An Improper Situation (Sanborn-Malloy Historical Romance Series, Book One) (6 page)

Charlotte knew Regina had wanted more out of life than Spring City, for herself and her children, but had loved her husband so much she would make any sacrifice.

Occasionally, there had been tense moments, Charlotte remembered, especially when her father became increasingly frustrated at his inability to find anything resembling a gold strike or when he secluded himself in his study for what seemed like days on end, reading and writing, until Regina had almost physically hauled him out herself—and even then, he brought a book along.

But he
was
a loving husband and father, trying to share what captivated him in the only way he knew how—he read to them and told them stories. Every outing, when they could drag him out, was an adventure.

And Charlotte had grown up early, as her mother’s only confidant, playing out their own version of society in their little parlor, and as her father’s helpmate, on the occasional times that he brought his young daughter into the study and explained his ideas to her. Those had been relatively carefree times.

Quietly, Charlotte touched each headstone then hugged her arms around herself before moving a little way off to sit in the shade of a large fir. All around her face, tickling her cheeks, she felt the strands of hair that had fallen out of the untidy knot.

She started to smooth them, then pulled loose the rest of her long chestnut hair, combing her fingers through the silken skeins to untangle them somewhat while she thought.

Those times had ended far too soon, when she was just fourteen and Thaddeus only nine. There had barely been time to grieve at first, so great was the shock.

The sound of
hoofbeats brought her out of her morbid thoughts. The sinking feeling in her heart matched the downward curve of her mouth as she looked up and saw Reed Malloy approaching. Perhaps he’d simply pass by into town, she hoped, as she scrunched herself closer to the huge tree. But he looked over and saw her; obviously, he had been searching.

Charlotte simply watched quietly as he tied up the horse that had pulled the wagon he’d rented only yesterday to bring the children. The next moment, he was striding into the cemetery.

“Miss Sanborn, are you all right?” He stood close, looking down at her.

His question surprised her and she lowered her gaze. She had expected him to rail against her for simply walking off, to yell at her that the children were hungry or upset, anything but to worry about her own well-being. It was almost her undoing, as emotions she couldn’t even identify washed over her.

“I am feeling thoughtful this morning,” she told him finally. How could she explain to him about her anxieties, about the ghosts from the past, or how she feared letting the children into her life? He had already mentioned his own aunts and sisters and a mother when he talked about his cooking—his childhood sounded rich in love and protection and caring.

She’d learned the previous evening over dinner that his father had also been a lawyer and Reed had naturally followed in his respected footsteps. Robert Malloy had passed away three years earlier. Reed was devoted to his mother, Evelyn, and his sisters. How could he understand that she had carefully created a world of safety in which she needed no one and no one needed her?

Reed again surprised her by sitting down not more than two feet away.

“
You do look thoughtful,” he told her, “and a trifle sad.”

She flushed at the gentle tone in his voice, similar to the one he used with the children. Charlotte had not discussed her feelings with anyone since her parents died. This was foreign to her. She looked to their graves and he followed her glance.

“Your parents?” he asked.

She nodded but said nothing.

“I’m sorry if our arrival has brought up memories of your own parents’ deaths. I know you understand what Lily and Thomas are going through—better than I ever could.”

His eyes were so brilliant and blue as they looked on her, and she knew they could bestow the gentlest of looks as well as the most scathing. Such intelligent eyes, behind which she knew he would reason that because she understood how the children felt, she more than anyone should want to take them in—unless she were cold and heartless.

Yet his voice sounded anything but condemning. She took a deep breath.

“
My parents died of cholera when I was a young woman.”

“
Perhaps not quite a woman,” he offered.

She shrugged, then added,
“Fourteen years old. It is as clear to me now as if it had happened yesterday. The cholera epidemic swept through Spring City so quickly. My parents were in town when the quarantine was put in place. They had already been infected by a serving girl at the restaurant where they’d dined that night.”

She took a deep breath so she could speak evenly.
“It was their wedding anniversary. Doc Cuthins sent a message to me and to all the homesteads outside of town to stay away.”

She looked toward the town, feeling as if she could see through the years.
“The next message that came, just three days later, said both my parents were dead. They died within half an hour of each other.” She stopped, wondering at her own outpouring of words on a subject that normally stayed buried deep inside her.

“
I’m truly sorry.” He reached out and touched her—just a momentary brush along her hand, but it brought her out of her reverie and she focused again on his face.

“
It must have been terrible for you and your brother. I remember when the cholera epidemic swept through Boston. I was very young, but no one who lived through it could ever forget the summer of ‘54. I lost an aunt and uncle. I can remember all those treatments they tried: first the laudanum then the acetate, the morphine, even red peppers. Nothing helped.”

“
No, nothing,” she agreed. It had been a nightmare, but it was behind her now—except that the untimely death of Ann Connors was bringing it all up again

The thought of becoming a surrogate parent once more reminded her of the struggles and the hard times and then, the inevitable loneliness, which she had coped with by developing a self-sufficient attitude to match her opinionated manner. And she would not put her writing on hold again; it was the only thing that had kept her sane.

She looked him squarely in the eye. “I do understand Thomas’s nightmares and Lily’s quiet, solemn stares,” she told him, her voice as soft as the slight breeze that lifted the strands of hair off her shoulders.

Reed raised his hand—perhaps to take hold of hers or to touch one of those errant locks—Charlotte didn’t wait to find out. She flinched away in the same instant and then stood up abruptly. She turned her back on him, taking the few steps toward her parents’ graves.

