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Wed By Necessity
Karen Kirst
Her Inconvenient HusbandWhen a riding accident strands socialite Caroline Turner overnight with the new stable manager, she gets the one thing she never wanted—a husband! Marrying the infuriatingly stubborn Duncan McKenna wouldn’t have been her first choice, but with her reputation damaged, it’s her only option.Still, there’s something about the brash, rugged Scotsman that fascinates Caroline. If Duncan wanted to wed a society girl, he would have stayed in Boston with his family and his fortune. He expects Caroline to balk at her new modest lifestyle, but instead the strong-willed beauty seems determined to prove him wrong, making her all the more irksome…and irresistible. The marriage of convenience isn’t what Caroline and Duncan planned, but could they be a perfect match?
Her Inconvenient Husband
When a riding accident strands socialite Caroline Turner overnight with the new stable manager, she gets the one thing she never wanted—a husband! Marrying the infuriatingly stubborn Duncan McKenna wouldn’t have been her first choice, but with her reputation damaged, it’s her only option. Still, there’s something about the brash, rugged Scotsman that fascinates Caroline.
If Duncan wanted to wed a society girl, he would have stayed in Boston with his family and his fortune. He expects Caroline to balk at her new modest lifestyle, but instead the strong-willed beauty seems determined to prove him wrong, making her all the more irksome...and irresistible. The marriage of convenience isn’t what Caroline and Duncan planned, but could they be a perfect match?
“This is your fault,” she spat after getting up from her overturned canoe. “If you hadn’t been spying on me, this wouldn’t have happened.”
“I wasn’t spying on you.” Water lapped at his thighs and seeped into his boots as Duncan stood near her. Even so, his temperature ratcheted up a notch. Would she run to her father with this, too? “Since you neglected to show me this part of the property, I decided to have a look for myself. I didnae ken you were here.”
“We had a deal.” She poked his chest. “This isn’t what I’d call abiding by your word.”
“Do you not know when a man is teasing you? I haven’t the time or the inclination to stand around and watch you sleep.”
Her features pinched and, with a groan of frustration, she pushed past him. She slogged through the muck. Mud clung to the fine peach fabric. By the time he reached the bank, she was already marching through the meadow, boots squelching with each step, outrage obvious in her rigid posture.
A smile lifted the corners of his mouth. He knew it was wrong, but he kind of liked seeing Caroline with her hackles up.
Dear Reader (#uc2a5bf7e-f825-58ca-b2ee-36a6e762e345),
Each book has its own set of challenges. Marriage-of-convenience stories can be especially tricky. In the beginning, I thought Duncan and Caroline were going to give me a lot of problems. They wound up being one of my favorite couples in the Smoky Mountain Matches series. They were both stubborn and prone to making hasty judgments about the other person, as we’re oftentimes apt to do. Putting the brash Scotsman with standoffish Caroline and watching the sparks fly was such fun. I hope you enjoyed their love story!
Look for reclusive Alexander Copeland’s book next. For more information about this series and other books, please visit my website, www.karenkirst.com (http://www.karenkirst.com). You can also connect with me on Facebook and Twitter, @karenkirst.
Blessings,
Karen Kirst
KAREN KIRST was born and raised in East Tennessee near the Great Smoky Mountains. She’s a lifelong lover of books, but it wasn’t until after college that she had the grand idea to write one herself. Now she divides her time between being a wife, homeschooling mom and romance writer. Her favorite pastimes are reading, visiting tearooms and watching romantic comedies.
Wed by Necessity
Karen Kirst
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Not that I speak in respect of want: for I have learned, in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content.
—Philippians 4:11
To my readers. Your letters, emails and messages are a huge source of encouragement. You inspire me to strive to write emotional reads you won’t want to put down. Thank you for supporting my dream job.
Acknowledgments (#uc2a5bf7e-f825-58ca-b2ee-36a6e762e345)
A huge thank you to Stephanie White for her insight into horse wounds and care and for introducing me to her beautiful horses.
