Читать книгу: «The Bachelor's Homecoming»

To the ladies of Southside Baptist Church

who are fans of the O’Malleys—

thank you for your encouragement and support.

Mary Blakley, I’m blessed to know you

and to count you as a friend.

Retha Smith, your smile brightens my day.

Gina King, I love when we chat about the characters. Thanks for the cards.

Carole Gresham, Wilma Hayes,

Greta Griffin and more,

thanks for liking my books.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Epilogue

Dear Reader

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Gatlinburg, Tennessee May 1884

“Do you, Jane O’Malley, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

Jane opened her mouth. Say no. Say you’ve made a mistake.

“I—”

Family and friends had crowded into the quaint mountain church and were looking on with hushed expectation. Roy’s fingers tightened around hers, gentle brown eyes offering silent support. He’d been nothing but kind throughout their courtship. A perfect gentleman, save for the one time he’d attempted to kiss her—a proper kiss, not simply a buss on the cheek—and she’d shied away. How patient he’d been. How understanding.

What was the matter with her? Here was a hardworking, responsible man who desired to marry her...the too-quiet, too-shy, unexceptional O’Malley sister. She couldn’t throw away this one chance at a normal life for a man who didn’t want her, whose whereabouts and well-being were a mystery.

Moistening her lips, blood rushing in her ears, she struggled to push out those two simple words. Words that would change her life forever, bind her to a man she liked and admired but didn’t love.

The lace at her throat scratched. The blooms in her hair enveloped her in their cloying scent, nearly gagging her. Surely her sisters had tied her corset too tightly. Her lungs clamored for air.

She closed her eyes, and Tom Leighton’s face loomed in her consciousness. Though he’d been gone two years, his image was still crisp and clear. Like a photograph inscribed on her mind.

Dear Lord, give me the strength to follow through with this. Marrying Roy is the only way to purge Tom from my heart and soul.

“Jane?” Roy leaned in, his whisper threaded with anxiety. “You’re not gonna swoon, are you?”

The church doors crashed open. Jane jumped. Everyone twisted in the pews, craning to see who dared interrupt the ceremony. Roy dropped her hands as a petite brunette hurtled down the aisle, thunderclouds scrunching her features.

“I object!” The unfamiliar young woman jabbed a finger in Roy’s direction.

The groom audibly gasped as the color drained from his face. “Laura?”

Seated on the first pew, Jane’s identical twin sister, Jessica, mouthed something she couldn’t make out. Their mother fanned herself furiously. Her overprotective cousins exchanged looks of foreboding.

The reverend leveled a stern stare at the intruder. “What is the nature of your objection, Miss...”

“It’s missus.” Smirking at Jane, she planted her hands on her hips. “I’m Mrs. Laura Crowley. Roy’s wife.”

Chaos erupted. Several of Jane’s family members, including her cousins Caleb and Nathan, shot to their feet, forbidding features radiating anger. Her newest brother-in-law, Quinn, restrained them both and appeared to be urging them to stay calm. Her sisters shared matching expressions of dismay.

The reverend attempted to restore order. “Is this true, young man?”

“Y-yes. We were married at one time, but she deserted the marriage.” He threw up his hands. “I thought you had it annulled, Laura.”

“I didn’t draw up any such papers.”

“Why not?” he growled. A vein bulged in his neck. The telltale sign of rage in the otherwise even-tempered Roy gave Jane yet another shock. “You abandoned me. The least you could’ve done was set me free.”

“You drove me to leave.”

“That’s a lie.”

The reverend cleared his throat. “Ah, perhaps we should take this discussion to a more private setting.”

“What’s there to discuss?” Laura said. “Roy and I are husband and wife, which means there will be no wedding today.”

Jane must’ve made a noise, because Roy turned to her, entreaty and a slight edge of panic in his eyes. “Hear me out, Jane. Please—”

“No.”

