.

It wasn’t fair that she should possess these feelings for him, suffer these reactions when he wasn’t the least bit affected. She was nothing but a friend to him. Worse, actually. She was the little sister of the woman he’d wanted for his wife.

“There,” he murmured huskily. “I think I got it.”

Tom pulled away slightly, confusion tugging his brows together as his gaze roamed her face as if seeing her for the very first time. As if she were a stranger to him. His eyes flared with surprise just before he turned away and resumed washing without a word.

The creak of wagon wheels had them both twisting to see the new arrival.

“Josh.” Jane wasn’t surprised to see her cousin. He and Tom had been close friends since childhood.

A second wagon pulled onto the lane behind it, driven by Josh’s younger brother, Nathan. The blond hair glinting in the light belonged to his pretty spitfire of a wife, Sophie.

“Looks like an official O’Malley family welcome.” He flashed her a quick smile that struck her as a bit strained. Helping her up, he quickly stepped away.

“Nathan’s brought you a milk cow.”

“Yes, I see.”

Jane wondered at his distant manner. Was he worried her family would hold a grudge because of his lack of correspondence? Was it her? Hanging back while he strode ahead, she surreptitiously sniffed at her blouse, relieved when the lilac-infused washing soap was the only scent she detected. It was a rather humid day, after all, and he’d been very close.

If it wasn’t an offending odor, was it something she’d said?

Oh, no. She stopped in her tracks. Had he glimpsed the truth in her eyes? The secret she worked so hard to keep hidden?

* * *

Tom hoped the astonishment ricocheting through his system wasn’t written across his face for all to see. He couldn’t have known a simple eyelash would incite this peculiar reaction to Jane. Jane, of all people. His best friend’s younger cousin. Megan’s baby sister.

But, oh, her skin had been incredibly soft. Her eyes luminous, the deep, true green of mysterious forests, drawing him in, making him forget who and what they were.

He’d always fancied himself as a stand-in big brother. Someone to tease her out of her introverted shell. Protect her from guys with questionable intentions. He’d always seen her as young and innocent. Vulnerable. The little sister he’d never had.

Seeing her as an alluring, intriguing young woman wasn’t natural.

“Tom Leighton.” His old friend pulled him into a back-slapping hug. Josh hadn’t aged in the years he’d been gone; he still wore his wheat-colored hair short and had a neat goatee. “Hard to believe you’re here. I’ve missed you, brother.”

“I should’ve written.” Beyond Josh’s wagon, the middle O’Malley son was swinging his wife to the ground. He’d been surprised to hear Nathan had married the O’Malleys’ neighbor, tomboy Sophie Tanner. She certainly didn’t look like a tomboy anymore. “Only now that I’m here do I realize what a mistake not writing was.”

Josh’s hand remained on his shoulder. “If I hadn’t known where you were going or why, I would’ve been tempted to come searching for you.”

Jane gasped. Pivoting, Tom saw the tremor in her hand as she lifted it to her throat. Anguish pinched her features.

“You knew where he was all this time and didn’t tell me?” Her gaze hit upon Tom’s and skittered away. “N-not just me. The entire family has been worried.”

Josh shifted his stance. “I’m sorry, Jane.”

“It’s not his fault,” Tom said. “I discussed my decision to go to Charles’s ranch with Josh. I asked him to keep it quiet.” Not thinking straight after Megan’s refusal—he’d been one big mass of hurt and disappointment—he hadn’t stopped to evaluate the rightness or wrongness of his actions. “I’m the one to blame.”

He resisted the urge to touch her, something that up until a few minutes ago had been as instinctive as breathing.

Nathan and Sophie approached. Tom had no choice but to greet them both, noting Jane’s swift departure out of the corner of his eye. Josh trailed her to the cabin, delaying her at the steps. She was upset and, as in the past, all Tom wanted was to hold her until she wasn’t anymore.

It struck him again that things had changed. She had changed. And maybe so had he.

Nathan lifted the Jersey cow’s lead rope. “We heard your niece is with you. Thought a milk cow might come in handy. This here’s one of our best producers.” He rubbed between her ears. “Her name’s Belle.”

“Let me get my wallet and settle up with you.”

“No need. Consider her a welcome-home present.”

He hadn’t forgotten the O’Malleys’ generosity or their stubborn natures. Arguing the point was useless. “I appreciate it, Nate. Thank you.”

“I’ll get her settled in the barn.”

Tom sighed. He hadn’t cleared out any of the outbuildings yet. Making Clara feel comfortable in her new home had been his top priority, and he hadn’t made much progress on that front. “You won’t reach it without a machete.”

“So lend me one.” He shrugged.

“Wouldn’t you rather pass a pleasant Sunday afternoon with your wife?”

Arm linked with Nathan’s, Sophie smiled. “He’s promised to take me fishing later. For now, I’m going to help Jane. Good to have you home, Tom.” She bussed her husband on the cheek before slipping away.

Silver eyes sparkling with good humor, the other man drawled, “Don’t be stubborn, Leighton. We’re family, got it? And family helps each other out. Now, point me to the tools.”

