His Mountain Miss (Smoky Mountain Matches) (6 page)

Jane flushed. They’d all noticed he’d eagerly accepted second portions. “It was our pleasure, Mr. Beaumont.”

After inviting her sisters to call him by his first name, he turned that intense focus on her, waiting for her to lead the way. Where they’d be alone again. Her nerves zinged with equal parts anticipation and dismay. Would he touch her again? She hoped not. Really, she did.

Outside, darkness blanketed the land, obscuring the distant mountain peaks. Moonlight cast the yard and outbuildings in a muted glow, glancing off the treetops while the thick forest below remained cloaked in impenetrable blackness. The nearby stream’s hushed journey over and around moss-covered rocks formed a backdrop to the cicadas’ calls and frogs’ songs. The night air was pleasant against her skin, not too warm and not too cold. Perfect.

Lucian stared into the night, one shoulder propped against a wooden support. She moved to rest her back against the one opposite, arms crossed over her chest. She studied his proud profile, wondered if he ever truly let go and allowed himself to relax. Lost the brooding tension humming along his body.

“What’s the city like at night?”

He didn’t answer immediately. “The air is humid, almost sticky, and sweet with the scent of magnolias and beignets. Buggies and people roam the streets at all hours, the sounds of horses and wheels clattering over bricks, laughter and jazz flooding the night. It’s a vibrant place.”

If it was so wonderful, then why did he sound dissatisfied? Wistful for something else?

“What are beignets?”

“Fried dough dusted with sugar.”

She smiled. “Sounds delicious.”

“They are, indeed, especially when accompanied by café au lait. We use chicory in our coffee, which makes it stronger, more bitter than what I’ve tasted here.” He angled his face to study her. “I think you’d like it there, Megan, especially the waterfront. The nonstop activity. Interesting characters. The boats and the water.”

“I’ve yet to leave these mountains. Not sure I ever will.”

He shifted so that his stance mirrored hers, his back against the support. “You surprise me. I would’ve guessed that a young lady such as yourself yearned for adventure, hungered to see the world you read about in all those books.”

“I’ll admit I’ve often wondered what other places are like. I’m realistic enough to know, however, the opportunity will probably never arise.” She shrugged. “That’s all right with me. I’m content right where I am.”

“The mountains are all right,” he agreed offhandedly.

“Just all right?” She dropped her arms, indignation pushing upward. “How can you say that—”

“There’s no need to get huffy,
mon chou,
” he responded, amusement deepening his accent. “I was merely teasing. While I prefer the lowlands, I can’t deny East Tennessee is lovely. In fact, it sort of reminds me of my property outside New Orleans. The landscape is vastly different, of course, but the feeling I get is the same. A feeling of freedom. Free of constraints, of expectations. I can let down my guard there.”

During supper, she’d found his descriptions of his life in the Crescent City fascinating, if somewhat confining. The thought of all those strict social rules and expectations, not to mention the head-spinning whirl of parties and engagements, made her break out in a cold sweat. Made her grateful she wasn’t part of a prominent, wealthy family like the Beaumonts.

No wonder he was coiled tighter than a copperhead about to strike. How much time would it take for him to let his guard down here?

“Do you go there often?”

He paused. “Not nearly as often as I’d like.”

“Have you ever considered leaving the city behind?”

“I have.” He heaved a sigh. “This last year, especially.”

Because his mother was gone.

Lying in bed last evening, she’d prayed for him, asked God to comfort him as he sorted through the truth. His instinctive denial, his difficulty in accepting that his mother might’ve deceived him in this matter, revealed how deeply he’d loved her. Treasured her, even. Recalling his pained denial, outrage had bloomed inside Megan. How could Lucinda betray him that way? Deny both men a chance at a close relationship? She couldn’t begin to understand the woman’s reasoning or motivations.