By now, the truth was sinking in that she’d nearly taken part in a crime. Unknowingly, of course, but the damage would’ve been done regardless. If she’d gone through with it, she would’ve been living with him without the protection of a valid marriage license. And if she’d had children with him...

The room tilted dizzily. Perspiration dotted her brow.

Looking out over the rows, she realized every single person in attendance was staring straight at her. Some with pity. Some with suspicion. And some with anticipation, as if taking pleasure in this spectacle.

“I can’t do this,” she said, more to herself than anyone else.

Scooping up her voluminous skirts, she fled.

Through the narrow door of Reverend Monroe’s office she ducked, slamming it behind her. Raised voices reverberated through the barrier. She banged her hip against the desk corner in a desperate bid for escape. Rubbing the sore spot, she tumbled through the door that opened into the graveyard. The heat and humidity of a cloudless spring day closed in on her, suffocating and relentless.

She couldn’t face anyone just yet, not even her twin. She needed solitude. Privacy. A moment’s peace to process the destruction of her hopes. Not the hopes one would expect a prospective bride to have, nor the ones the attendees likely thought the arrival of Laura Crowley had crushed.

The loss of Roy wasn’t the cause of her devastation.

It was the loss of what marriage to Roy might’ve finally accomplished...rooting Tom out of her heart once and for all.

* * *

Tom Leighton was almost home. After nothing but rolling plains and endless wheat fields these past years, the verdant, forested mountains were a feast for the eyes. Patches of brilliant purple phlox peeked out between soaring sugar maples, yellow buckeyes, white ash and basswood trees. Like an open-air cathedral, the thick canopy high above was a bird-filled roof, allowing only slivers of sunlight in. Cool air scented with moist earth and magnolia blossoms evoked lifelong memories and an overwhelming sense of relief.

They’d made it.

Glancing over his shoulder at the slumbering child curled up between crates in the tightly packed wagon bed, he offered up a prayer of thanksgiving. Traveling alone with a five-year-old girl across four states had presented a myriad of dilemmas. By the grace of God, he’d dealt with each challenge and was now a couple of miles from the Leighton farm and the cabin he’d grown up in.

Coming home to Gatlinburg hadn’t been the easiest decision. Folks would not have forgotten the reason he’d impulsively sold his barbershop and skipped town. Still, moving back here among friends that were like family had made the most sense now that he was officially Clara’s guardian.

The familiar disappointment and anger knotting in his chest, thoughts of the difficult past year crowding in, he almost didn’t see the woman weaving through the dense trees to his right. A vision in pure white, waist-length hair flowing free, she walked with her head bent, oblivious to her surroundings.

Guiding his team to a halt on the edge of the lane, Tom set the brake and simply watched her. Who was she? Why was she alone? Unwilling to leave without offering his assistance, he disembarked. He checked to make sure Clara hadn’t stirred before rounding the wagon and, not wanting to spook the stranger, took halting steps into the forest.

The sun’s rays slanted through the leaves, and her hair came alive, a deep, glistening red. The air left his lungs. He knew of only two women in this town with hair that color. He’d been particularly fond of one of them.

Intrigued and a little hopeful, Tom moved to intercept her. “Hello there.”

Startled, she pulled up short, one hand flying up to clutch her throat. Her sweet countenance was the same and yet different. More mature. Womanly. Her cheekbones were more pronounced, her rosy mouth fuller. Her moss-green eyes reflected wisdom that hadn’t been present when he’d left.

“Jane O’Malley.”

Grinning, he closed the distance between them. She’d grown several inches, the top of her head coming even with his nose, and her gangly form had blossomed into that of a young woman—tall and graceful in her elegant, beaded white dress.

Hold on...was that a wedding dress?

“T-Tom?”

Her cheeks, he noticed belatedly, were wet with tears, and her already pale countenance went whiter still. She swayed on her feet.

He caught her against his chest, hands instinctively curving about her waist. Too late to worry about his gloves soiling the pristine material.