Tom complied. He expected Jane to leave right away. Instead, she and Sophie carted buckets of water to the porch and began scrubbing the windowpanes, conversing in low voices so as not to disturb the still-sleeping Clara. She did avoid looking at him, however. Having kindhearted Jane upset with him was not a pleasant experience.

With company around, he’d have to wait to try and smooth things over.

While he, Josh and Nathan attacked the overgrown vegetation around the barn entrance, more O’Malleys arrived—the men’s parents, Sam and Mary, who were like a beloved aunt and uncle to Tom, and the youngest son, Caleb, who brought his wife, young sister-in-law and adorable eighteen-month-old son, Noah. Everyone pitched in. And there, in the midst of the sweaty, backbreaking work, surrounded by these people he considered family, he acknowledged how much he’d missed them all. Missed this town.

Despite the grief and turmoil that had spurred him home, he was glad to be back.

Leaning his scythe against the barn wall’s weathered boards, Josh motioned for Tom to follow him to the stream. Resting a knee on the grassy bank, Josh submerged his handkerchief and mopped his face and neck.

“How did Jane seem to you yesterday?” Josh said.

Scooping up water with his hat as he’d done earlier, Tom reveled in the cold shock of it as it slid down his head and beneath his shirt collar.

“Distressed.”

He wouldn’t soon forget that encounter. Her breathtaking beauty. The fact she’d come close to fainting in his arms.

Josh tunneled his fingers through his hair, a disgusted noise gusting out. “The ceremony was a disaster of epic proportions. I’m not surprised she took off.”

“Who’s the lout she was supposed to marry?” Anger at an unknown stranger bloomed inside. Not many men were worthy of Jane. She deserved someone truly special, someone who’d recognize her true worth and cherish her gentle spirit. Not someone who lied to her, humiliated her in front of the entire town.

“Newcomer named Roy Crowley.” He stood.

“You allowed her to get engaged to a man like that?”

“She didn’t ask my permission. Besides, he struck me as a solid, responsible man. Treated her well. Everyone approved of the union.”

Her misery fresh in his mind, Tom clenched his fists. “She must be devastated.”

“Jane’s not one to confide in me, but I got the sense she wasn’t as invested as she ought to be.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, she didn’t have the look of a young woman in love.”

Turning so that he had a clear view of the cabin, Tom crossed his arms and sagged against the tree base. She wasn’t hard to spot, what with that shining red hair and cool mint-green blouse. At the moment, she and Sophie were emptying the bed mattresses of the old and no doubt moldy corn husks.

Was Josh’s assumption true? Tom hoped so. If she didn’t love the guy, she wasn’t suffering more than bruised pride. Marrying for convenience’s sake was a practical solution if one was facing financial difficulties or needed a spouse to help with farm chores. But Jane and her family weren’t struggling with either. Why would she agree to such a union?

Chapter Five

“Time for bed, birdie.” Tom folded back the freshly washed quilt and patted the mattress. “Hop in.”

Taking a final sip of her water, Clara plunked the cup on the table and climbed onto the bed pushed up against the main room’s wall. The same one he and his brother had shared when they were young. Here on this farm, the memories were everywhere. Inescapable. At least at the ranch, there hadn’t been anything to remind him of the good times. Nothing to resurrect futile yearning for what used to be.

Making herself comfortable, his niece clasped her dainty hands together over her chest, big eyes blinking up at him. “I don’t wanna sleep in this bed.”

Sitting on the mattress’s edge, he flicked a stray piece of hay from his pant leg. “Miss Jane and Miss Sophie cleaned it out today just for you. There’s fresh straw inside to make it comfy.”

“I want my old bed.” She surveyed the cabin’s interior. “Our other house was bigger. I wanna go home.”

The plea in her tone punched him square in the chest. “I know this place doesn’t feel like home yet. It’s been empty a long time. No one’s been around to take care of it.” His attention wandered to the empty rocking chair, the basket of knitting needles and yarn near the hearth, and a fresh wave of grief crashed over him. He could use a bit of his ma’s insight right about now. “Did you know that your pa and I were born in this very cabin?”

Her face reflected astonishment, and she looked so much like Charles that he could hardly catch his breath. “Really?”

He made do with a nod. Sometimes he despised his brother for not being strong enough to cope with Jenny’s death. For abandoning Clara. He abandoned you, too. Don’t forget that.

Giving up wasn’t in Tom’s nature. He hadn’t thought it of Charles, either.

Granted, he didn’t understand what it felt like to lose the love of his life, the mother of his child. But Charles had a daughter who needed him. Going off on a reckless self-pity binge was just plain selfish.

“Uncle Tom?”

“Hmm?”

“When will Pa meet us here?”

Snapped out of his reverie, Tom worked to conceal his emotion. He covered her folded hands with his own. “I’m not sure, Clara.”

He hadn’t told her that he had no idea where her pa was. Whether or not he was safe.

This is how Jane must’ve felt when I bolted, he thought dumbly. All those months of wondering where I’d gone, how I was faring... Knowing her proclivity to imagine the worst, it would’ve been torture for her.

No wonder she’d been so devastated. She had a right to be angry.

Like Charles, he’d selfishly disregarded her feelings.

And the one person who’d known, who could’ve eased her worry, had been sworn to secrecy, thanks to him. Stupid move, Leighton.