Contents
Cover (#u5859b523-0565-5806-986c-b7493f267134)
Back Cover Text (#u35f0f6a4-7f03-5f38-8e65-5f7f5fd6503e)
Introduction (#u97acc017-903f-58a1-a155-043af7132f2b)
Dear Reader (#ue794f56f-2534-5b8e-b640-9a3cc9bd95fa)
About the Author (#uffe7fca2-4eba-5dad-9793-6771abc66b55)
Title Page (#u4e376980-954c-57f3-a024-e9a13676dee0)
Bible Verse (#u52303c72-7b7f-5567-915e-549b0e2e1282)
Dedication (#u82896b5b-3dd4-5767-9f38-59d35c6a4b64)
Acknowledgments (#ufa899dad-fcc3-5d6c-a42d-fb040325a094)
Chapter One (#u99a8d5a4-de2d-503e-ba7a-3e103a403c78)
Chapter Two (#u4c8a9635-af87-5fa9-97e1-8ffdae1f4102)
Chapter Three (#u0e995111-84e7-56bd-8362-031429acc3fd)
Chapter Four (#u6a57f9b3-4612-5363-bc23-15e29742c2db)
Chapter Five (#u38539350-a8b4-57c5-80c9-98e37478b073)
Chapter Six (#u99dc275d-4290-55c9-a680-04926e561022)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#uc2a5bf7e-f825-58ca-b2ee-36a6e762e345)
Gatlinburg, Tennessee
July 1887
As a holiday, Independence Day left a lot to be desired. Independence was a dream Caroline Turner wasn’t likely to ever attain. Crumpling the note in her hand, she surveyed the crowd of people gathered to watch the fireworks display. Her blackmailer could be here tonight. He could be watching her every move.
The fireworks’ blue-green light flickered over the sea of faces, followed by red, white and gold. She tried to shake the sinister feeling. Stuffing the wrinkled paper into the pocket hidden deep in the folds of her skirt, she schooled her features and made her way along the edge of the field to where the musicians were playing patriotic tunes. She wasn’t about to give her tormentor the satisfaction of knowing he’d rattled her.
“Caroline, we’re running low on lemonade.”
“Then make more,” she snapped at eighteen-year-old Wanda Smith. Surely the volunteers serving refreshments didn’t need her input in every decision.
“We’ve misplaced the lemon crates.”
At the distress in the younger girl’s countenance, Caroline relented. “Fine. I’ll look for them. You may return to your station.”
It took her a quarter of an hour to locate the missing lemons. By then, the last of the fireworks had been shot off and attendees were ready for more food and drink. The celebration was far from over, yet she wished she could return home to her bedroom and solitude. The prospect of having to dole out more money to a stranger made her stomach churn.
She diverted to the drink table and helped serve the press of thirsty folks. The line eventually dwindled, and Caroline drifted over to watch couples dancing to lively music. The summer night air enveloped her, ripe with the scents of fried chicken, honeysuckle and cologne.
A trio of young women approached and engaged her in conversation. As usual, they wanted to know about her outfit, whether she’d had it made by a local seamstress or her mother had had it shipped from New York. Before they’d exhausted their talk of fashion, a stranger inserted himself into their group.
“Excuse me.”
Caroline didn’t recognize the hulking figure. Well over six feet tall, he was as broad and solid as an oak tree and looked as if he hadn’t seen civilization in months. He was dressed in common clothing; his shirt and pants were clean but wrinkled. Dirt caked the heels of his sturdy brown boots. His thick reddish-brown hair was tied back with a strip of leather. If left unbound, it would likely skim the bottom of his collar. While he appeared to have a strong facial structure, his mustache and beard obscured the lower half of his face. His mouth was wide and generous. Sparkling blue eyes assessed her.
“Would you care to dance?” He spoke in a rolling brogue that identified him as a foreigner.
The other girls had fallen silent and were watching him in awed stupor.
“Are you speaking to me, Irishman?” Caroline raised her brows.
He flashed a lopsided grin. “I’m no Irishman. I hail from Aberdeen, Scotland. And yes, I’m wantin’ to know if you’d like to dance.”
The way he pronounced his o’s teased her ears. Interest stirred to life, and she considered accepting his invitation. Then reason prevailed. As a member of one of Gatlinburg’s most prominent families, she couldn’t allow her reputation to become tarnished. In the Turner family, missteps were frowned upon.
“I don’t associate with drifters.”
“I take it your answer is no then?”
Regret sharpened her tone. “I believe I made myself clear.”
His gaze turned mocking as he sketched a bow. “Forgive me for intruding upon your time, fair lass.”
“I’ll dance with you,” Vivian Lowe practically purred.
Caroline and the others gaped at her.
“Will ya now? I’m a fortunate man.”
Then, to Caroline’s chagrin, he shucked the large pack from his back and thrust it at her. “Watch this for me, will ya?”