The faint scent of lilac hit him. “Jane? What’s wrong? Are you ill?”

Clutching his biceps, she blinked up at him. “I must be dreaming.”

* * *

The smooth voice like rich, warm cream belonged to Tom. And those vivid green eyes shining like stars against tanned skin? Tom’s.

But it couldn’t be him. There was nothing left for him here. He’d sold his barbershop. His mother was dead. And the woman he’d adored—her older sister, Megan—was happily married to another man.

“What’s happened?” He brought his face closer, a frown pulling his brows together.

She studied that face, muscles locking up as she struggled to absorb the truth of what she was seeing—Tom Leighton...not a figment of her imagination...real flesh and bone.

His pleasant, boyish features had thinned out, grown leaner, tougher, the angles of his face more pronounced and cheeks hollowed. His wavy, rich brown hair spilled onto his forehead and curled over his shirt collar. Longer and messier than before.

Reaching up, she explored the scruff on his jaw with her fingertips. “You’re really here. I’d thought...”

His Adam’s apple bobbed. “What are you doing out here all by yourself? Does your family know where you are?”

Disappointment set in, followed by outrage. This was how he greeted her after all this time? No I’m sorry for worrying you, Jane. No you’re all grown-up and I can’t believe I ever left without saying goodbye.

She pushed out of his arms.

“I’m not a little girl anymore. I don’t need a keeper.”

He frowned. “That’s not what I meant.”

“You’ve been gone two years, Tom. Two years without a word. No letters. No telegrams. Would it have killed you to tell me you were leaving?”

A sigh gusted out of him. “I’m sorry about that.”

“Didn’t they have paper and pencils where you were?”

“I should’ve written. I see that now—”

“You have no idea how many unfortunate scenarios I’ve entertained. Not knowing whether you were alive or dead...”

An active imagination was both a blessing and a curse. Oftentimes the endless scenarios playing out in her head didn’t have happy endings. Countless nights she’d tossed in her bed, unable to sleep for worrying about him.

Turning away, she swiped at the moisture on her cheeks and fought a fresh onslaught of emotion. She pulled at the dress’s itchy collar. Had her sister Nicole not known how uncomfortable this confection would be when she’d designed it? One last remaining purple blossom fell from her hair. She crushed the fragile petals beneath her heel. His inadequate words did nothing to ease her deep-seated hurt.

For so long, she’d struggled to accept that she’d likely never see him again, never hear his warm laughter or gaze into those shining eyes. Tom represented all the heroes she’d ever read about. And while she knew he hadn’t viewed her as anything more than a little sister, she’d missed his friendship in the most dreadful way.

His casual apology was more of an insult than anything.

Tom touched the spot between her shoulder blades. Gentle. Imploring. “I truly regret causing you worry, Jane. I was in a bad place when I left.”

He didn’t have to remind her. Her older sister Megan had rejected his proposal and chosen to marry Lucian Beaumont, a wealthy aristocrat from New Orleans who’d come to town for a brief visit and wound up falling for her. Megan’s choice had effectively ended her and Tom’s long-standing friendship.

In their small mountain town, there’d been no escaping the gossip. His dreams had been crushed, his pride wounded. Crazily enough, Jane had hurt for him. She’d hurt because she knew how it felt to care and have no hope of those feelings being returned.

“I suppose the main reason I didn’t contact anyone was because it was easier to sever all ties. I realize now how selfish that was.”

When she didn’t comment, he audibly exhaled. “Have you come from a party?”

“A wedding, actually.”

Silence. Then a stunned, “You’re married?”

“Ah, no,” she murmured. “Turns out my intended groom already has a wife.”

“What?” Tom encircled her wrist and turned her to face him, manner unyielding. “You’d better start at the beginning.”

Amid the birds’ intermittent chirping came a soft cry. She tensed. “What was that?”