Clara yawned widely and snuggled deeper into the mattress. “Will you tell me a bedtime story?”

Exhaustion had seeped into his marrow, and he longed for his own bed, but he couldn’t deny her. Tucking the quilt under her chin, he wove a tale of adventure.

Her lids heavy by the time he’d finished, she mumbled, “Is Miss Jane coming to see us tomorrow?”

“Jane has her own farm to take care of.”

She wouldn’t be visiting again soon, he was certain. After overhearing Josh, she’d made sure not to be alone with Tom the remainder of the day, giving him no chance to apologize. Would she change her mind about accompanying him to Megan’s?

“You like her, don’t you?” he said.

“She’s nice.”

“Yeah, she is.”

Nice wasn’t the only adjective he’d use to describe Jane. Insightful was one. Sensitive. Beautiful. That moment by the water resurfaced, the mental image of her upturned face, eyes closed, pale lashes resting against her cheeks as he brushed away the stray one filling his mind.

“Amy is, too.” Clara’s voice jarred him. “She played dolls with me.”

With much effort, Tom refocused on the present. He’d seen Caleb’s young sister-in-law playing with Clara beneath the big maple tree in the yard. In Kansas, Clara had been somewhat isolated from feminine company, surrounded by rowdy, manners-challenged ranch hands. Having the O’Malley women around would benefit her.

Despite the difficulties, coming home to Gatlinburg would be good for her. He’d make sure of it.

* * *

“I can’t believe you agreed to this.”

Jane didn’t look up from her journal. Tom and Clara would be arriving any minute to pick her up, and she wanted to finish her entry. Expressing her thoughts and feelings on paper helped her make sense of her world.

“What excuse could I possibly have given him, Jess?”

Her twin popped up from the top step and paced the length of the porch, blue paisley skirts swishing with each step. “I don’t know. Chores? Errands? Visiting the sick?”

With a sigh, Jane shut the clothbound book and slipped it and her pencil into the leather satchel at her feet. She started the rocker moving with the tip of her boot. “He’s concerned how Megan will react if he shows up there alone. As her sister and his friend, I’m the obvious choice to accompany him.”

“He’s concerned about Megan.” Jessica snorted. “Of course he is.”

Anguish arrowed through her. “He loved her, Jess. Once you love someone, that never goes away.”

At least, it hadn’t in her experience. How many times had she yearned for the empty hole in her heart to mend? Or be filled with someone else? She’d thought that, with time, Roy would’ve come to mean more to her. “Besides, Tom hasn’t the slightest idea how I feel. In his mind, this is simply an opportunity for me to visit with my sister.”

Jessica knelt before her, halting the rocking motion with her hands on the armrests. Looking into her face was like peering into a mirror.

“I’m worried about you, sis. Not only are you dealing with Roy’s deception, but the return of your infatuation. The hero of your daydreams. The man you haven’t been able to forget.”

“Don’t worry. I have a plan.”

Interest kindled in Jessica’s rounded eyes. “You’re going to confess everything?”

The mere idea had her heart doing palpitations. “Can you honestly picture me doing that?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact. If you were to work up your nerve. It’s not a horrible idea.” She snapped her fingers. “I know, I can pretend to be you and do it for you.”

Jane glowered at her twin. The handful of times they’d switched identities as children had been spectacular failures. And they’d gotten punished for their efforts. “Forget it, Jess.”

“Okay. How about flirting with him? Giving him subtle hints that you’re open to a relationship?”

Gently nudging Jessica aside, she pushed to standing and went to the railing. “My plan is to live my life apart from his. After today, I’m going to see to it that our paths rarely cross outside church. I won’t even sit with him during the service.” Not like old times, side by side with Tom and Megan on the wooden pew.

Jessica joined her, retying the shiny blue ribbon that had come loose about her thick mane. “He’ll be included in all the O’Malley events.”

“I can handle it.”

“Has he told you what he’s been up to all this time?”

“Not exactly.”

“You do realize he might be married. Or engaged. Not all men wear wedding bands. Anything could’ve happened in two years.”

Married. The possibility hadn’t occurred to her. Surely he’d been too distraught over Megan to notice other women! Dread and something too much like desperation cut into her. She couldn’t bear the thought, and that frightened her. Because it meant she wasn’t over him. It meant she was right back in the same impossible spot she’d been in when he’d been dreaming of forever with her sister.

Sucking in a shaky breath, Jane stiffened her spine. “Falling back into the same detrimental cycle is not an option. I refuse to waste any more time mooning after a man who doesn’t want me.”

“Good for you.” A wide smile blossomed on Jessica’s face. “Because now that I’m with Lee, I have no intention of letting you become a spinster.”

The longing for a husband and children of her own would have to go unfulfilled until she could successfully slay her hopes concerning Tom Leighton.

“I can’t dwell on the future. I have to focus on one day at a time.” The thudding of horses’ hooves against the hard earth alerted her. “He’s here.”

Retrieving her satchel, she looped it over her shoulder and entered the yard.

Jess followed. “Be strong, sister of mine. I’ll say a prayer for you.”

