“Jessica, you’re not leaving early, are you?”
In the arched entry to the well-appointed parlor, she reluctantly turned to address Jane’s best friend, Caroline Turner. The Turners’ home was one of the largest in Gatlinburg. Many community meetings were held here because of that fact, along with Louise Turner’s desire to be viewed as a proper and welcoming hostess.
Caroline didn’t share her mother’s aspiration to be the most beloved town member. They were frequently at odds. Add to that a complex relationship with her father, and the pretty blonde found it a challenge to be content.
Through the windows flanking the fireplace, orange blended with encroaching deep blue sky. “I have chores yet to do.”
Nothing that couldn’t wait until the morning, of course, but she’d grown tired of the sly stares. Jessica had purposefully arrived five minutes after the meeting started. The annual harvest fair was only weeks away and, as she was in charge of coordinating the food booths, she’d had no choice but to attend. With the unending questions in the other women’s eyes, she’d decided to skip the refreshments in favor of escape.
Your rush to get home doesn’t happen to have anything to do with a certain endearing stranger, does it?
Rejecting that thought outright, she slipped her reticule over her wrist and wished the door was a few steps closer. Caroline looked intent on having her curiosity satisfied.
“Can’t you stay long enough to have some carrot cake and lemonade? You slipped out of church yesterday before anyone could corner you. I’m sure I’m not the only one who’s dying to hear about your guest.”
She half turned to indicate the young women seated on the plush blue sofa and overstuffed striped chairs. They were staring at her like a pack of hungry dogs waiting for bits of choice meat.
“Is it true he’s a member of the notorious Jenkins gang?” Pauline Cross piped up, her eyes as big as saucers.
“I heard he nearly died in your arms, and you saved him just in time.” Laura Latham pressed her hand over her heart. “How romantic.”
Caroline’s expression urged her to confess all. “As you can see, there are multiple rumors being bandied about town. Now’s your chance to tell us the true account.”
Grant’s arrival on her doorstep had naturally reawakened folks’ speculation about her. Once again, her actions would be discussed at length and judged. Irritation fired through her. She’d never expected to be in this position again.
“There’s not much to tell,” she hedged.
Wilda Haynes put her palms together in a pleading gesture. “You’re the only one of us who’s ever had anything exciting happen to them. Don’t keep us guessing!”
Exciting? That wasn’t a word she’d use. Irksome. Confounding. Those better described how she viewed Grant’s intrusion into her life.
Jessica related the basic facts, glossing over his injuries out of respect for his privacy. Their questions ranged from the outrageous to the intrusive. Finally, she’d had enough.
“I have to go.”
Caroline escorted her to the door. “I know you didn’t enjoy that, but being secretive would’ve fueled the flames of their imaginations. The talk should start to die down now.”
Jessica didn’t bother to hide her discontent. “Let’s hope you’re right, because I don’t plan on repeating any of that.”
The strange drive to protect Grant had taken her unawares. If it turned out he possessed a notorious past, the damage to her already shaky reputation would be immeasurable.
Bidding her hostess goodbye, she descended the polished wood steps and wound her way down the path to the lane. The Turners lived on the opposite side of town and, eyeing the darkening sky, she wished she’d brought her horse.
Grant dominated her thoughts during the long walk home. After Doc’s visit yesterday, he’d remained in his room the entire afternoon. He’d declined supper. At her mother’s request, Jessica had gone in later and offered to play a game of chess or checkers with him. His mood hadn’t been difficult to read. He’d been somber, the vibrancy in his blue eyes dulled. He’d thanked her for the offer and claimed exhaustion, but she hadn’t bought the excuse.
Somewhere in the dense woods flanking the lane, an owl hooted. The rustle of birds and small animals moving about in the darkness didn’t scare her. She’d grown up here and was used to the wildlife. But what about Grant? Not knowing the details of his life—from the mundane to the momentous—must be eating away at him. That he’d been able to tease and smile at all was a testament to his fortitude.
Passing the snake-and-rail fence that marked the edge of their property, she wrapped her thin shawl more snugly about her shoulders. The lack of the sun’s heat lent a nip to the air that chilled her skin. The strumming of a guitar reached her. Startled, she lengthened her stride. Her ma didn’t play. Neither did Will.
The porch came into view. Grant sat in one of the rocking chairs, his new friend Cinders curled up at his feet and a guitar in his hands. His head was bent to study the strings. A lantern had been placed on the roughly crafted table. Caught in its circle, his fair hair shone like the sun’s rays. Stubble darkened his jaw. A twig snapped beneath her boot, and he looked up. There was a sadness about him that touched a corresponding chord deep inside her. He knew trouble intimately, the same as she. Her trouble was behind her, the scars deeply embedded. Grant’s was present, affecting him right this minute, and she wondered how he’d come out of it. If he’d fare better than her. She hoped so.
