A Most Unusual Match (12 page)

StoneHill Farm, Virginia

T
hea spent much of her first week at StoneHill Farm in a daze. Forty-eight hours after their arrival, with no reports of strangers lurking in the area, Devlin decided Thea could safely wander the property on her own. She sensed his reluctance, but embraced the freedom to explore, especially since she seldom saw Devlin. He rose at dawn, and for the past three nights tramped back to the house after everyone else was in bed.

Both of them were determined—at least on the surface—to put Edgar Fane in the back of the larder. Devlin was utterly absorbed in taking control of the business of the farm once more. Whenever they did have a private moment or two it consisted mostly of a quick smile of apology on Devlin's part, a reassuring murmur on hers that she was perfectly fine, and for him to reacquaint himself with his horses. Much to her surprise, Thea was enjoying serene days, and the most restful sleep she'd experienced in months.

All right, yes. She missed Devlin, yearned for the solicitousness he'd offered at Saratoga and over their long
trip south to Virginia. But she was pragmatic enough to know the difference between a summer season at a famous resort and the gritty essence of real life: Devlin was not a gentleman of leisure like Edgar Fane, but a horseman, trainer, breeder…. The more Thea learned about his life at StoneHill, the more she puzzled over why he'd hared off to Saratoga Springs Resort. When an opportunity arose, she planned to ask his true motivation for a summer sabbatical in upstate New York.

The dreamy little girl wanted to beg God's forgiveness and resurrect her faith in a loving heavenly Father, Who by divine design brought her and Devlin together.

The wiser woman was unwilling to lower her guard because, still lurking in a dark corner of that larder, the stubborn avenger refused to give up her quest for justice.

Most days Thea focused her time on exploring StoneHill. Devlin had not exaggerated the magnificence of his domain—the main house sat on the crest of a small hill surrounded by three thousand acres of prime bottomland and a view of the Blue Ridge Mountains that brought tears to her eyes, particularly at sunset. To the south, a sweeping panorama of blue sky, broad valley and hazy mountains made her feel paradoxically insignificant, yet able to breathe more deeply than she ever had in her life, secure on a tiny island in the Hudson River.

In green pastures, immense horses grazed in the shimmery heat of late summer. Hired workers gathered hay into towering stacks, while dragonflies and butterflies darted among late-summer wildflowers. Someone had planted hundreds of pink spider lilies and yellow black-eyed Susans around the dry stack stone walls which surrounded the dignified stone-and-brick house. Their sunny colors brightened the sultry air.

StoneHill charmed her with its storybook splendor; Thea
stubbornly refused to fall completely in love with Devlin Stone, but she was utterly captivated by his home.

“Explore all you want,” Devlin's Uncle Jeremiah told her in that slow cultured drawl that reminded her of Devlin, “but always wear boots and carry yourself a stout walking stick. Down here in Virginia, we got snakes. Mostly they'll leave you alone, but you have to watch out for the no-legged kind same as you do the two-legged. We got our share of both. Myself, I'd rather deal with a rattler.”

Jeremiah possessed a dry wit along with his slow smile. Devlin was right about his uncle—when her grandfather finally arrived the following day, he would like Jeremiah, very much.

A clump of flowers peeking through the grasses at a bend in the creek beckoned. Thea swept her walking stick in front of her, then knelt on the damp earth beside the blossoms. “Look at you,” she murmured, feathering her index finger over white-tipped petals, the center of which deepened to rich magenta-colored streaks. “So lovely, yet hidden away by this little creek.” It seemed unfair, somehow, for God to have created such a stunning variety of flora most human eyes never beheld.

Apparently her soul still smarted, if she could hold a grudge against the Almighty for his placement of wildflowers.

“They're water willow, but still not as lovely as you.” Devlin said behind her. “Here, now!” He lengthened his stride, grabbing her arm just before she tumbled backward into the creek. “Sorry I startled you.”

“Well, I was having a private conversation with those flowers.” Thea's gaze wandered over his cuffless and collarless lawn shirt, streaked with dirt smears. He looked as different from the urbane gentleman of Saratoga as a
farm wagon from a barouche. “What are you doing here? I thought you had a yearling to train.”