Tom guided the team to a stop. His motions fluid despite his impressive height, he jumped down and, after advising Clara to remain in the wagon bed, strode across the yard. Neat charcoal-gray trousers encased his long, muscular legs. A button-down shirt the color of spruce trees hugged his fit upper body, the rolled-up sleeves revealing corded forearms lightly dusted with fine hairs. His eyes glowed even brighter than usual. His dark hair hadn’t yet seen a pair of scissors, nor his chiseled jaw a razor. Strange. She’d thought he would’ve cleaned up for this first meeting with Megan. Personally, she preferred the rugged look. She linked her hands behind her back, away from the temptation of that beard, lest she succumb again to the need to touch him.

As he neared, his intense gaze lit on her, and he flashed an endearing smile she felt all the way to her toes.

She pitched her voice low. “Better pray hard, Jess. I’m going to need it.”

* * *

“I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

Beside him on the high seat, prim and proper and delicately beautiful in her high-collared russet-hued dress, she sat rigid with tension. Her knuckles were white where she gripped the wood.

“I wasn’t sure myself,” she said softly.

“I messed up, Jane. I was so absorbed in my own problems, I didn’t stop to consider your feelings.” If his brother was here, would he be saying the same things? How difficult would it be to come to a place of forgiveness? “I don’t blame you for being angry. Never should’ve asked Josh to keep my whereabouts quiet.”

“No more apologies, okay? What’s done is done.”

Frustrated at his inability to gauge her true state of mind, he dared take her hand. He wished he wasn’t wearing gloves so he could enjoy, however briefly, the soft texture of her skin. “You probably won’t believe me, but you were never far from my thoughts.”

Her gaze lifted from their joined hands to his face, searching, probing for answers. Opening up about what happened wasn’t easy. He’d do it for her sake, though.

“In those first months of trying to get my head on straight, I often asked myself what you’d think about this or that...if you’d appreciate the stark wildness of the land, the unending flatness of it all, a sky so blue it hurt to look at.” He smiled a little. “The ranch hands liked to sit out by the fire at night. There was one guy, Cookie, who played the guitar and sang the worst ditties you’ve ever heard in your life. Made me wish you were there to show them what a talented singer was supposed to sound like.”

Alone on his cot in the bunkhouse, he’d think back to those times he’d drifted off to the sound of her lyrical voice. Picnics with the O’Malley sisters, joined sometimes by Josh and his brothers, had been one of his favorite pastimes. Good food. Great company. When he could eat no more and the sun had lulled him into a sleepy state, he’d lain on a quilt, hat over his face, and listened to Jane’s soft singing as she poured her thoughts into her journal.

Jane didn’t comment. Face angled away, her attention was on the roaring river tumbling over moss-covered boulders and under the wooden bridge they were crossing. The air had a moist twang to it, a pleasant earthiness typical to this area. In the near distance, people bustled up and down Main Street conducting their daily business.

He was both surprised and pleased that she hadn’t removed her hand.

“The situation in Kansas...” His fingers subconsciously tensed on hers. “It deteriorated quickly after Jenny’s death. I found myself in charge of a very sad, confused little girl. Whenever I neared the end of my rope, tempted to give up, I’d think of you.”

Head tipping toward his, her fine brows crashed together. “Why?”

“You said it yourself. You finish what you start. You’re so strong, Jane. You handle difficulties with a grace I could only hope to mimic.”

“I would’ve given anything for one letter from you.”

She looked incredibly sad, and a little surprised she’d admitted it.

“That’s how I feel about Charles. He’s doing to me what I did to you. I’m not sure I’d forgive me if I were you.”

The wagon dipped to the side as the right front wheel hit a shallow depression. She didn’t flinch, didn’t remove her tumultuous gaze from his. “Our situations are vastly different. You didn’t owe me anything. Not really.”

“Our friendship mattered to me. You mattered. And I made you feel like you didn’t.”

He regretted that more than he could express.

Emotion slid behind her eyes. Mercy? Understanding?

Her mouth softened. “You’re home now. Let’s put the past to rest.”

She took her hand back then, and he stifled a protest.

Reins firmly in his grip, he glanced into the wagon bed to check on Clara, who’d been quiet the entire ride. Propped against the far side, she observed the passing scenery. Her springy curls were freshly washed—he winced at the memory of her protests as he’d tried to untangle them with a comb—but her yellow dress was too short, the puff sleeves a little too snug about her small arms. He was going to have to hire someone to fashion her a couple of new dresses. Maybe nightgowns, too. Even if he knew how to sew, there simply weren’t enough hours in the day.

Returning his attention to the rutted road, he said, “Something smells delicious. What’s in the basket?”

“Rhubarb pie.”

Tom groaned, his mouth watering at the prospect of sampling Jane’s cooking after so long a drought. “I sure hope your sister is in a sharing mood.”

At that, she stiffened. He wondered at the cause.

She twisted around to address his niece. “Do you like rhubarb, Clara?”

“I don’t know.”

He felt Jane’s speculative regard. “Did your sister-in-law not like to bake?”

“She did.” He lowered his voice. “Clara was only four when she passed and probably doesn’t remember a whole lot. And neither Charles nor I are that handy in the kitchen. We managed to get simple meals on the table. Nothing fancy.”