“Hi.” The haunting tune faded.
She ascended the steps. “I didn’t know you played.”
“Nor did I. Your ma noticed my interest and suggested I try it, so I did. She told me it belonged to your pa. I hope you don’t mind my testing it out.”
“Not at all.”
“Alice is inside. Will had to run home for something. Should be back anytime.”
“Okay.”
She made to move past, determined not to care or involve herself in his business in any way, until he caught her hand. Heat from his skin instantly enveloped hers.
“Sit with me for a little while.”
Jessica almost got lost in his fathomless eyes. In his grasp, her hand felt small and protected. It was such a wonderful sensation, this contact with a virile, intriguing male. That was why she had to disengage.
Pulling free, she tried to think of a good excuse not to stay.
“Please.”
The humble plea reminded her of their first encounter. It did strange things to her resolve. Maybe because she wasn’t used to hearing the men in her life say it. Or maybe you can’t handle the loneliness wreathing his features.
“Okay,” she said again, promising herself she wouldn’t linger long. Taking the other rocker, she slipped off her reticule and laid it on her lap.
“How was your meeting?”
“Same as usual.” You were the main topic.
“What’s the usual?”
“Hmm, let’s see.” With her boot, she set the rocker in motion. “The committee leader, Louise Turner, gives everyone time to fawn over her latest acquisition—tonight it was an anniversary gift—a new ruby brooch given to her by Mr. Turner. Once that’s accomplished, she expounds on our upcoming event. That would be Gatlinburg’s annual harvest fair.”
Humor bracketed his mouth. “What does one do at a harvest fair?”
“There are pie-eating contests. Music and dancing. Skillet tosses and sack races. And then there’s the judging...who has the prettiest quilt, the tastiest pumpkin bread, the most flavorful blackberry preserves. It can be quite intense, let me tell you. These mountain women take their crafts seriously.”
A chuckle rumbled through his chest. “I’m sure it’s entertaining. Just as I’m sure they are all jealous of you.”
“Me? Why?”
“No one else’s desserts could possibly compare to yours.”
He caught her wince and wagged his finger at her. “I’m right,” he crowed. “How many years in a row did you win the blue ribbon before they asked you—politely, I’m sure—to refrain from entering?”
She rested her head against the chair, not surprised that he’d guessed the truth. For someone with no knowledge of his own identity, Grant was exceedingly perceptive.
“Five. And Jane and I entered together.”
Whistling, he thrummed a couple of notes. “Five. Impressive.”
They fell silent. Was he thinking the same thing she was? That he might not be here come fair time?
“I didn’t recognize the song you were playing before. What is it?”
“Something I made up.” He shrugged. “Or maybe I heard it as a child.”
“Can you play anything else?”
Wrapping his long fingers about the guitar’s neck, he started and stopped a couple of times before selecting a melody that was both sad and moving. He then transitioned into a lively tune she recognized. Listening to him play, she found herself humming along and mentally joining her fiddle to his guitar. She used to play most every day. Chasing chords, exploring new sounds and practicing old favorites gave her satisfaction and contentment. She’d stopped after the fire.
She didn’t realize until this moment how much she missed making music.
“That was beautiful, Grant.”
“Thanks.” Leaving the instrument in the chair, he drifted over to a porch post—still favoring his hurt ankle—to stare up at the night sky. “I have no idea who taught me.”
His voice was ragged. Dejected. Joining him, she let the opposite post support her weight. “The accident was just a few days ago. Be patient with yourself.”
“That’s what Doc said.”
“He may not have a winning personality,” she said drily, “but he knows what he’s doing.”
“I skimmed through my Bible today. I can quote Scripture. Not only from Psalms and Proverbs, but from the New Testament, as well.”
“You could’ve learned them as a child.”
“Or I could have attended seminary.”
“You’re worried you aren’t a good person, aren’t you? That’s why you’re clinging to this theory.” Reaching out, she touched the back of his hand. “These are farmer’s hands. Or a dock worker’s.”
“That doesn’t prove I’m not a preacher.”
“Doesn’t prove you’re not a gunslinger, either.”
“Why do you insist on believing the worst about me? What is it that you see in me, Jessica?” The anguish roaring to life in his beautiful eyes stole the breath from her lungs.
“I—I’m sorry. You’re right.” Her face felt on fire. “I apologize.”
She fled.
“Wait. Jessica—”
Inside the cabin, she sagged against the door, regret washing over her. Her suspicious nature had hurt him. She’d known it was destructive, but she’d assumed she was the only one affected by its bitter poison.
Her mother looked up from the sewing project on her lap. “There you are. Isn’t it something about Grant’s playing ability? You and he should play together.”
Her fiddle lay in its case, unused for months. Making music had been beyond her capabilities.
Her legs were heavy as she forced them across the room. “When is he leaving?”