With tears wetting her pillow, it had dawned on her that she no longer blamed Lucian for not visiting Charles. Lucinda had led him to believe his grandfather was apathetic. And perhaps worse. Her actions had inflicted deep hurt on two men. Charles, her friend and substitute grandfather. And Lucian, someone who, if the circumstances were different, she could come to care a great deal about.

But they’re not. Remember that
.
He’s not the hero you’ve been dreaming about your whole life.

Needing to divert her treacherous thoughts, she grasped blindly for a change in subject.

“Did your house sustain any damages last night? I trust you didn’t discover any handprints on the furniture.” She hoped he didn’t detect the breathless strain in her voice.

“I didn’t find any when I inspected the parlor in the morning light.”

Oh, why did the man have to have a sense of humor beneath that brooding reserve? Where was the haughty arrogance she despised?

“No misplaced children after I left?”

“No,” he said with mock sternness. “I can assure you that if I had, I would’ve brought them straight here for you to deal with.”

“Aw, but look at how well you handled Ollie and Sarah.”

“If you dare to leave me alone with that boy again, there will be dire consequences.”

She couldn’t hold back her laughter, the thrill his subtle teasing sent rushing through her.

“Go ahead. Laugh. You think I’m jesting when in fact I’m completely serious.”

“Right.” The tremor of humor belied his words. Holding her stomach, she laughed harder, recalling his look of strained patience when dealing with the boy.

When Lucian pushed away from the post and stalked towards her, black eyes burning, the laughter died in her throat. Uh-oh. Every nerve ending stood to attention. What were his intentions?

He came very close, clasped his hands behind his back even as his upper body bent towards her. A good three to four inches taller than her, his broad, muscled chest and capable shoulders blocked the moonlight. His nearness didn’t trouble her in the least. She welcomed it, felt sheltered by him. She pressed her arms tighter around her middle to keep from reaching up and weaving her fingers through his brown locks, from pulling him to her.
That would be unwise. Extremely unwise.

That didn’t mean she didn’t long to do so. This enigmatic man tugged at her heart, her soul, like the pull of the moon on the ocean’s waves.

“Has anyone ever told you that your laugh is like a song? A merry tune brimming with unbridled enthusiasm?”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’ve a heart of a poet?”

Surprise flashed across his face. “No. Never. It must be your influence.” His gaze roaming her face was like a physical touch. “You are so incredibly beautiful.” His warm breath fanned her mouth.

Her lungs hung suspended. Was he going to kiss her?

The door opened then, and Nicole appeared, interrupting them a second time. Megan didn’t know whether to be irritated or relieved.

He straightened, his eyes hooded. Unreadable. The air whooshed from her lungs. Why did she feel as if she’d just missed something special?

“Dessert’s on the table,” Nicole announced brightly, unaware of what she’d interrupted.

“I, ah, am sorry to have to decline, after all.” Lucian backed towards the steps. “But it’s later than I realized. I need to be going.”

“Oh.” She blinked, glanced between them. “Next time, then.”

“Good evening.”

“Wait!” Megan ducked inside for a kerosene lamp. Their fingers brushed as she handed it to him and an unexpected pang shot through her. There was such strength and warmth in those hands. Gentleness, too. “To light your way,” she said.

His features tightened briefly. “Thanks.”

Then he turned and walked away. And Megan was glad she was smart enough to know not to fall in love with the man. Something deep inside warned that it wouldn’t be the happy-ever-after kind of love. More like the Romeo and Juliet, tragic kind of love. For them, there could be no happy ending.

Chapter Seven

S
tanding in the flower garden Monday
afternoon, Lucian turned at the sound of angry footsteps.

“Cabbage?” Megan marched his direction, her pastel-pink skirts
skimming the stone path and swiping the blooms unfortunate enough to be too near
the edge. “
That’s
what you’ve been calling me?”

“Good afternoon.” He gestured to the clear blue skies overhead.
“Nice day for a stroll, isn’t it?”