Lots of beans and corn bread. Slabs of pork fried in hog fat. Fried chicken. Sometimes vegetables made an appearance on their plates. Greens from the yard. Potatoes or carrots he’d purchased from a neighbor. After Charles lost himself in the bottle, preparing breakfast, lunch and dinner fell to Tom. The entire situation had exhausted him, mentally and physically. That wasn’t the kind of life he wished for Clara.

Not for the first time since he’d received guardianship, he considered the prospect of a wife. Clara would benefit from a woman’s presence. There were things he simply couldn’t teach her. With all the upheaval in their lives, however, he lacked the time and inclination to search for a suitable bride.

Admit it, marriage for convenience’s sake doesn’t appeal. You want the real deal. Like what Charles and Jenny had shared. Love. Mutual respect and affection. A true partnership.

As if she’d read his mind, Jane said haltingly, “Perhaps she could spend some afternoons with me and Jessica. I’d be happy to teach her the basics. She’s not too young to learn how to make dough for biscuits and bread. You’d have to tend the stove, of course.”

“I think that’s a fine idea.”

“Have you found a caretaker for her yet?”

Spying the turnoff to the Beaumont home, he shook his head as he urged the team onto the shaded lane. “Getting the farm into working order has dominated my time. You haven’t changed your mind, have you?”

“I wish I could help you.” She bit her lip. “I can’t.”

He didn’t speak as the trees thinned out and there atop a gentle incline sat the grand yellow Victorian. A ribbon of colorful blooms hugged the front of the house. More formal flower gardens were laid out behind the two-story home, with winding walkways and hidden benches and fountains. This place had once belonged to Lucian Beaumont’s grandfather. Lucian had come to Gatlinburg with the intention of selling it. Meeting Megan had changed his mind.

They stopped beside the barn. Setting the brake, he rested the reins in his lap and angled toward Jane. The light freckles stood out in sharp contrast to her skin. Even her lips had gone pale.

“Are you all right? You’re not ill, are you?”

“Ill?” She plucked at her stiff collar. “No.”

“Then what’s the matter?”

“I had a restless night, that’s all.”

Her smile had a brittleness to it that troubled him. This was more than merely being upset with him. Was she hurting because of her deceitful fiancé? Was it the humiliation of the public revelation keeping her up at night?

“Is it Roy? Did he come to see you?”

“He has no reason to.”

Curving a rogue strand behind her ear, she adjusted one of the pins supporting her elegant hair arrangement, swoops and twists and miniature braids that made her appear older than her years.

She gathered up her skirts and made to descend on her side. He thought he heard her mumble, “Let’s get this over with.”

“Wait.” He left his gloves under the seat. “I’ll assist you.”

His boots met the ground and, after swinging Clara free of the bed and making her giggle with how high he swung her, he reached up to grip Jane’s waist. She balanced herself against his shoulders. Once she was on the ground, Tom discovered he was reluctant to release her. She was warm and supple beneath his hands, the raised design on her bodice rubbing against his palms. A tiny gold cross suspended from a thin gold chain nestled in the hollow of her collarbone. It was the only piece of jewelry she wore, and he recognized it as a gift from her deceased father.

Quickly moving out of his reach, she held out a hand to his niece. “My sister has a little girl about the same age as you. Her name is Rose, and she has a beautiful, handcrafted doll house and a number of dolls that I’m sure she’d let you play with. Would you like that?”

Clara’s eyes grew large. Slipping her hand in Jane’s, she nodded, contemplative as they headed through the short grass to the sweeping front porch. Having retrieved the basket containing the pie, Tom walked behind the pair, thoughts in turmoil. He had to get a grip. If Jane guessed these strange notions bombarding him, she’d be deeply disturbed. Josh would throttle him.

Tom rationalized with generic facts. It was natural for him to notice the physical changes in her. Any man would be thrilled to be near her.

His mind was on Jane as they ascended the wide steps, crossed the porch boards painted white and rang the bell on the fancy, carved wooden door. As a result, he wasn’t prepared for the sight of his former love standing in the open doorway. All social graces abandoned him, and he stood gaping at Megan like a nervous young buck.

“Tom.” She blinked. “Jane.”

She hadn’t changed at all. Petite, shorter than him by several inches, Megan possessed an ethereal beauty that ought to be preserved in a painting. Ringlets the color of moonlight framed a face unblemished by the sun, her peaches-and-cream complexion in contrast to large sea-blue eyes.

“Hello, Megan. You’re looking as lovely as ever,” he blurted, regretting it when color surged in her cheeks and next to him, Jane’s harsh inhale punctuated the silence.

Great. No doubt they both assumed he was still madly in love.

Pulling open the door, she gestured for them to enter the small alcove, the sleeves of her pink-and-white-striped blouse fluttering. An ornate wedding band adorned her left hand. At his insistence, she’d worn his ring for a short time while considering his proposal. The day she’d returned it was high on his list of painful memories. Only after spending time with his brother and sister-in-law and witnessing their devotion to one another had he recognized she’d been right to refuse him.

Megan hadn’t loved him. A truth that didn’t inflict pain like it had before.

“Lucian mentioned that you’d returned. Is this your niece?”

Pulling himself together, he introduced the two and asked after her husband. While he and the New Orleans native weren’t friends, he respected the man.