Releasing her, Tom strode in the direction of the lane. Jane picked up her skirts and tripped after him, dense carpet of ferns catching on the delicate lace. “Sounded like a child. Do you think someone’s lost?”

Intensely focused on the wagon that came into view, he went directly to the rear and held out his arms. Jane’s steps slowed when she caught sight of a blur of pink calico and bouncing brown curls rushing into his hug.

“It’s okay, Clara. I’m right here.”

Planting a quick kiss on the little girl’s head, he eased away and jerked his chin in Jane’s direction. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

Her frock wrinkled and creases from her blanket lining one cheek, the girl lifted a shy gaze to Jane. Her green eyes matched Tom’s exactly.

Jane pressed a trembling hand to her middle. He had a child? Mind racing, she tried to calculate the girl’s age. Four, maybe five years old? It didn’t add up. Unless, like Roy, he’d been harboring a terrible secret before he left.

No, she couldn’t let Roy’s perfidy influence her outlook. Tom had been desperately in love with her sister. Besides, he was an honorable man who patterned his life after the Bible’s teachings.

“Who is she, Tom?”

Countenance solemn, he said, “In the eyes of the law, you might say she’s my daughter.”

Chapter Two

This second, mountain-size shock robbed her limbs of strength. Jane sank onto the ground, skirts puffing around her like a giant, satiny cloud.

His face a mask of concern, Tom swung Clara down and quickly approached, crouching to her level. Open at the collar, showing the column of his throat, the gray-and-white-striped shirt hugged his broad, sturdy shoulders and defined chest. She recalled the leashed strength in his arms as he’d propped her up.

There was one question answered. Wherever he’d gone, he hadn’t been working in a barbershop. That kind of indoor profession didn’t add bulk to a man’s frame.

“I’ve never known you to swoon, Janie girl, but you look seconds away from it right about now. I’ve got a canteen in the wagon. Water’s not cold, but it might help. Want me to get it?”

“No, thank you.”

Behind him, Clara edged closer, eyes wide with wonder. Such a pretty, delicate child, with a round, inquisitive face and a pert nose.

“Clara, this is my friend Jane O’Malley.”

Friend. An innocent word that sounded hateful when he spoke it. Had he had the same reaction when Megan insisted on being nothing more than friends?

“Hello, Clara.” She dredged up a smile. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Clara continued to stare first at Jane’s hair—no doubt a wild mess since she’d plucked all the pins out to rid herself of the flowers—and then at her apparel.

“You have the same eyes,” Jane told him quietly. “And hair.”

Shadows gathered in the green depths. “She’s my niece. I’m her legal guardian.”

Tom’s only sibling, a brother named Charles, was ten years older than him. He’d left town years ago and hadn’t returned.

“You were with Charles and his family all this time?”

He gave a short nod, lips tightening. “On his ranch in Kansas.”

She’d imagined him in all sorts of places and situations, none of them as ordinary as Kansas. Piloting a riverboat in Louisiana. Cutting hair in New York City. Sailing to Europe on a huge ship. Those pursuits would’ve kept him so busy he couldn’t be blamed for not thinking of her. But working on a ranch in the middle of nowhere?

The reality stung. He’d had ample opportunity to contact her—he’d simply chosen not to. She bit back the urge to ask about Clara’s parents, to ask anything more of him. Pride prevented her, as did consideration for the girl’s feelings.

Clara dared touch one of the seed pearls on Jane’s sleeve. “Are you a princess?”

“No, sweetheart.”

Tom’s perfectly formed, expressive mouth softened into a slight smile that held affection for the little girl. “She sure does look like one, though, doesn’t she?”

Then he turned that smile on Jane, and her foolish heart hummed a happy tune.

She flinched.

No. She couldn’t do this. Not again.

“Jane?” Confusion colored his tone.

Struggling to her feet, she shook out her skirts and tugged the tight bodice down, backing away as she did so. “I have to go.”