She struggled beneath its unwieldy weight, glaring as he led Vivian in a routine with the form and grace of an accomplished dancer.
“Caroline Grace Turner, what are you doing standing here dillydallying?” Her mother marched to her side. “You’re supposed to be overseeing the stations. Ida has run out of potato salad and the Jackson sisters spilled a gallon jar of tea on Mr. Williams.” Louise’s upper lip curled. “What is that?”
“Nothing, Mother.” Letting the pack thunk to the dry grass, she shot one last disgruntled glance in the direction of the dancers and trailed behind her mother like the dutiful daughter she was supposed to be.
* * *
Duncan McKenna should’ve known better than to ask the cool blonde to dance, but full of relief that his long journey was at an end, he’d given in to a spurt of optimism. He should’ve guessed that the alluring mystery in her navy-hued eyes and the sweet curve of her mouth were too good to be true. He watched her dump his belongings, her haughty features registering distaste, and march off with the silver-haired matron.
Lanterns suspended from stakes throughout the fields emitted soft light. As she passed one, the diamonds draped around her neck and wrists glittered and the silken, pearl-like fabric of her billowing skirts shimmered. The elegant dress displayed her statuesque, pleasing figure to perfection. A shame her attitude didn’t match her outward beauty.
“Was Caroline right? Are you just passing through?”
Duncan switched his attention to the coy brunette in his arms. “Your friend was mistaken. I’m plannin’ on stickin’ around for a bit.”
Her face brightened. “That’s wonderful news. I’m Vivian Lowe, by the way.”
“Duncan McKenna.”
The music came to an end, and she made no effort to hide her disappointment. “I’m free for the next dance.” Her shining hazel eyes implored him to extend their time together.
“If I hadn’t ridden fifteen miles today, I would be honored to be your partner again.” He smiled to soften the blow.
Her gloved hand latching on to his forearm, she leaned closer than good manners dictated. “Let me purchase you a lemonade then. You must be parched after so long a journey.”
“Maybe another time.”
Vivian accepted his excuse with a barely concealed pout. “I look forward to seeing you again, Duncan McKenna.”
Bidding her goodnight, Duncan went to reclaim his belongings. He’d met forward young ladies in almost every town he’d sojourned in and had avoided them like the plague. The woman he desired for a wife and helpmeet wouldn’t be so desperate for male company that she latched onto random strangers.
A young lawman waited beside Duncan’s pack, boots planted wide and arms crossed beneath a glinting silver star, no doubt bent on interrogating him. Caroline’s assessment wasn’t far-fetched. Small towns tended to be suspicious of strangers.
“Good evenin’ to ya.” He held out his hand. “Duncan McKenna’s the name.”
“Ben MacGregor.” With hair more deeply red than his own, and green eyes that seemed inclined to mischief, the man could’ve hailed from the same bonny isle as Duncan. His accent bore an easy Southern cadence, however. “I don’t recall seeing you around these parts before. Family in the area?”
Resettling his pack on his shoulders, he shook his head. “I’m here for work. Albert Turner hired me to care for his horses.”
“You’re the new stable manager? I heard he found someone to replace old George. Welcome to Gatlinburg.” His smile turned rueful. “I see you’ve already met Albert’s daughter.”
Duncan surveyed the milling crowd. “Who? Vivian?”
“Ah, no. Caroline Turner.” Ben jerked his chin in the direction of the refreshment tables. The blonde was there in what appeared to be a supervisory role. The girls enduring her instructions clustered together, their expressions reminiscent of those in the presence of royalty.
The exhaustion he’d been keeping at bay poured through him. His body begged for a dark room and a soft mattress where he could stretch out and sleep without having to listen for wild animals on the prowl or two-legged creatures up to no good. The anticipation over his new employment waned. He would have to cross paths with the snooty socialite on a regular basis.
“Does Mr. Turner have any more daughters I should be aware of?”
Ben tucked his thumbs in his pockets. “No, and we should count ourselves fortunate on that score.” At Duncan’s continued scowl, he chuckled. “Caroline’s not so bad once you get to know her.”
Before leaving Boston and his family behind, he’d known scores of women exactly like her. He had no wish to associate with more.
“Come with me,” Ben said. “I’ll help you locate Albert.”
They wove their way through the throng of youngsters and adults. As they neared the table Caroline was stationed behind, her almond-shaped eyes lit on his and with a disapproving frown, she turned away. Duncan could well imagine her reaction when she learned the news of his employment and hoped he was around to witness it.