“I did. She behaved like a little lady, and I wanted to keep it that way. She's back frolicking in the pasture now, but she'll retain a positive memory of our time together.”

“I'd like to watch, someday, unless…I'd be too much of a distraction.”

“Well, you're a distraction no matter what.”

They smiled at each other, and Thea realized only then how lonely she'd felt. “So you hunted me down because you were in need of a diversion?”

His smile deepened, forming the deep creases in his cheeks that never failed to weaken Thea's knees. “I'm headed to the hardware store. Ordered some new harness brackets a while back, and got word the shipment finally arrived. We've had too little time together, so I thought you might like to come along?”

“I suppose I can fit you into my crowded social calendar.”

Sunlit sparkles danced through his eyes before they darkened to charcoal. “Do you have any idea how unique you are? I didn't realize until I walked into the barn, the night we arrived, how much I've missed this place, the horses. Thanks for understanding. For not…” He stopped, shaking his head.

“For not whining? Pouting? Making life miserable for you and everyone else?” Thea shrugged, though what she yearned to do was give him a comforting hug. “Of course, if you'd spirited me off to a rickety row house that leaked, with a curmudgeon of a housekeeper—”

“Bessie is a curmudgeon.”

“But a lovable one. Believe it or not, she and Mrs. Chudd have formed a bizarre friendship. Bessie tempts her with Southern cooking, and Mrs. Chudd turns her nose up.
Then they both cackle.” She yielded to the temptation and brushed a dried clump of mud off his sleeve, just so she could touch him. “I'm at peace here, Devlin, I promise. StoneHill is even more breathtaking than your descriptions. Don't worry about me. I plan to savor every moment, including the few I can share with you.”
Especially those,
she admitted silently.

As they walked back down the path, shoulders brushing, hands swinging inches apart, Thea sneaked sidelong glances, and told herself she was seven kinds of a fool to pretend their lives could last beyond an announcement of Edgar Fane's arrest.

“Something on your mind?” Devlin asked softly just before they left the woods. “The smile has left your eyes. You seem…preoccupied. Not afraid of going for an outing, are you? No dizziness?”

“I haven't been afraid since the train pulled out of Saratoga Springs, Devlin. Not a dizzy spell in sight.”

“Good.” His hand descended onto her arm, bringing her to a halt. “But I'm still sorry I haven't been able to keep you company, show you around. Once I catch up, I promise things will change.”

“This is your home, your life. You love it, that's all. I don't know how you were able to leave it for so long.” Or why…

The creases in his cheeks disappeared, and a shadow darkened his eyes. “I'm wondering the same thing,” he said. “Human nature, I suppose, to not miss something until you don't have it anymore.”

Abruptly he released her and resumed walking at a ground-eating pace. “We'd better hurry if we're going to make it to town and back before dark. Bessie's not shy about her feelings when someone's late for supper. And Mrs. Chudd's silences fill in the rest.”

An hour later they rattled into the small community of Stuarts Crossing, a one-street assortment of aging brick buildings shaded by huge old trees. The hardware store was situated between two massive sycamores. A general store sat on the corner across the street, and a little past the hardware a post office had been built the previous year, Devlin told her. “We're on the map now,” he said as he helped Thea down. “Bessie doesn't have to wait an extra week when she orders something from the Sears Roebuck catalog.” He ran an affectionate hand over the sweating flanks of Dulcinea, the placid Percheron whose gray color just about matched Devlin's eyes. “I need to talk some business for a few moments, as well as pick up my order. Instead of perusing rows of tools, turpentine and nails, you might prefer Gilpen's Mercantile. We're not New York City here, but—”

“Neither,” Thea interrupted him levelly, “am I.”

A farm wagon rumbled past. Devlin stood, chagrin in his eyes and annoyance thinning his mouth. “I don't know what I'm going to do,” he finally muttered half under his breath. “Thea…”

“You're going to take care of business,” Thea told him, “and I'm going to go find a hostess gift for Bessie.” With a firm nod and a hand wave, she hurried away before her resolve wilted like the sad row of asters drooping from twin flower boxes in front of the post office.