He stood to his full, impressive height, one hand outstretched. “Let me take you home.”

“No.” Her harsh tone elicited a frown from Clara. Tempering it, she continued her retreat. “I mean, no, thank you.”

“Jane—”

“I don’t need your help, Tom. I’m perfectly capable of finding my own way home.”

She hadn’t finished expelling him from her storybook dreams. If she allowed him to reclaim what progress she’d made, she’d never know true peace or contentment.

And for the second time that day, she fled.

Frustration pushed Tom to call after her. “I don’t remember you being this hardheaded.”

She paused long enough to glance over her shoulder. Her luminous eyes challenged him. “People change.”

Framed by the forest’s varying shades of green, her startling white wedding garb and flowing red mane carved an image on his brain he wouldn’t soon forget.

He, more than anyone, was acquainted with the truth of that statement. His brother had transformed into someone unrecognizable after Jenny’s death, and there’d been nothing Tom could do to stop it. As for Jane, the sweet, adoring girl who’d followed him around like a lamb after its mother had been replaced by a self-assured, stunning young woman.

With a dismissive shake of her head, Jane ventured deeper into the forest, hem flaring with each stride of her long legs.

He didn’t like the thought of her on her own out here, especially considering her current mental state, but he couldn’t very well tie her up and toss her in the wagon.

“I’m hungry, Uncle.”

Clara tucked her hand in his, the utter trust she’d placed in him a humbling thing. He was all she had now. That she depended on him for everything weighed heavily at times. Not because she was a burden, but because he’d come into this upside down. He’d never been married. Didn’t know what it was to be responsible for another human being, although he’d had plenty of practice these past months.

“Come on, then, my little bird. I’ve got a can of tinned peaches with your name on it.”

Her rosebud mouth parted. “Really? Clara Jean Leighton is right there on the label?”

Chuckling, he lightly tapped her nose. “Not exactly.”

When he had her settled with her snack in her spot between the crates, he climbed onto the hard seat and put the team in motion. Impatience kept his bone-deep exhaustion at bay. These final miles felt like the longest of the entire journey.

Pulling into the shaded, overgrown lane leading to his place, memories bombarded him, and he wished his ma were here to welcome him. To meet her only grandchild. She would’ve relished the role of grandmother.

“We’re here, Clara.” His throat grew thick, and he had to blink away the gathering moisture.

Gripping the side, she observed her surroundings with solemn curiosity.

Tom hadn’t expected his family farm to be in good condition—his ma had been gone a long time—but the disintegration of his former home gutted him. Set against the magnificent backdrop of the Smoky Mountains, his land used to be lush and vibrant, the yard around the one-story cabin kept neat and his ma’s roses flanking the narrow porch. Now vegetation consumed the buildings. The cabin’s shingled roof was barely visible beneath bands of ivy, the porch running the length of the building completely obscured. To the left and slightly behind it were the barn and toolshed, the smokehouse and corncrib looking like stacks of weathered wood amid a profusion of man-size weeds. The handful of apple and peach trees were in desperate need of pruning. The snake-rail fence separating the yard and fields beyond had completely fallen apart in some spots.

He was in for a massive job. Chest tight, he wondered how he’d manage to set things to rights before the first frost in six months’ time. Unearthing the vegetable garden and readying the ground for seed alone was going to take days of hard labor.

And what to do about his niece? She couldn’t very well accompany him to the fields every day.

Leaving her in the wagon, Tom used a hatchet to carve a path through the waist-high weeds and hack out an opening in the ivy. Stepping through onto the porch, he passed the single window with its dusty, cracked glass and had to shoulder the door open.

He stopped short on the threshold. If not for the layer of grime coating the cast-iron stove and the cobwebs in the corners, he’d have thought his ma had gone to the mercantile for the day’s necessities. His gaze landed on the gray knitted shawl she’d favored, draped over the rocking chair beside the fireplace, and he picked it up, catching a whiff of her floral scent beneath the overwhelming odor of dank air and dust.