* * *
Caroline descended the stairs much later than usual the next morning. Disturbing dreams had troubled her sleep. Lack of rest wasn’t the only reason she’d lingered in bed. Today she would make yet another trip to the bank, enduring the clerk’s censorious stare as she made up another false story about an expensive bauble she wished to purchase. Then she’d ride out to the north side of the property, where she’d leave the demanded amount. She wondered how long this would continue. Eventually she’d run out of money, and then what?
As she neared the dining room, the rich aroma of hot coffee mixed with chicory wrapped around her. Her father had gone to New Orleans last month and purchased multiple tins. Her anticipation vanished the moment she crossed the threshold. The hulking Scotsman from last night’s festivities was seated at her table. A china plate piled high with Cook’s usual breakfast offerings was in front of him.
“You.”
He appeared marginally tamer this morning, with the charcoal-gray shirt molded to the impressive breadth of his shoulders looking clean and pressed. In the light streaming through the windows, his hair had the rich sheen of mahogany. Once again, he’d restrained it with a strip of leather. He looked like a man who spent much of his time apart from society, nothing like the distinguished Charleston businessmen who usually used her home for a mountain retreat.
Shockingly, it was his untamed quality that appealed to her. Caroline’s world was constructed of rigid rules and expectations. Duncan McKenna seemed to live to please himself. A heady prospect. The fact that she’d never partake in such personal freedom stoked her bad mood.
Lifting his head, he did a lazy inspection of her with his cobalt blue gaze.
“Good mornin’, Caroline.” His voice was deep and thick. The way he pronounced her name, with a slight roll of the r, sounded like music.
She advanced to the table and gripped the top rung of the chair opposite him. “I want you to leave.”
He took a long draw of coffee, then plucked a sausage link from his plate and bit off half. Grinning as he chewed, he said, “’Tisna your house, is it, but your father’s. I’m here on his approval.”
“My father doesn’t make a habit of inviting drifters to share our table. What did you do? Follow me here last night? Did you sleep in the woods and wait for your opportunity?”
His grin faded. “I’m no’ a drifter.”
Her nails dug into the polished wood. Her mother would throttle her if she marred the furniture. Inhaling deeply, she lowered her arms to her sides. She would not allow him to provoke her. Dealing with irritating people and situations was commonplace.
“Who are you then?”
Determined footsteps echoed in the hall and her father entered, newspaper rolled and tucked beneath his arm. His salt-and-pepper hair was combed off his high forehead. Dressed in a severe black suit, a gold tack pinned into his red tie, he’d long ago perfected the image of a successful businessman.
Caroline used to be in awe of him, of his accomplishments and the respect he had commanded in their former home of Charleston, the state of South Carolina and beyond. Now, whenever she was in the same room with him, she questioned if his character was as sterling as she’d thought. Was his success based on honest practices? Or was he, like other kings of industry she’d read about, pursuing wealth at the expense of integrity? The documents the blackmailer had provided as an impetus to meet his demands were upstairs in her room. Copies, of course, in case she was tempted to destroy the evidence. But were they copies of authentic documents or were they falsified?
Albert spared her a brief glance. “Ah, Caroline, I see you’ve met Duncan. He’s taking George’s place.” Striding over to the silver urn, he dispensed coffee into his cup and stirred in a generous portion of cream. “How did you fare last night, Duncan? Does the cabin suit you?”
“Aye, sir. I slept like a bairn.”
George? Cabin? “Y-you hired him?”
Mr. McKenna’s gaze, bright with humor, shifted to her. He ducked his head, but not before she saw his slow grin. He was enjoying her shock.
“Yes, Caroline.” Looking down his hawkish nose at her, Albert addressed her as one would a difficult child. “Mr. McKenna is our stable manager now. He came highly recommended from the Stuarts.”
“Your friends in North Carolina?”
He nodded. Leaning against the sideboard, he said, “I expect you to make him feel welcome. In fact, you can give him the grand tour of the property. I’ve got a meeting at the bank this morning.”
“Bank? Why are you going there?” Anxiety rose up to choke her. “Is there a problem?”
His brows pulled together over his nose. “You’re acting strangely this morning. Perhaps you need to eat your breakfast instead of peppering me with questions.” He started for the door, pausing but for a moment to address Duncan. “We’ll talk later.”