Her pink blouse, with fitted bodice and flared sleeves,
delineated her slender waist, while the delicate hue enhanced her pale beauty.
Her skin glowed with health and vitality. She’d captured the top layers of her
curls in a pink ribbon at the back of her head, while the rest cascaded down her
back. A silver ribbon choker encircled her neck, a small cameo brooch in the
center. She was a delicate rose of incomparable beauty, but not without a few
thorns.

Reaching his side, she jammed her fists on her hips. The color
in her cheeks matched the red tulips planted along the back porch. She wasn’t
going to let this go.

“I spoke to my cousin’s wife Kate today. You know, the one from
New York? She studied French, so I asked her what
mon
chou
meant.” When he didn’t immediately respond, she narrowed her
gaze. “Well? Care to explain in what way you believe I resemble a cabbage?”

“She’s right. It does mean that.” She opened her mouth to
speak, but he held up a hand. “It’s also slang for...little pastry.”

One pale brow arched in a way he was coming to adore. “That’s
supposed to make me feel better?”

“Actually, yes.” And because he didn’t trust himself not to do
anything rash, like he very nearly had last night, he pivoted on his heel and
began to stroll away from the house. As expected, she followed.

“Why?”

He sighed, uncertain if he was strong enough to maintain
self-control. To keep things between them platonic. Businesslike would be even
better, though at this point, all but impossible. No other woman had ever gotten
under his skin like this one.

Waving a hand in dismissal, he drawled, “You know, your skin is
like heavy cream and your eyes the hue of blueberries. Your lips—”

“I get the picture,” she spoke up hastily.

Silence stretched between them, their boots striking the stones
and birds twittering in the trees filling it. He was glad she was behind him,
unable to see the struggle in his expression.

“How was church yesterday?”

“Good.” She hesitated. “Though I’m not sure I appreciated the
onslaught of questions about you.”

That brought him around. His brows met in the middle. “About
me?”

“Yes, you.” She met his gaze openly. “This is a small town,
remember? People are curious about Lucinda’s son, Charles’s grandson.”

He absently rubbed his chest, so accustomed to the pressure he
was beginning not to notice it. “I’m sorry you were put in an uncomfortable
position on account of me.”

“It wasn’t that bad.” Concern flooded her gaze. She touched his
wrist, her fingers lingering against his skin. “Are you all right? I’ve noticed
you doing that a lot.”

He lowered his hand, forcing her to drop hers. “It’s a habit.”
Turning, he resumed walking. This time, she fell into step beside him.

“You aren’t having chest pains, are you?”

“No, nothing like that. Just pressure and sometimes an
uncomfortable tightness. My physician checked me out and declared me healthy.
Said I needed to slow down for a while.” He skimmed the flowers with his
flattened palm, an ironic smile on his lips. “Stop and smell the roses.”

Sensing her regard, he turned his head to meet her probing
gaze.

“It appears this trip could accomplish that, if you’d let
it.”

“You don’t understand.” He stopped short to face her, throwing
his hands wide. “I don’t
want
to be here. I don’t
want that house,” he confessed, jabbing a finger at the yellow structure visible
in the distance. “This garden. I don’t want to meet people who knew my mother,
to listen to them say how sad they are that she never came back. How my
grandfather regretted how he handled my parents’ marriage. How he died all
alone, with no one to comfort him.”

He passed a shaky hand over his face. Frustration and sorrow
churned inside him, and he wanted to rail at someone or something, needed to
release these emotions before they consumed him. But his mother wasn’t here to
explain herself and neither was his grandfather.

“No one blames you,” she said quietly, his grief mirrored in
her face. “I’m sorry for the things I said before. I made assumptions about you,
about your motivations, that I now know were wrong.” Slipping her slender hand
in his, she gently squeezed. “Charles wasn’t alone at the end.”

“What?”

Her lips trembled. “I was with him. So were Mr. and Mrs.
Calhoun. He was ready to meet Jesus. He went peacefully.”

“That’s good to know,” he scraped out. He felt raw inside.

What if everything he’d ever believed about the man was untrue,
distorted by deception? All those years wasted harboring resentment. Feeling
unworthy. Outraged on his mother’s behalf, hurting for her. Had he been wrong
about it all?