“He’s out hunting with Patrick, our son.”

Josh had told him that the couple had experienced difficulties having children. Years ago, when the wounds from her rejection were still fresh and his jealousy toward Lucian Beaumont had raged in him, he might’ve experienced a twinge of satisfaction. But no more. He couldn’t rejoice at their troubles. He was glad they’d found a way to have a family.

Megan enfolded Jane in a brief hug. “How are you, sweetie?”

“Perfectly well.”

Jane stood slightly apart from him and Megan, as if she didn’t want to intrude. The siblings exchanged a look he couldn’t interpret. What was going on? And why did Jane look so miserable?

Chapter Six

Jane had lied. She was ill. Very ill, indeed.

Her whole body felt as if it wasn’t quite tethered to the ground. Her limbs trembled. And a vise was squeezing her insides until she could hardly breathe.

In that initial moment when Tom saw Megan, his reaction had confirmed her suspicions...he still loved her. There could be no arguing the fact.

As they followed her sister down the long papered hallway to the back porch, Jane was once again confronted with a heartbreaking truth—she was not what he desired in a wife. The epitome of delicate beauty, Megan’s personality was such that people craved her company. She was comfortable reading storybooks to scores of children while their parents looked on. She even dressed like the characters! There wasn’t enough money in the world to induce Jane to do such a thing. No, she preferred solitude to crowds. Peace and quiet to outright attention.

It made sense that Tom would prefer a woman with well-honed social skills. He was open and friendly, able to strike up a conversation with anyone he came in contact with. That was part of why he’d been such a successful barber. He’d treated his customers like dear family members.

There were any number of such single women in Gatlinburg who’d welcome his interest. Best that she start preparing herself for that event. Once he got the farm situated, he’d be on the lookout for a wife. A daytime caretaker was merely a short-term solution for Clara’s needs.

As they exited the house, she stumbled over the doorjamb, and his hand came to rest against her lower back, guiding her over to the grouping of painted metal chairs with cushioned seats. The familiarity of his touch reminded her of old times, the weight and heat registering through her cotton dress and igniting a roaring inferno of longing within her chest. Such an innocuous gesture and yet devastating.

Urging them to sit, Megan waved to her daughters, who were inspecting a butterfly hovering above the patch of bleeding heart flowers. Seventeen-year-old Lillian said something to the small child at her side and, taking her hand, walked her over to the steps. Tom remained standing, his focus on the girls.

She knew what he was thinking. Lillian, with her waist-length blond curls and pale skin, could pass for Megan’s sister. Rose, on the other hand, had dark brown hair and olive skin like Lucian.

As the girls neared, Clara tucked closer into Tom’s side. He gently stroked her curls and murmured encouraging words. Jane winced. This was the reason she couldn’t be Clara’s caretaker. She couldn’t be in their presence every day, couldn’t witness his patience and affection without yearning to be included. To share in the care and nurturing of this sweet, vulnerable child. And, impossibly, to give him more children. Build a family with him.

Please, God, let this visit be brief.

Motherly pride on her face, Megan brought them over. “Girls, I’d like you to meet a dear friend of our family, Mr. Tom Leighton. And this is his niece, Clara.”

Lillian blushed and smiled. “How do you do?”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Tom said warmly.

Rose observed Clara with keen interest.

“Girls, how about you show Clara the gardens?” Megan said.

“Certainly. Rose has some dolls on the table there.” Lillian pointed to the white wrought-iron setting on the garden’s perimeter. “Would you like to come and play?”

Clara looked up at her uncle, silently questioning. He bestowed her with a bright smile. “Go ahead, little bird. I’ll be right here.”

Megan lifted the basket Jane had given her. “I’ll have our treat dished out in a few minutes. I’ll prepare tea for you, sis. Tom, would you care for coffee?”

“I’d love some.” Striding to her side, he relieved her of her burden. “I’ll help you get everything ready.”

Jealousy flushed her skin hot, then cold. Jane hated that she was jealous of her own sister. Forgive me, Lord.

“I’ll stay with Clara,” she scraped out, throat burning. He’d invited her here to smooth things between them. Apparently he didn’t require her presence, as he’d initially thought.

Megan flashed her a look of apology. Tom thanked Jane, already leading the way to the door, holding it open like a proper gentleman.

Clara tugged on her sleeve. “Let’s go, Miss Jane.”

Gazing down into wide, solemn green eyes so much like Tom’s, she realized how immature she was being. This child had endured the loss of her mother. Her father had willingly abandoned her. She was in a new, unfamiliar town far from Kansas, surrounded by people she didn’t know. Jane’s shallow problems were inconsequential compared to Clara’s.

Summoning a smile, she squeezed her hand. “What shall we do first? Play dolls or explore the gardens?”

* * *

Two days later, Tom couldn’t get the image of Jane and Clara out of his head. He and Megan had emerged carrying trays brimming with pie and hot drinks and there, in the midst of the stone path flanked by a profusion of pastel blooms, sat Jane, his niece on her lap, heads bent as they studied a caterpillar in her cupped hands.

A rare smile had graced Clara’s rosebud mouth. She’d been relaxed in Jane’s arms. Content. And when they’d lifted their heads, he’d been struck by the compassion on Jane’s face.