Duncan dipped his head. “Aye, sir.”
When they were alone again, he motioned with his fork and winked at her. “I recommend the flapjacks.”
She stiffened. “I don’t need your recommendations, Mr. McKenna. Cook has been with us since I was eleven.” Stalking over to the sideboard, she filled her plate without paying attention to what she was doing, her thoughts focused on one thing—her life had just gotten more complicated.
When she took the seat across from him, he blinked in surprise. “A hearty appetite, I see. Wouldn’t have guessed it. But then, I learned a long time ago not to judge people on their appearance.”
The arrow hit home. Sipping her tea, she wished he’d leave.
“Does Cook have a name?”
The cup rattled as she replaced it in the saucer. “Of course she does.”
“What is it?”
Caroline raked her memory and came up empty. The buxom, wiry-haired woman who prepared their meals had always been referred to as Cook. “If you’re so interested, why don’t you ask her?”
He smirked, his gaze condemning. Duncan McKenna thought she was a snob.
“You don’t know it. To you, she and the other staff aren’t people. They’re simply fixtures here to make your life easy.”
His condemnation shouldn’t sting. He was a crude, ill-educated stranger who was clearly envious of those who’d achieved success.
“You don’t know anything about me, Mr. McKenna. Who’s the one judging now?”
Surging to her feet, she tossed her napkin over her plate and opted to escape. These days, trying to protect her father’s reputation consumed all her energy. She didn’t have the capability to cope with an infuriating employee on top of everything else.
Chapter Two (#uc2a5bf7e-f825-58ca-b2ee-36a6e762e345)
He’d driven her from her breakfast. Not exactly gentlemanly behavior. Nor was it wise to provoke the boss’s daughter.
Duncan scraped his chair back and hurried into the high-ceilinged, papered hallway in the center of the house, catching up to her on the veranda that ran the length of the rear exterior. Pots of cheerful yellow blossoms lined the white railing and flanked the steps. White wicker chairs were arranged to take advantage of the pastoral view, verdant fields that gave way to forest framed by majestic, blue-toned mountains.
“Caroline, wait.”
On the crest of the steps, she slowly pivoted. Her delicate features were arranged into a controlled mask, but he could see the rapid pulse leaping at her neck. She wasn’t as nonchalant as she’d like him to think.
“I don’t recall giving you leave to address me by my first name.”
“You were right back there. I don’t know you and have no business commenting on your character.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “You didnae touch your food. I’ll leave you alone to enjoy your breakfast.”
She regarded him with a less-than-friendly gaze. Despite her attitude, she presented a vision that, if a man wasn’t careful, could blind him to her obvious faults. Her sapphire-blue dress, a perfect choice for her fair complexion, draped over her figure like a glove. Her white-blond tresses were arranged in a sophisticated style, parted down the side and swept into a tight chignon at the back of her head. There were no diamonds today, only a ribbon choker about her neck and a blue-and-white cameo nestled in the dip of her collarbone.
“I lost my appetite.” Presenting her back to him, she pointed to the stables situated close to the house. “Let’s get this over with.”
A dignified figure rounded the house and made to intercept them. The epitome of studied elegance, the lady was an older, more pinched version of Caroline. Her eyes weren’t nearly as stunning, the color a washed-out, watery blue, and her blond hair was threaded liberally with silver. He didn’t need Caroline’s introduction to make the connection. Louise dismissed him with a single glance.
“Caroline, what are you doing?”
“Father asked me to give Mr. McKenna a tour of the property.”
“We have to plan our menus for next week.”
“Can we do that after lunch?”
Her mouth puckered and lines fanned out above her upper lip. “I suppose I can rearrange my schedule.” Squinting, she fussed with her daughter’s sleeves, plumping the fabric. “This color is all wrong for you.”
Pink rose in Caroline’s cheeks. “No one is going to see me in it, Mother.”
He caught the implication. No one that counted, himself included. As a hired employee, his opinion about such things didn’t matter. They viewed him as unimportant because they assumed he was poor and uneducated. Bitterness surged. He’d happily left this sort of narrow-minded attitude behind in Boston.
“I told you to stick to pastels.”
“We’re boring Mr. McKenna.” Caroline’s smile was brittle. “We’ll discuss this later.” Head held high, she started for the nearest stable entrance.
“Excuse us, Mrs. Turner,” Duncan said.
Her nose wrinkled in distaste and she disappeared into the house.
