afternoons with me and Jessica. I’d be happy to teach her the basics. She’s not too young to learn how to make dough for biscuits and bread. You’d have to tend the stove, of course.”
“I think that’s a fine idea.”
“Have you found a caretaker for her yet?”
Spying the turnoff to the Beaumont home, he shook his head as he urged the team onto the shaded lane. “Getting the farm into working order has dominated my time. You haven’t changed your mind, have you?”
“I wish I could help you.” She bit her lip. “I can’t.”
He didn’t speak as the trees thinned out and there atop a gentle incline sat the grand yellow Victorian. A ribbon of colorful blooms hugged the front of the house. More formal flower gardens were laid out behind the two-story home, with winding walkways and hidden benches and fountains. This place had once belonged to Lucian Beaumont’s grandfather. Lucian had come to Gatlinburg with the intention of selling it. Meeting Megan had changed his mind.
They stopped beside the barn. Setting the brake, he rested the reins in his lap and angled toward Jane. The light freckles stood out in sharp contrast to her skin. Even her lips had gone pale.
“Are you all right? You’re not ill, are you?”
“Ill?” She plucked at her stiff collar. “No.”
“Then what’s the matter?”
“I had a restless night, that’s all.”
Her smile had a brittleness to it that troubled him. This was more than merely being upset with him. Was she hurting because of her deceitful fiancé? Was it the humiliation of the public revelation keeping her up at night?
“Is it Roy? Did he come to see you?”
“He has no reason to.”
Curving a rogue strand behind her ear, she adjusted one of the pins supporting her elegant hair arrangement, swoops and twists and miniature braids that made her appear older than her years.
She gathered up her skirts and made to descend on her side. He thought he heard her mumble, “Let’s get this over with.”
“Wait.” He left his gloves under the seat. “I’ll assist you.”
His boots met the ground and, after swinging Clara free of the bed and making her giggle with how high he swung her, he reached up to grip Jane’s waist. She balanced herself against his shoulders. Once she was on the ground, Tom discovered he was reluctant to release her. She was warm and supple beneath his hands, the raised design on her bodice rubbing against his palms. A tiny gold cross suspended from a thin gold chain nestled in the hollow of her collarbone. It was the only piece of jewelry she wore, and he recognized it as a gift from her deceased father.
Quickly moving out of his reach, she held out a hand to his niece. “My sister has a little girl about the same age as you. Her name is Rose, and she has a beautiful, handcrafted doll house and a number of dolls that I’m sure she’d let you play with. Would you like that?”
Clara’s eyes grew large. Slipping her hand in Jane’s, she nodded, contemplative as they headed through the short grass to the sweeping front porch. Having retrieved the basket containing the pie, Tom walked behind the pair, thoughts in turmoil. He had to get a grip. If Jane guessed these strange notions bombarding him, she’d be deeply disturbed. Josh would throttle him.
Tom rationalized with generic facts. It was natural for him to notice the physical changes in her. Any man would be thrilled to be near her.
His mind was on Jane as they ascended the wide steps, crossed the porch boards painted white and rang the bell on the fancy, carved wooden door. As a result, he wasn’t prepared for the sight of his former love standing in the open doorway. All social graces abandoned him, and he stood gaping at Megan like a nervous young buck.
“Tom.” She blinked. “Jane.”
She hadn’t changed at all. Petite, shorter than him by several inches, Megan possessed an ethereal beauty that ought to be preserved in a painting. Ringlets the color of moonlight framed a face unblemished by the sun, her peaches-and-cream complexion in contrast to large sea-blue eyes.
“Hello, Megan. You’re looking as lovely as ever,” he blurted, regretting it when color surged in her cheeks and next to him, Jane’s harsh inhale punctuated the silence.
Great. No doubt they both assumed he was still madly in love.
Pulling open the door, she gestured for them to enter the small alcove, the sleeves of her pink-and-white-striped blouse fluttering. An ornate wedding band adorned her left hand. At his insistence, she’d worn his ring for a short time while considering his proposal. The day she’d returned it was high on his list of painful memories. Only after spending time with his brother and sister-in-law and witnessing their devotion to one another had he recognized she’d been right to refuse him.
Megan hadn’t loved him. A truth that didn’t inflict pain like it had before.
“Lucian mentioned that you’d returned. Is this your niece?”
Pulling himself together, he introduced the two and asked after her husband. While he and the New Orleans native weren’t friends, he respected the man.
“He’s out hunting with Patrick, our son.”
Josh had told him that the couple had experienced difficulties having children. Years ago, when the wounds from her rejection were still fresh and his jealousy toward Lucian Beaumont had raged in him, he might’ve experienced a twinge of satisfaction. But no more. He couldn’t rejoice at their troubles. He was glad they’d found a way to have a family.
Megan enfolded Jane in a brief hug. “How are you, sweetie?”
“Perfectly well.”
Jane stood slightly apart from him and Megan, as if she didn’t want to intrude. The siblings exchanged a look he couldn’t interpret. What was going on? And why did Jane look so miserable?
Jane had lied. She was ill. Very ill, indeed.
Her whole body felt as if it wasn’t quite tethered to the ground. Her limbs trembled. And a vise was squeezing her insides until she could hardly breathe.
In that initial moment when Tom saw Megan, his reaction had confirmed her suspicions...he still loved her. There could be no arguing the fact.
As they followed her sister down the long papered hallway to the back porch, Jane was once again confronted with a heartbreaking truth—she was not what he desired in a wife. The epitome of delicate beauty, Megan’s personality was such that people craved her company. She was comfortable reading storybooks to scores of children while their parents looked on. She even dressed like the characters! There wasn’t enough money in the world to induce Jane to do such a thing. No, she preferred solitude to crowds. Peace and quiet to outright attention.
It made sense that Tom would prefer a woman with well-honed social skills. He was open and friendly, able to strike up a conversation with anyone he came in contact with. That was part of why he’d been such a successful barber. He’d treated his customers like dear family members.
There were any number of such single women in Gatlinburg who’d welcome his interest. Best that she start preparing herself for that event. Once he got the farm situated, he’d be on the lookout for a wife. A daytime caretaker was merely a short-term solution for Clara’s needs.
As they exited the house, she stumbled over the doorjamb, and his hand came to rest against her lower back, guiding her over to the grouping of painted metal chairs with cushioned seats. The familiarity of his touch reminded her of old times, the weight and heat registering through her cotton dress and igniting a roaring inferno of longing within her chest. Such an innocuous gesture and yet devastating.
Urging