His Mountain Miss (Smoky Mountain Matches) (18 page)

Chapter Nineteen

L
ucian gripped the porch rail, willing himself not to dash down the steps after her. She was upset. She didn’t need him trailing after her like a forlorn puppy.

Too keyed up to go back inside, he strode to the barn in search of his valet. “Smith!”

“I’m here, sir.” He stepped out of the stall, surprise at Lucian’s tone quickly masked.

“Saddle D’Artagnan.” Lucian worked to calm himself.

“But, sir, your arm...” He trailed off, clearly concerned but recognizing it wasn’t his place to question his employer.

“Will be fine,” he assured him, going to his horse and leading him out of the stall. “I’m not going far.”

When Smith had finished, he asked, “Would you like me to accompany you?”

“No, that won’t be necessary.” He needed movement, a change of scenery. A chance to sort through his tumultuous thoughts.

He hauled himself into the saddle with his good arm. “
Merci.
If I’m not back in two hours’ time, feel free to send out a search party.” He arched a brow at the man who was a loyal employee but felt like family.

“Yes, sir.” He sighed, resigned.

Lucian led his horse beyond the gardens, waving to Fred kneeling in the beds yanking weeds, and entered the sparse woods behind the Calhouns’ cottage. The clouds blocked the sunlight, and the air carried the promise of a summer shower. He’d be wise to stick close to home.

Home. Since when had he started thinking of this place as home?

Since you started to care for Megan, perhaps?
She was connected to this place, to his grandfather’s house. Her presence was stamped in every room, the porches, the gardens. Impossible to separate the two in his mind.

Transferring the reins to his injured hand, he rubbed his chest to dislodge the pain. Only, it wasn’t a physical pain, exactly. The image of Tom’s ring on Megan’s finger...

He growled low in his throat. What was he supposed to do? Rant and rave and beg her not to marry the man? Megan didn’t belong with Tom. She belonged with
him.

Lucian jerked on the reins, gasping as pain radiated up his forearm. D’Artagnan halted. Swished the flies away with his tail.

Cradling his arm against his belly, his gaze swept the tranquil woods, lush greens and deep browns running together. “I could marry her, you know. Well, I could offer. I’m not certain if she’d accept.”

D’Artagnan dipped his head as if to agree.

“We’re friends, she and I. I trust her implicitly. Megan is a special lady, different from anyone I’ve ever known. I care about her. A lot.”
Too much.
“I should be talking to a human being about this, not a horse.” D’Artagnan stamped his foot. “No offense,
mon ami.
”

Who was he kidding? Megan craved a grand love to rival the most prolific romance novels. He didn’t have it in him to give her that. Refused to risk repeating his father’s mistakes. No. His place was in New Orleans. And she belonged here. With Tom. Or some other man who could give her what she deserved. A man who would never hurt her.

* * *

So this was what misery felt like.

From now on, she was going to stick to adventures and mysteries. No more romance. In fact, as soon as she got home from church she was going to stow them all in a crate and give them away. Why torture herself reading happy endings when she wasn’t going to get one?

“Is anyone sitting here?”

Megan lifted her gaze from her lap. Tom, dressed in his Sunday best, brown hair shiny from a recent wash, waited for her permission to sit. She inwardly sighed. Tried to smile and failed.

“No. Please, join us.”

With a wide smile, he sat beside her at the end of the pew. Leaning forward, he aimed that smile at her sister, seated on her other side. “Hey there, Janie-girl.”

“Hi.”

Tom’s smile faded. Megan shot Jane a sideways glance. Her lack of enthusiasm was unusual. Off routine. Whenever Tom teased her, she would give it right back. Not today.

“Are you feeling all right, Jane?” she murmured. Megan had been so lost in her own troubles lately that she hadn’t been paying particular attention to anyone around her.

“I’m fine.” She lowered her gaze to her lap where her hands were tightly clasped, color surging in her cheeks. Something was definitely bothering her. Was it Tom? Could she possibly harbor feelings for him?

“What about you, Megan?” Tom said softly. “You don’t look particularly happy this morning.”

“I’m fine.”

She felt Jane’s perusal. Ugh. This was going to be a long morning.

Glancing over her shoulder, she searched for Lucian.