Duncan entered the long building. The air was sweet with the scent of hay. High windows had been opened to let the breeze circulate. Dust motes danced in the square of light spilling through the open entrance.
Speaking in brisk tones, Caroline showed him the tack and equipment rooms on his left. A sturdy ladder led to a hayloft that extended the length of the building. The cobblestones beneath their feet were worn to a shiny patina and swept clean. Box stalls flanked either side of the wide center aisle. Only about half of them were occupied. One by one, she introduced him to the ten horses they owned. When she got to the last one, affection lightened her voice.
“This pretty lady is Rain.” Pulling a carrot from her pocket, she fed it to the mare and ran her hand lovingly along its neck.
Duncan found himself captivated by the pure joy Caroline radiated and the way it softened her. He wouldn’t have pegged her for an animal lover. His conscience pricked him. The Turners weren’t the only ones capable of making judgments.
Joining her, he greeted Rain, taking in the healthy state of her dapple-gray coat and black mane. “She’s yours?”
“Yes. I was unhappy when we first moved here from Charleston. My father bought her in hopes of appeasing me.”
“How old were you?”
“Fifteen.”
Old enough to have strong ties to her former home. As much as he preferred his current life, there were things—and people—he still missed.
“Did it work?”
Her rose-hued lips rolled together, pressing down. “Rain is my one bright spot.”
Before he could question the cryptic statement, she stepped back, businesslike once again. “As you can see, we have ample space to board our frequent visitors’ animals. Next week we have several guests joining us. You’ll have extra duties.”
“I can handle it.” He shrugged. “You have an impressive setup.”
She lifted her chin. “Ours are the largest, most well-equipped stables in Gatlinburg.”
Duncan refrained from telling her that the McKenna stables were triple this size.
An adolescent boy walked in the far entrance, thin arms straining with a pair of buckets. Duncan strode to help him.
“Thank you, sir, but I can manage.” His brown hair was cut short, and there was a gap between his front teeth. “Good morning, Miss Caroline.”
“Anthony, I’d like you to meet your new boss, Duncan McKenna.”
The lad snapped to attention, chest puffed out. “Glad to meet you, Mr. McKenna.”
“Likewise.” Duncan pointed to the buckets. “Sure you won’t be needing assistance?”
“No, sir.”
“I’ll return shortly to see to Rain,” she told Anthony. “You may turn the others out to the paddocks.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Duncan stopped beside a room she’d failed to show him. He touched the handle. “What’s in here?”
“Personal storage.” She made a dismissive gesture and continued walking.
He thought it odd to keep such items in a stable, but he chose not to question her.
They exited into the sunshine. The humidity closed in around him. If Tennessee’s climate was anything like North Carolina’s, he was in for some sweltering summer days. He reached up and tightened the strip restraining his hair. He needed to cut it. His parents and brothers wouldn’t recognize him. After working in the great outdoors these many months, his skin had taken on a cinnamon hue, and he’d acquired more freckles on his forearms. He’d let his hair grow to his shoulders, and his beard was thick. He stroked it now, thinking it was probably time to shave it off.
Caroline caught the gesture and frowned.
He mentally shrugged. Or not.
She showed him the various sheds, smokehouses and other buildings. To his surprise, she was knowledgeable about the farm’s workings. At the barn, which was half the size of the stables, she introduced him to another employee.
The gentleman had stooped shoulders, flyaway black hair and skin like leather. His Native American heritage was obvious, and Duncan wondered if he were Cherokee. His brown-black gaze, when it lit on Caroline, brightened like the sun coming out from behind the clouds.
“Wendell takes care of the livestock,” she told him matter-of-factly. “But his primary task is making sure the landscaping is up to Mother’s exacting standards.”
“Miss Caroline is the true gardener around here,” Wendell said with obvious pride.
Bending to pat the orange cat sniffing at her skirts, she frowned. “Don’t let my mother hear you say that.”
Duncan watched the exchange with interest. He couldn’t imagine pristine Caroline Turner getting her hands dirty.
“We have to continue on, Wendell.”
After he shook hands with Wendell, Caroline led Duncan outside. To their right, chickens pecked at the ground inside their pen. She checked the watch pin attached to her bodice, and her features grew pensive.
“You’ll have to explore the rest of the grounds on your own.” Without another word, she headed in the direction of the house.
“You’re abandoning me midtour then?”
She turned and shaded her eyes with her hand. “I have an important matter to tend to.”