D
evlin watched her stroll across the packed dirt-and-gravel roadway, his pride and his heart smarting. Didn't matter which hurt worse. How was a man supposed to accept spiritual guidance when life was a confounded mess? If God chose to soften his heart with an irresistible woman, He could at least have chosen one who didn't despise his current profession. If only—with an impatient swat at a hovering bee Devlin cut off the litany of “if onlys.”

As soon as Thea disappeared inside the mercantile he grimly focused his gaze on the end of the street, and the dust-coated surrey slowly making its way toward him. Lawlor was late; Devlin had expected him to be waiting inside the hardware store. They could have shared their brief reconnoiter in relative privacy. Then he noticed two other men in the surrey with Lawlor. Fellow agents? They looked familiar. Devlin's jaw hardened. He went into the hardware to pay for the harness brackets.

Ten minutes later, after stacking a half-dozen boxes in the buggy, he straightened to scan the street. Conscious of the possibility of curious eyes, especially Thea's, he noted the location of every person in sight. Footsteps scraped
on the walk outside the Post Office, and without haste he strolled over under the shade of one of the sycamores to meet the trio of men. He never should have yielded to his need and invited Thea to accompany him to town.

Three pairs of narrowed eyes monitored his approach, but it was the gent wearing the navy striped suit, liberally coated with road dust, who stepped forward.

“Good afternoon. We're reporters from the Washington
Evening Star.
M'name's Lawlor. Other two gents are Mr. Wolfred and Mr. Amos. We're looking for a Devlin Stone, of StoneHill Farm?”

“Reporters, hmm? And why would three gentlemen of the press travel all this way to see a farmer?”

Amos, a slight young fellow with wire-rimmed spectacles and a severe case of acne, unwound the string from a portfolio and withdrew a newspaper. “P-perhaps this will explain.” Splotches of red stained his cheeks as he held out the paper, but the mild brown eyes stayed steady on Devlin. “P-page eight, right column.”

“So you know Stone's a farmer?” Lawlor said. “We'd appreciate your help in locating him, or his farm.”

“You were the one who indicated he lived on a place called StoneHill
Farm.
Why are you looking for him?” Devlin countered without looking up from his perusal of the underlined article. “What does the murder of a society woman at Saratoga Springs Resort in upstate New York have to do with Devlin Stone?”

“Well, rumors are spreading thick and fast that Mr. Stone is a person of interest in this case.” The third man, Wolfred, lifted a bushy black brow when Devlin made no comment. “He was seen at the Saratoga Springs police headquarters the same day the body was discovered, but then he disappeared. Police and an untold number of other
private investigators from Boston to Richmond are eager to learn his whereabouts.”

“I have an acquaintance in the D.C. Detective Bureau,” Lawlor added casually. “When we…ah…discovered Devlin Stone was purportedly from the state of Virginia, only a day's train ride away from Washington, well, we thought we'd see what we could find out.”

“So you're after a story, hoping to track down this man. Sell papers with whatever you discover?” Devlin folded the newspaper and tucked it under his arm. “I think you gentlemen have made a long trip for nothing.”

“Maybe so.” Wolfred pursed his lips, his index finger rubbing up and down his striped suspenders. “But there's another rumor floating south, one all three of us decided deserved closer investigation, as well. Has to do with one of the richest men in the whole blamed country, or at least the man's son—Edgar Fane?”

“Heard the name in passing,” Devlin commented, every muscle in his body tensing when, from the corner of his eye, he watched Thea exit Gilpen's Mercantile. Her face lit up in a smile until she caught sight of the three men, who from her angle probably looked as though they'd surrounded Dev. His mind spun out a list of possible consequences of hastily spoken words on her part, none of them good.

Still he had to say something, anything, but even as he opened his mouth it was too late.

“Who on earth are these men, Lemuel?” Thea called in a Southern accent thick enough to suffocate a bull. Smiling prettily, she sashayed right up next to Devlin, and gave the others a blinding smile. “Y'all look like you've been drug through a plowed field. Come a long way?”