He shouldn’t be surprised at the evidence of his friend’s maternal instinct. Jane was one of the most kindhearted, loving people he’d ever met. That’s why he was here on her doorstep unannounced, ready to get down on his knees and beg if need be.

At his knock, the door swung open and there she stood, an apron over her nut-brown skirt and buttercup-yellow blouse. Shiny strands had slipped from her simple twist to form a halo about her appealing features, the hair at her temples damp from the afternoon heat. One hand clutched a small towel. He’d interrupted her baking.

“Tom.” Varying emotions surged and waned in her shadowed eyes. She dusted flour from her apron. “I wasn’t expecting you today.” She looked beyond his shoulder to where Clara was crouched in the grass, picking dandelions. “Is everything okay?”

Of course it wasn’t. He was overwhelmed with the massive task of setting the farm to rights while trying to keep an eye on Clara, not to mention taking time out to prepare meals. He hadn’t even addressed the issue of Clara’s new wardrobe yet.

“Do you have a minute?”

Draping the towel over her shoulder, she opened the door wider. “Sure. Come on in.”

Inside the main living area of her family’s two-story cabin, the tempting aroma of apples and cinnamon curled around him. The low-ceilinged rectangular room looked pretty much the same as he remembered it—a stacked-stone fireplace dominated one wall. Oval-backed chairs surrounded one long chocolate-brown settee and a yellow-gold fainting couch. Sewing baskets, fabrics and supplies occupied a low table in the far corner. A cramped dining space led to the kitchen.

“Smells amazing in here.”

“I’m working on a stack cake for Hattie Williams’s wedding tomorrow. Do you mind if I give Clara a treat?”

“She’d enjoy that.”

He followed her to the kitchen, attention on her hair and her exposed nape. She’d nearly caught up with him in the height department, the crown of her head about even with his nose. The twins were tall and slender like their eldest sister, Juliana, and shared the same flame-colored hair.

Being in her kitchen was like being in the bowels of a bakery. The pie safe’s doors were open, the shelves crowded with baked goods. A five-pound sack of flour, containers of sugar and fresh butter occupied one end of her work surface, while bowls and spoons of various sizes fanned out around the stack cake in the middle. Even the table had been put to use. Spice bags and a crate of eggs lined the nearest edge.

“Where’s Jessica?” Tom propped a hip against the counter, wishing he could have a taste of the towering confection.

“At the mercantile. I ran out of vanilla extract.” Removing the covering on a large plate, she counted out four ginger cookies the size of his palm.

“Are all of those for Clara?”

Humor played about her generous mouth, and she started to replace the top two. “I thought you might like to indulge your sweet tooth, but if you’d rather not...”

For a moment, he was struck dumb by her almost smile, the first true glimpse of the lighthearted girl he used to know. One long stride had him at her side. Chuckling, he swiped them from her hand and took a huge bite. “Mmm. You, Janie girl, are the best baker in the state. Maybe even in the east.”

Her green gaze clung to his, something akin to fascination in the mysterious depths, as if she was loath to look away from his enjoyment of her creation. Clearing her throat, she moved away to pour milk into a pair of mason jars.

“I’ll be right back.”

His mouth full of cookie, he watched as she carried the jar and a small plate out to the front porch. Clara came running. Jane bent to her level, a full-fledged smile transforming her face into something so pure and lovely he nearly choked as he fought to catch his breath.

She had to agree to his request. Her affection for Clara had surely grown greater than her reasons for refusing him the first time.

Taking up her spot behind the waist-high work space, she resumed her work, carefully slathering apple butter across the top layer. “What did you wish to see me about?”

“You’ve seen my kitchen.”

“Yes.”

“It’s not as large as yours, but it has everything you’d need to do your baking there. Jessica, too.”

Slowly lowering the spoon, she stared at him. “What are you suggesting, Tom?”

“I’m asking you to reconsider watching Clara for me. I understand it would be a bit of an inconvenience for Jessica to have to come to my home every afternoon, but I’m willing to pay her what I can.”

“I don’t know—”

He lifted a hand. “Please, hear me out. Clara’s had a rough year. After Jenny died, Charles and I couldn’t make her understand why her ma wasn’t coming back. We struggled to console her during those first weeks.”

“I’m sorry.” Her voice dropped to an almost whisper. “I can’t imagine how hard that must’ve been for you.”

He recalled the many sleepless nights. In the beginning, they’d taken turns comforting her after yet another bad dream. “Months passed, and she started improving. Charles, on the other hand, got worse. He and Jenny, they shared a love few people get to experience. He was furious with God for taking her. Couldn’t handle the loss, so he started drinking. I tried to stop him.”

And had gotten a handful of black eyes in the process. Knowing the depth of his brother’s despair, Tom hadn’t had the heart to put up much of a fight. He’d merely wanted Charles to snap out of it.

“Charles disappeared. I waited for him to return. Had the sheriff contact nearby towns looking for him. I have no idea if he’s alive or dead.”

“Oh, Tom.” Coming around to his side, she clutched his forearm. Sympathy rendered her eyes the color of the dusk-darkened forest.