He held on to her hand like a lifeline. “Did he ever say
anything about me?”

“A few times.”

“I see.”

“He loved you, Lucian,” she said, pressing closer, “but it was
a painful subject. In many ways, your grandfather was a very private man.”

Nodding, he swallowed hard. He shared that particular
trait.

“Lucian—”

Reaching up, he cradled her cheek with his hand, skimmed his
thumb along the petal-soft skin. Battled the urge to find comfort in her arms.
“I wish I knew what to believe.”
Who
to believe.

Everything in him screamed Megan was trustworthy. That she was
a good person. That the compassion in her eyes was real.

“I’m sorry you’re struggling with this.”

Inhaling, he dropped his hand and stepped back. “You truly
believe he wanted us here?”

“I do.”

He nodded, glanced out over the gardens, not really seeing
anything.

* * *

Megan felt helpless in the face of Lucian’s anguish. She
would like nothing more than to hold him, but she didn’t dare.
Father God, please bring the truth to light somehow. Give him
clarity and closure. Help him to see how much You love him.

“I have an idea,” she ventured softly. “You haven’t seen much
of the town yet, have you? Why don’t we take a walk? It will do you good to get
your mind off things.”

The questions in his eyes shouted his mistrust. “Why do you
want to help me? I haven’t changed my mind about the house. If my lawyer finds a
way around that stipulation, I’ll take it.”

It hurt that he still didn’t trust her motives, but she
understood it wasn’t about her. Not really. “I’m praying he doesn’t. But if he
does, I’ll just have to trust God to open up another way for us to minister to
the children and the community.” She hadn’t answered that other question.
Couldn’t. Not without alerting him to the fact he was fast becoming important to
her.

As for the house, she couldn’t find it in her to be angry. Not
now that she realized everything it represented for him, the upheaval, the
painful reminders. She just wished there was a way to meet everyone’s needs.
Perhaps, if he came to trust her fully, he might agree to leave the house in her
care so that he could return to New Orleans.

Assessing her, he appeared to come to a conclusion. “At least
you’re honest.” He held his arm aloft. “Very well—let’s go exploring.”

* * *

Walking arm in arm down Main Street with Gatlinburg’s
latest arrival caused quite a stir. Because news traveled fast here, a good
majority of folks would know of Lucian’s connection to the town. Some stopped
whatever they were doing to stare unashamedly, speculation in their gazes.
Speculation about Charles’s grandson. And about the two of them.

Lucian tilted his head, speaking for her ears alone. “Do I have
dirt on my face? Something on my shirt, perhaps?” He paused and ran a hand over
his coat and vest, inspecting his front.

His hair fell forward, softening his features. Making him
look...vulnerable. “There’s nothing wrong with your appearance,” she said
wryly.

“Then why is everyone staring?”

She smiled. “You’re big news around here. They’re wondering,
how long is he in town for? Is there a chance he might stay? What does he think
of Gatlinburg? What’s he like?”

“All that, huh?”

And more. Most likely, they were wondering what, if anything,
was going on between the two of them. “Make no mistake, dinner conversations
will be lively tonight.”

Lucian didn’t comment. The tension sparked by their earlier
conversation yet lingered in the stiff set of his shoulders and the lines about
his mouth, but his eyes were not as black, his expression less formidable.

“Does the attention bother you?”

He shook his head. “No. I’m accustomed to it, though not while
walking down the street, I admit.”

Megan experienced an unwelcome spurt of jealousy. He was
referring to the balls and social engagements he attended nearly every evening.
With his wealth, social standing and devastating good looks, of course he’d have
scores of girls vying for his attention.

Her fingers tightened on his sleeve. This wasn’t good. She
mustn’t start thinking of Lucian as hers. He wasn’t. Never would be.

“Does it bother you?” he asked, guiding her closer to the
storefronts to avoid a collision with a group of men.