“Yes'm. We…ah, p-p-perhaps you know…” Amos's
stutter trailed away as he darted quick looks at the two other men, then Devlin.

“We're looking for Mr. Devlin Stone. Do you know him?” Lawlor's blunt statement didn't faze Thea, who tipped her head to one side as though she were thinking hard.

“Name's familiar,” she offered with an apologetic fluttering of her eyes. “Is he from hereabouts?”

The men exchanged looks, while Devlin struggled to keep his expression suitably noncommittal. “We think so,” Lawlor finally admitted. “Heard he owned a horse farm.”

“Well, if y'all don't know, then you must not be friends.” Thea shrugged. “Sorry we can't help, but it's getting on for suppertime, so we best be heading for home.” She nodded to the men, then turned to Devlin. “Don't stand there gawking. We need to go, Lem.” She flashed the three flummoxed-looking men a final smile. “I hope you find Mr. Stone.”

“If we don't, others might have better luck,” Wolfred said. “All right, then. Let's go, boys. I don't much fancy taking this road back up the hill after dark.” He touched the brim of his homburg. “Ma'am, sir.”

The three men trudged past Devlin without further comment, though all of them slid heavy-lidded looks Thea's way as they piled into the surrey. Lawlor jumped into the driver's seat, then paused, fishing around inside his jacket. “One thing, Mr.—I'm sorry, I don't believe I ever caught your surname.”

“Didn't give it,” Devlin shot back, one hand lifting to Thea's shoulder, gripping it with enough force that she pressed her lips together and kept silent. “Don't see the need. I don't much cotton to nosy reporters from Wash
ington, or anywhere else, poking their noses in a man's life.”

“Freedom of the press.” Lawlor pulled out a small card and thrust it toward Devlin. “It's true enough, there's those who don't care overmuch for myself and my colleagues. But they still buy newspapers—and read every word. If you hear anything of interest about Mr. Stone, I'd appreciate it if you'd let me know. Address is right there on the card.”

Devlin nodded. So. Three bodyguards would now be prowling the sylvan vales of northwestern Loudoun County, ears and eyes perked for anyone interested in Devlin as well as Thea. Deep in thought, he stood without speaking by her, though he softened his grip, surreptitiously stroking the taut tendon connecting her neck and shoulder. Only after the buggy turned onto the road that wound its way up to the turnpike did he look down at the amazing woman beside him. “A performance worthy of Miss Pickford. What made you pretend I wasn't Devlin Stone, Thea?”

“I could tell you were discomposed, and I didn't know if it was because those men were threatening you—or because you were scared I'd say something you didn't want them to hear.” Eyes dark, she searched his face. “I thought you might not want them to know who either of us were. You say they were reporters? Are you in danger because of me, Devlin?”

“What,” Dev managed when he could find his tongue, “made you think I was…ah…discomposed?”

“You're not the only one who notices things, Devlin Stone. It's the way you held your shoulders, how your head was up and back—and there's an expression, actually it's more of a complete absence of expression, like you're trying very hard to keep any emotion from showing on
your face. You looked at me like that, the day I stumbled over you in the Saratoga stables.”

There was no help for it. Devlin slid his hand down to her wrist, tugging her until their noses bumped. “If we were anywhere but here,” he murmured, the words low but gruff, “I'd have to kiss you.” He rubbed the pad of his thumb in small caressing circles over the interplay of veins in her delicate wrist. “For now, this will have to do.”

What he really needed to say, desperately, was that regardless of torturous inner conflicts he loved her. That with every passing hour he grew more convinced God really was more than a noncorporeal Being to say a blessing to before a meal, or to curse when disaster happened. That God, for whatever reason, had known exactly the sort of woman Devlin needed to open the rusted gate to his heart.

Sometimes a man had to trust without understanding.

Most people called it faith.

But the appearance of three of his fellow operatives made a declaration of love impossible right now, possibly forever. Devlin might submit to the need for God's will to supersede his own. But others were not so inclined, and Dev's personal decision could not alter an unpalatable truth.

Edgar Fane knew Devlin Stone's name—and planned to hunt him down.

If Fane succeeded, he would also find Thea.