Tom caught her gaze. Frowned. “He’s outside tethering his horse. Should I change pews?”

She blinked. “No. Lucian doesn’t— That is, he wouldn’t—”

“It’s all right. You don’t have to explain.”

Flustered, Megan turned around, determined not to search him out again.

* * *

Lucian entered the church. Took one look at Megan and Tom—sitting together and swapping smiles—and turned and walked right back out, oblivious to the curious stares. He couldn’t do this. Couldn’t sit by and watch her with another man.

All the way home, he fought for control over his emotions. Giving in to them would accomplish nothing. He had to be rational. To plan. To leave Tennessee with his dignity intact. To leave Megan with good memories. He wouldn’t cause a scene, refused to cause trouble for her. He’d meant what he said—more than anything else, he wanted her to be happy.

He found Smith straightaway and instructed him to start packing his things. They would be leaving early next week. He’d stay long enough to say goodbye to the friends he’d made—Owen and Sarah, the Monroes, Megan’s family, Fred and Madge Calhoun—and attend one more story time. He wanted to remember her that way—dressed up in a silly costume and reading to the children—forever
his
Megan.

An hour later, he was in the study trying to decide what to take with him when the doorbell rang.

“Tom?” Lucian didn’t attempt to hide his surprise. “Would you like to come in?”

“No, thanks. I can’t stay long. I’m headed to Sam and Mary’s for lunch.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder.

Stepping out on to the porch, Lucian crossed his arms and waited. He wasn’t in the mood for games.

Tom looked uncomfortable but determined. “Look, I saw you before services. I know you skipped out early, and I have to assume you did that because it bothered you to see Megan and me together. She told you about my proposal?”

“What do you want, Leighton?” he ground out. Was the man here to gloat?

“I just wanted to thank you for not challenging my relationship with her. I’m good for her, you know. I can give her what she wants.”

“Are you sure about that?” Lucian challenged, not because he believed otherwise, but because the truth stung. Of course Tom would be good for her. That didn’t make it any easier to swallow.

His green gaze was clear, confident. “Once you’ve gone, she’ll see that I’m the best man for her.”

“If you’re asking when I’m leaving, the answer is next week. Is there anything else? Because I’ve got an awful lot of packing to do.”

He shrugged. “Thanks for your time.”

Lucian barely held on to his temper, hands curled into fists as the other man ambled off the porch and across the lawn. The pinch in his forearm penetrated the haze of anger clouding his mind and he unclenched his hands. It was wasted emotion, anyway. The only person he had a right to be mad at was himself.

Despite everything—his parents’ doomed marriage, his father’s cruel indifference and mother’s heartbreak, his and Megan’s differences—he’d foolishly allowed himself to fall in love with her.

Apparently he hadn’t learned his lessons well enough...if at all.

And now it was killing him to walk away from her.

* * *

The doorbell pealed insistently just as he sat at the small kitchen table with a sandwich he’d thrown together. Tossing aside his napkin, he strode through the house. If it was Leighton again...

“Megan.”

He soaked in the sight of her, silken curls tumbling about her shoulders in disarray, small hands knotted at her waist. The worry shimmering in her luminous eyes sent a shaft of apprehension through his midsection. “What’s happened?”

“It’s Sarah.” Her lower lip trembled as she spoke, and he closed the distance between them, smoothed his hands down her arms in an attempt to reassure her. Reassurance he didn’t feel. His mind conjured up a dozen scenarios...all of them dire.

“What about her?” His heart thudded with dread.

“She’s sick, Lucian. Owen said the doctor doesn’t know what’s wrong with her. She woke up yesterday complaining of a headache and then developed a fever shortly after. They can’t get the fever to come down.”

Her distress a palpable thing, Lucian set aside his own concern, spoke matter-of-factly. “I’ll get the wagon ready and take you over there. Surely there’s something that can be done. I have resources. I’ll send for another doctor, if necessary. More medicine. Whatever it takes to get her well.”

None of that helped your mother, though, did it?
He shook off the reminder. This was different. Sarah was young and strong. She’d pull through this. Any other option didn’t bear thinking about.