“I didn’t tell you this to guilt you into agreeing. The fact is, I don’t want just anyone to be her caretaker. I want you.” Ignoring her quiet gasp, he continued. “I trust you. And she does, too. You’re the first woman she’s taken a shine to since her ma passed. You’d be good for her, Jane. Please say yes.”

She stepped away, shoulders slumping a little. “I can’t.”

Disappointment swirled in his chest. Jane might not be as outspoken as her sisters, but she had the O’Malley stubborn streak. There’d be no changing her mind. If only she’d tell him why. She’d given him the impression she’d forgiven him for demanding Josh’s silence. Holding a grudge wasn’t in her nature, but it was the only valid reason he could come up with.

“I can’t say that I understand, but I respect your decision. I won’t ask again.” Heading for the exit, he forced his voice to remain upbeat. “Thanks for the cookie. Good luck with the cake. Hattie will no doubt love it.”

“Wait.”

Foolishly, hope surged as he pivoted in the doorway.

“There’s an elderly widow in town. You may remember her. Lorraine Drummond?”

Swallowing hard, he nodded. This wasn’t going the way he’d envisioned.

“She’s been saying recently how lonely she gets now that her husband is gone and her children have moved away. She’d be the perfect caretaker for Clara.”

“Thanks, Jane. I’ll look into it.” He hooked a thumb at the door. “I’ll let myself out.”

Outside, he discovered his niece wasn’t alone. A stranger stood with his hat in his hands, fingers worrying the brim as he turned it in a never-ending circle. Shorter than Tom, dressed much like the locals in pants, a band-collared shirt and suspenders, his black hair was rumpled and beads of sweat dotted his brow. From the looks of his mount, he’d been in a hurry to get here.

“Can I help you?” Crossing his arms, Tom deliberately blocked the steps. The man wasn’t sporting a holster or gun belt, but there could be a knife hidden somewhere on his person.

The man scowled. “I’m looking for Jane.”

“Who should I say is calling?”

“Roy Crowley.”

* * *

Jane hadn’t felt this low in a long time.

Seeing the hurt and confusion in Tom’s eyes, knowing there were things about his time in Kansas he wasn’t telling her, she’d come close to giving in to his plea. Whatever he’d endured was bad. So bad he wouldn’t voice it.

Tom was adept at masking his troubles with his carefree, upbeat manner, something she hadn’t recognized as a young girl. Interpreting his words and gestures through the eyes of a mature woman gave her fresh insight into the man she’d assumed she knew everything about. Just now, he’d attempted to hide his disappointment from her. To protect himself? Or was he doing what he’d always done—protecting her?

He wouldn’t want her to feel guilty for not helping him. But she did. Jane genuinely liked Clara. Ached for what she’d endured. She had it in her power to help her, make her life a little brighter, and she was choosing not to. That went against everything her ma had taught her.

Desperate times call for desperate measures.

Her future was at stake. Her peace of mind. She’d concocted a sensible plan to get over him, and she must stick to it at all costs. Even if it meant putting her own needs above a little girl’s.

The sick sensation in her middle belied such thoughts.

Mrs. Drummond will be wonderful for Clara, she reassured herself, like a substitute grandmother.

“Jane.”

Startled out of her reverie, she jerked her head up. “What is it?”

Anger blazed in Tom’s eyes, which glowed like the most brilliant peridot gems. Hands fisted at his sides, his jaw worked. “You have a visitor.”

“Roy?” Who else would evoke Tom’s murderous expression? The sick sensation intensified. This day was getting better and better.

“I’ll get rid of him if that’s what you want.”

His hard, lean body filling the doorway, tension coming off him in waves, he looked like a stranger. A lethal one.

Always her protector. If only... Stop. Wishing for the impossible has gotten you nothing but heartache.

Untying her apron, she hung it on a hook beside the back door. “I can’t avoid him forever.”

“You don’t have to see him today.”

She stopped in front of him. The temptation to seek refuge in his arms was strong. “Better here than on a street corner, with the townsfolk for an audience.”

“Fine,” he clipped out. “But I’m not leaving you alone with him.”

This was where she should point out she didn’t need him watching over her, that she could handle Roy on her own. Instead, she nodded her acceptance. His fierce determination to protect her, despite that it was motivated by friendship alone, made her feel cherished.

Tom had directed Clara to remain in the main room. She sat on the couch, big eyes taking in the paintings on the chinked-log walls, the photographs on the mantel. “We won’t be long,” he told her on their way outside.

The sight of her former fiancé in her yard evoked fresh waves of humiliation. Her cheeks burned. Maybe agreeing to Tom’s presence hadn’t been the wisest idea. Surely this fiasco called into question her sound judgment. Her ability to discern people’s true natures.

“Why are you here, Roy?” At least she sounded calm. Unfazed.

He came to the porch’s bottom step, brown eyes pleading. “I came to apologize. You ran out of the church so fast, you didn’t give me a chance to explain.”

Behind her, Tom made a sound of disgust.

Roy’s lips thinned. “Can we speak in private?”

“It’s too late for explanations. If you’d been honestwith me from the beginning, we would’ve been spared a public spectacle. Go home to your wife, Roy.”

“Laura.” He shook his head. “She’s been trouble since the day I met her. That’s why you were so refreshing, Jane. You’re sweet and biddable.”

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