The unreality of her death coalesced into a truth he could grasp. She wasn’t at the mercantile. She wasn’t in the henhouse gathering eggs with her gnarled, age-spotted hands. She wouldn’t be welcoming him home.

She wouldn’t learn that her firstborn had descended into debauchery to the point Tom hardly recognized him. And that her youngest was now charged with the care and raising of a vulnerable five-year-old child.

Oh, Charles. What have you done?

* * *

“You should try to eat something.”

Gripping the pot, Jane scrubbed harder at the stuck-on bits. “I’m not hungry.”

Jessica shared a worried look with their mother, Alice, who was bustling about the kitchen packing for her extended trip to Cades Cove, a day and a half’s ride from Gatlinburg. Their eldest sister, Juliana, lived there with her husband and two boys, and Mama had been counting down the days until she could see them again.

Abandoning a loaf of sourdough bread on the worktop, Alice came and put her arm around Jane. “I’ll postpone this trip if you need me to, honey. I can send a telegram to Juliana. She’ll understand.”

“That’s not necessary. I’ll be fine.”

“You’re sure?”

Her ma’s troubled look mirrored the one from yesterday when Jane had finally stumbled home, the same one from this morning when Jane had announced she wasn’t attending church services.

“I’m positive.”

Jessica carried her dinner plate over. “With the amount of desserts the café requires, we’ll be so busy she won’t have time to spare a single thought for that snake Roy.”

The café owner, Mrs. Greene, had been stricken with a lingering illness this past January. Unable to continue running the café without assistance, she’d approached the twins with a job offer. Getting paid for doing something they enjoyed and excelled at made sense. Their afternoon hours were used to bake and decorate pies, cakes and cookies, which they delivered before the supper rush. The additional income helped with all sorts of things, from extra fabric and hair ribbons to replenishing their chicken flock and luxuries such as store-bought chocolates.

Alice’s lined face pinched. “I wish you could’ve been spared all this.”

“You couldn’t have known,” Jane rushed in. “Roy’s a relative newcomer to the area. No one was aware of his history.”

“He could’ve mentioned having a wife before he proposed.” Her twin rolled her eyes. “While I hate that you had to suffer public humiliation, I’m glad you didn’t wind up with him.”

Jane fell silent. Her sister had made her feelings plain from the moment of their engagement. While Jessica had been all for her getting over Tom, she hadn’t approved of Jane’s choice. That her instincts had been right didn’t help Jane’s flagging self-confidence and made her question herself. What was it about her that had prompted Roy to keep his past hidden? Was she not the type to inspire confidences? Trust?

“Speaking of being busy, I have a favor to ask.” Alice retrieved a second basket from the shelf. “As you are both aware, the Leighton farm is in a terrible state. Tom will have his hands full the coming weeks trying to clean it up and won’t have time to see to meals. I’ve baked some bread and gathered jars of apple butter, jam and vegetables. There’s a wheel of cheese, as well. Would you mind delivering it for me?”

Jane lent extra attention to drying the pot, tummy doing a somersault at the prospect of seeing Tom again. She’d made up her mind to steer clear. Resuming their friendship wasn’t sensible or safe.

“I’m meeting Lee for an afternoon ride in an hour. I’d be happy to accompany Jane over, though.”

Missing the glare Jane shot her twin, Alice patted her shoulder. “Thank you, dear. If I’m going to leave at dawn, I must finish this packing.”

When Jane had gathered her satchel and the journal she kept on hand—one never knew when inspiration might strike—she met Jessica at the wagon. Several crates lined the bed.

She plopped onto the high seat. “This is a bad idea.”

Jessica snapped the reins, and they rumbled out of the yard. “Look, it’s just a simple errand. We’ll drop off the supplies, stay long enough to be polite and then you can return home with the team. I’m meeting Lee in town, and it’s a nice day. I’ll walk home.”