Brow puckered, gaze clinging to his with a hopeful trust that twisted his insides, she nodded. He took her hand and led her through the house so that he could grab his coat. In the barn, she insisted on helping him hitch the team to the wagon.

The ride out to the Livingston farm was passed in taut silence. At one point, he surreptitiously checked her left hand, sharp relief flooding him at the sight of her bare fingers. She wasn’t wearing Tom’s ring. Was she still considering the matter? Or had she refused him?

It was so very wrong of him to hope she had.

When the cabin came into view, they saw Owen outside talking with another man.

“Who’s that?”

“Noah Townsend,” Megan replied, tension humming along her slender frame. “He’s Owen’s neighbor. They have something in common. Noah’s wife died a year ago. They didn’t have any kids, though, so he’s alone.”

Sadness laced her words. He glanced at her familiar profile, love for this woman expanding in his chest until he could barely breathe. A woman of infinite compassion, other people’s plights touched her as deeply as if they were her own.

She turned her great big, fathomless gaze on him. “If something happens to Sarah, how will Owen go on? He’ll have lost everything...” she said on a ragged whisper.

Lucian set the brake. Curved a hand about her cheek, stroking her soft skin with his thumb. “Nothing is going to happen to her.”

“You can’t know that.”

She was right, of course. He couldn’t. But clinging to that hope, refusing to accept any other alternative, kept his control in place. His fears subdued.

“At this point in time, it’s best to stay positive.”

“You’re right.”

With great reluctance, he dropped his hand. Climbing down, he came around and assisted her. Together, they approached the men.

Owen’s expression, as if he bore the weight of the world on his shoulders, tore into Lucian. He’d worn a similar one last year as his mother lay dying.
Forget about the past.
Revisiting his mother’s last days wouldn’t help anything.

With an offer to help in any way he could, Noah mounted his horse and trotted off shortly after the introductions were made. Owen thanked them for coming.

“Has there been any change?” Megan asked quietly.

“No.” He clearly hadn’t slept. His clothes were wrinkled and a day-old beard darkened his jaw. “Come on inside. I don’t like to leave her alone for any length of time.”

With a hand at the small of her back, Lucian guided Megan inside. The curtains had been drawn closed to block out harsh daylight, and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust. The sight of sweet Sarah lying still and lifeless beneath the quilts quite literally stole his breath away. Blinking fast, he clamped down on his back teeth.
She will be fine,
he told himself.
Just fine.

Owen paused by the head of the bed, tenderly brushed the hair from her damp forehead. Her little face flushed with fever was the only sign anything was wrong.

Megan slipped her hand into Lucian’s, but she centered her gaze on Owen. “Have you been able to get her to take any fluids?” She spoke in a hushed voice.

“A bit. She fights me. Only wants to sleep.”

“The medicine Doc left isn’t helping?”

He shook his head. “He said to give it to her every few hours. That we’d have to wait and see if it brought her temperature down. He won’t say, but I can tell he’s worried. He got the same look he had right before Meredith and the baby...” He broke off, covered his mouth with his hand. After a bit, he continued, “He’s coming back to check on her before nightfall.” The man’s grief was a palpable thing.

“I can send for a doctor in Sevierville or Knoxville if you’d like. Money isn’t an issue when it comes to getting Sarah the best possible medical care. Just say the word and it’s done.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I trust Doc. Besides, something like that would take time we don’t have.” His eyes grew shiny. “And ultimately, it’s in the Lord’s hands. He loves my daughter even more than I do.”

Lucian nodded, although he didn’t understand. The man had recently lost his wife and newborn, was on the verge of losing his daughter and yet his faith in God’s love held firm. Lucian’s gaze was drawn to Sarah, tiny and vulnerable and precious. So innocent.

Like a powerful ocean current, sorrow tugged at him, threatened to sweep him into uncharted waters. The same sorrow he’d battled as his mother lay dying.

Memories hit him—one after another—the quiet whispers of the servants, the pungent odor of healing herbs, his mother’s paper-thin hands as he cradled them in his own, urging her to fight. To get well. And for once he didn’t block them. The helplessness had been the worst....

He felt pressure on his hand. “Lucian?” Megan whispered, her troubled gaze searching his face. “The doctor is here. We should wait outside.”