“Not really.” She smiled in response to their friendly
greetings. “Besides, it’s simple curiosity. Nothing malicious.”

Pulling back on his arm, she urged him to stop. His glance was
questioning.

Gesturing to the plate-glass window beside them, she said,
“Recognize the name?”

“K. O’Malley Photography and J. D. O’Malley Furniture.” One
black brow lifted. “That’s an interesting combination. Your cousin and his
wife?”

“Would you like to go inside and meet them?”

“Certainly.”

The shop’s interior was divided into two separate areas—Kate’s
studio on their right and Josh’s furniture on their left. Neat and organized,
the place was a feast for the eyes. Landscape photographs of New York and
Tennessee lined the walls, as did examples of personal portraits—couples and
families and babies. In the back, an oversize black curtain hid the log walls
and rough-hewn floorboards where a settee and two chairs were set up, along with
her camera and equipment.

In an effort not to overcrowd the space, Josh had chosen his
finest pieces to showcase his work. Customers had the option to buy the
inventory or put in special orders. A gleaming cherry dining set, an intricately
carved walnut hutch, a writing desk and a few other pieces were situated about
the area with enough room for folks to meander and touch and inspect.

The bell above the door jangled, and Josh, who seemed to be
comforting Kate, looked up.

“Megan.”

His lips quirked up in a welcoming smile, but he couldn’t quite
hide his worry. Immediately, concern washed over her. Kate lifted her head from
his shoulder and, hurriedly wiping her eyes, stepped out of the shelter of his
arms. Attempted a smile.

“Megan, hi.” She eyed the man at her side with interest.

“We can come back another time—” Megan began, unhappy they’d
interrupted a private moment.

“No, that’s all right.” Clasping Josh’s hand, Kate pulled him
forward. “We’d like to meet your friend.”

All the while making the introductions, she tried to guess what
was the matter with her best friend. She hadn’t noticed anything unusual about
Kate’s behavior, although, now that she thought about it, she
had
been quieter than normal these past few weeks. A
touch withdrawn. The joy and pride that had been a constant on Josh’s face ever
since their wedding last fall was still there, but he seemed distracted.
Concerned for his wife.

Please, Lord, don’t let it be anything
serious.
If anyone deserved happiness, it was Kate.

Threading her arm through Kate’s, she addressed her cousin.
“Josh, could you show Lucian around? I’d like to speak with Kate for a few
minutes.”

“Sure.”

She looked to Lucian for approval. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all.” His mouth eased into an almost smile, his
expression thoughtful.

Once inside the small storage room in back, Megan took Kate’s
hands in hers. “What’s wrong?”

Since finding love with Josh, the petite, refined lady who’d
known more than her fair share of loneliness and heartbreak had blossomed into
an outgoing, confident woman with a ready smile and infectious laughter. Today,
though, her wide green eyes were filled with unshed tears. She looked
miserable.

Megan’s heart squeezed with compassion. “Why are you so upset?
Are you ill?” She held her breath, braced for bad news.

“No, nothing like that.” Freeing one hand, she smoothed dark
chocolate wisps away from her forehead. Her luxurious mane, normally trained
into an elaborate twist, was caught back in a simple bun. “Although, I’m afraid
something may be wrong with me.”

“What do you mean?”

Kate’s cheeks grew pink, and her lashes swept down. “I—I’m
afraid I won’t be able to have a baby. Josh and I have been trying since the
wedding, and, well...” She trailed off, worried her lower lip.

“Oh.” Relief swept through her that Kate wasn’t facing a health
crisis. “It’s early yet. You’ve only been married a little over six months.”

“But look at how quickly it happened for Juliana and Evan!” she
protested. “What if I can’t give Josh a son or daughter? For so long, I dreamed
of having a family of my own, and now that I’ve found Josh, I want that dream to
become a reality. I want a little boy with his daddy’s honey-colored hair and
blue eyes. And a little girl I can teach to take photographs and cook and
read...” Her eyes welled up again. “What if God doesn’t think I’d be a good
mother?”