“I understand that what the children need is a warm, secure home and a heart full of love and generosity to make their own hearts the same way.” She clasped her hands, realizing that they were trembling and unsure of the reason why.

“
And can’t they find that here?” So silently he had approached from behind that she jumped slightly at his deep voice inches from her ear.

She didn’t trust herself to speak for there again was that urge to cry. A lump sat solidly in her throat. A part of her cried out silently that it was her turn to be given a home and love.
Didn’t she deserve that, too?
In the end, she only shook her head.

“
I believe you are wrong, Miss Sanborn. I think you have a world of love to give.” She felt his hands on her shoulders—warm, strong hands that turned her to face him. He looked into her overly bright eyes, shining like green emeralds, and smiled. “I know you are capable of that love, even if you haven’t realized it yet.”

The timbre of his voice was shaking her very soul, and the blue spark in his eyes seemed to have lit a fire deep within her in that instant of standing so close and of touching and speaking of love. For she felt a warmth start in the pit of her stomach, and it heated up as it spread through her.

She knew in that instant that all the years of feeling proud of her self-sufficient isolation were a sham. She was a coward, afraid to love because of the pain that it caused. Afraid, indeed, of this exact feeling that encompassed her now.

God help her—to love and be loved was what she wanted more than anything else in the world if only she could conquer the fear. She held her breath as the swirl of knowledge and sensations coursed through her mind and her body at his nearness.

A frown crinkled the soft skin between his dark eyebrows. He was looking into her eyes and probably seeing her whole soul laid bare in their green depths. The frown deepened a moment and then he lifted his hand to cup her gently pointed chin.

It was a bold touch, but he looked as mesmerized as she felt, as if he wasn’t even aware of what he did. The shock of his fingertips on her skin made her gasp, and the spell was broken. They both stepped back.

“We should return. I left the children to come look for you.”

His voice sounded gruff to her ears and he was already striding ahead of her. She had to move almost at a run to keep up with him.

“They should be all right,” she called after him. “Nothing much ever happens in Spring City,” she said more to herself, except for the thrilling arrival of Reed Malloy.

“
Still,” she added, “there are a few critters to worry about if they’re playing outside.”

They arrived at Reed’s horse. One horse.

“I’ll walk home,” she offered immediately, taking hold of her hair and beginning to twist it so she could make a knot.

“
Nonsense,” he said, his voice firm again. “The horse is a good strong one. I’m sure it can take both our weights.”

Charlotte started to protest, looking behind her in case someone from the town should see her there with a strange man, but the road was deserted.

Before she knew it, his hands were at her waist and he lifted her onto the large mare. She landed gently but had to let go of her hair to grasp hold of the pommel. She could still feel the heat of his hands where they seemed to have seared right through her blouse to her skin.

While his back was to her, untying the horse, she quickly lifted her right leg over the horse’s neck and tried desperately to arrange her skirts before he turned.

As he did, she saw his eyes go to her slim ankle above her leather high-lows, but he said nothing, merely handing her the reins before swinging himself up behind her.

She gulped. It was peculiar, the feeling of his thighs, muscled and firm, against her own. She sat up straight to keep from resting against his broad chest, but there was nothing she could do about her rear end pressing intimately against his inner thighs.

She felt her cheeks burn at the thought of his body so close to hers. Then unexpectedly, Reed’s arms came around her and she gasped, feeling instantly foolish when all he did was take the reins from her hands and flick the horse into beginning their journey.

“
I . . . I could walk without any trouble,” she told him, turning slightly to see her hair whipping him about his face.

“
Blazes, I’m sorry,” she muttered, trying to grasp the flying strands as the horse set off at a good pace.

He only smiled.
“I much prefer your hair worn down,” he told her. “I don’t know which is prettier, your hair or the horse’s mane.”

Charlotte recognized that he was laughing at her discomfort and quickly faced forward, keeping a firm hold of her hair with one hand. He must think her as skittish and silly as a schoolgirl.

That thought and the continuing feeling of his legs, warm against her own, did nothing to calm the red in her cheeks. She scolded herself for her runaway emotions. After all, she was
not
a girl but a woman of twenty-four.

Old enough to have had a lover, she added to herself, or to be a married woman with babies. Certainly old enough to ride on a horse with a man. But this particular man was playing havoc with her senses.

“So these ‘critters’ you mentioned?” came his voice, so close behind her.

Without turning, she said,
“Coyotes occasionally. Rattlesnakes, but hardly any; I just take the shovel to them. And wolves, once in a blue moon. Even less, since the bounty increased on their pelts.”

“
Even so, that seems an inordinate number of threats,” he commented.

She laughed, thinking how it must sound to someone who had lived in the city his whole life.
“Thaddeus and I played outside our whole childhood. Nothing ever bothered us. If a wolf comes by, you just stamp your feet hard and yell and it runs off; same with the coyotes.”

Even though it was less than ten minutes by horse, she had never been happier to see her home than when they rounded the grove of pine trees that grew on the edge of the Sanborn homestead. She was ready to jump off the horse then, but waited patiently as Reed slowed it down for the last few yards. She had the notion again that he was enjoying this far too much and gaining his amusement at her expense.

She bore it out regally, even waiting for him to assist her from the saddle after he dismounted. This was accomplished with an economy of movement as Charlotte aimed to keep her woven cotton stockings from showing as much as possible.