Alice’s hands stilled, the needle and thread hovering midair. “What’s wrong? Did he say something to upset you?”
“No, I—I just think that the longer he stays, the easier it will be for him to depend on our hospitality.” She forced the untruth through stiff lips.
“Oh, I don’t see that as a possibility. Grant isn’t one to take advantage.”
“How can you know that for certain? He’s been here a handful of days.”
Lowering the material, she sighed. “What is this really about, Jessica?”
“Nothing. Never mind. I’ll be in my room if you need me.”
Her countenance a reflection of concern, Alice slowly nodded. Her mother wasn’t one to push, something Jessica greatly appreciated in moments like this.
* * *
In the kitchen the next morning, Grant found Will at the table devouring a large portion of biscuits and gravy and fried eggs. His mouth full, he lifted a hand in greeting.
Alice turned from the stove, her spatula suspended above the pan. “Good morning, Grant. How did you sleep?”
He couldn’t tell her the truth, that thoughts of her daughter had kept him up half the night. “Fine. And you?”
“Like a baby.” Pouring him a cup of steaming hot coffee, she set it on the long counter between them and nodded to the table. “Have a seat. I’ll have your breakfast ready in a jiffy.”
Grant did as she suggested. Taking the seat opposite Will, he wondered where Jessica was and if she planned to avoid him today. He hadn’t meant to upset her. His frustration had boiled over, and he’d lashed out at her. Great way to repay her hospitality, Parker.
“You have school today?” he said, wrapping his hands about the mug.
Will chugged half the contents of his glass, then used his sleeve to wipe the excess milk from his mouth. “Yep. Wish I could skip.”
Alice slid a plate in front of Grant. She shot Will a don’t-you-dare glance. “Nathan and Sophie would have your hide. You know how important it is to finish your learning.”
“I guess.” The look on his face said he didn’t agree.
The aroma of salty bacon hit Grant’s nose, and his stomach rumbled in response. The biscuits were light and fluffy, the white gravy dotted with sausage bursting with savory goodness.
“If I don’t start doing physical labor soon, I’m gonna need larger trousers,” he said.
She chuckled and returned to the stove. “Better hurry, Will. You don’t want to be late.”
Grunting, Will finished off his drink and carried his dishes to the dry sink. “See you tonight.”
He was rushing out of the kitchen when Jessica appeared. “Oh, hey, Jess.”
“Morning.” She sidestepped out of his way, her gaze locked on Grant’s. The main door slammed behind the boy.
Grant tried to think of something to say to break the tension suddenly permeating the room and came up blank. She looked as fresh as a daisy in her sunny yellow blouse and dark brown skirt. Her hair wasn’t in its usual ponytail. Shining red locks spilled over her shoulders. Only the top strands had been pulled back and restrained with a crooked ribbon. The casual style made her look younger and softer. More like a woman and less like a warrior. His mouth went dry.
Whatever she saw in his gaze caused her to break eye contact, and she hurried to pour herself some tea.
“Good morning, my dear,” Alice greeted. “Do you have any orders to work on today?”
“No. Why? Do you need my help with something?”
“I was hoping we’d get those bushels of green beans preserved.”
“I’ll get started on it right after breakfast.”
“Thanks, dear. Here you go.”
Grant had kept his attention on his plate during their exchange. In his peripheral vision, he saw Jessica’s slow approach. He couldn’t have her feeling uncomfortable in her own home.
He gave her a welcoming smile, one he hoped communicated that last night didn’t have to ruin today. “Does your harvest fair host a competition for autumn queen?”
“What?” She sank into the chair Will had vacated, her brows pulling together. “Oh, um, no. Why?”
“Because you’d win the crown today. I like your hair like that.”
Her full petal-pink lips parted as becoming color tinged her cheeks. “That’s sweet of you to say.”
The urge to cradle her hand seized him. Aware of their audience, he cleared his throat. “I’ll help with chores today,” he told Alice. “I’m assuming you have to break the beans first.”
“That’s right. But Doc said you should focus on getting your strength back.”
“If I sit still any longer, I’ll lose what’s left of my mind. It’s not strenuous work, anyway.”
“If you’re sure. You and Jessica can break them while I get the jars washed and ready.”
What felt like a tiny lightning bolt of pain arced through his skull. He flinched, and then it was gone. Neither woman noticed.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather read a book or practice the guitar?” Jessica suggested, her reluctance to spend time with him plain.
She didn’t want him around. She’d made that clear from the moment he collapsed in her yard. He tried to mask how much it bothered him.
“I’m well enough to help you. I won’t be around for long. Take the assistance while you have it.”
Blowing lightly on the tawny liquid in her china cup, she lowered her gaze.
A second spasm streaked through his head. His fork clinked against the plate. Pain exploded behind his temple. He rammed his chair back, leaned over and gripped his head with both hands.