“A shopping excursion that can’t wait?” Plunging his hands in his pockets, he strolled to her side. “Or a gossip session with your friends? Is it your habit to abandon your duties, Caroline?”
That pulse at the base of her throat leapt again. Her fascinating eyes, however, remained frost-edged. “I don’t know how you conduct yourselves over in Scotland, but around here, the hired help is expected to treat their employers with utmost respect. My father has high expectations, Mr. Turner. Fail him and you’ll be cut loose.”
Duncan wasn’t sure why he was intent on baiting this woman. The only reason he could think of was that she was a handy target for the anger he’d thought he’d released long before now. He wanted to tell her that money and prestige didn’t make her better than him. He was tempted to tell her that her family’s wealth was a drop in the bucket compared to the McKennas’. He did neither. He’d rather have her honest dislike than fake regard.
Duncan liked what he’d seen so far of this part of the country. While he didn’t plan on settling here, he didn’t intend to ruin what time he did have.
“I didnae step off the boat yesterday.”
“You could’ve fooled me.”
With that parting shot, she left him standing there, making him wonder what it was that made her so unhappy.
* * *
The isolation of this part of their property unsettled Caroline. The forest had closed in after she’d passed the stable manager’s cabin—Mr. McKenna’s home for the foreseeable future—and the terrain had become steeper. At the gurgling, rock-strewn stream, she slid to the ground and, keeping hold of the reins, inspected her surroundings. She couldn’t see any signs of other human life. Lofty trees marched in uneven succession in all directions. The forest was mostly a study in contrasts of brown earth littered with decomposing leaves, darker brown trunks and vivid green foliage—from leafy bowers twitching in the breeze to ferns growing in profusion on the forest floor to lichen patches on trunks and moss ringing the trees.
A testament to God’s artistic perfection, the Smoky Mountains were wild and beautiful but not without hidden dangers. Somewhere nearby, someone lurked, possibly watching her.
Her hands clammy, she removed the black pouch from her pocket. She picked up her skirts and, picking her way across the rocks, laid it on the remains of a tree stump. Like every time before, she questioned if what she was doing was right. Should she confront her father? They’d never had a close relationship. Questioning his integrity would wound his pride and drive him farther away. But how long could this continue? Her funds weren’t unlimited.
The blackmailer had working knowledge of the Turner factories in Charleston. He knew that despite her father’s semi-retirement, he still had control of operations. He also knew Caroline had access to her inheritance. In January, she’d received the first note threatening to expose her father’s unsavory business practices. If valid, the claims in the documents had the potential to crumble the Turner empire. Over the years, her father had cultivated a reputation of providing the very best in skin care.
Their products—ranging from soaps and emollient creams to perfumes and bath oils—had become synonymous with opulence and self-indulgence. Only the wealthy could afford them. The exorbitant prices were justified by their exotic, hard-to-obtain ingredients. Caroline’s blackmailer maintained that, while Albert had initially adhered to such practices, he’d recently taken to forgoing the expense of locating and transporting said ingredients and substituting them with common chemicals. Until Caroline could find a way to substantiate these claims, she would meet his demands.
She was halfway across the stream when a rustling sound to her right made her stumble. Her boot sank into the cold water. Sucking in a sharp breath, she completed a jerky revolution, searching the woods below and rocky outcrops above. Had he decided to expose his identity? Would he do her physical harm?
But the source of her fright turned out to be a bandit-faced raccoon scouting for a meal. Caroline rushed to the other bank and clumsily mounted Rain, ready to be gone from there. Half an hour later, once again in the safety of her home, she was too distracted to give her mother’s disparaging comments about her muddy boots and bedraggled hem much thought. Caroline absentmindedly changed into a lavender outfit that would please Louise’s sense of style.
On a whim, she eased the bulging satchel from beneath her bed and ran her fingers along the supple, caramel-hued leather, stirring the dust on its surface and causing her to sneeze. Inside, there were a couple of outfits, grooming accessories and a wad of money. While the satchel had never been used, it wasn’t new. She’d purchased it three years ago as a sort of promise to herself that, if her life became intolerable, she’d leave this town for good and never look back.
So far, she hadn’t worked up the courage to use it. Or maybe she hadn’t reached her breaking point yet.
Movement in the hallway startled her. Shoving it back under the bedframe, she intercepted their housekeeper in the hallway. Shy and skittish as a mouse, the young woman was dependable and hardworking. Louise fretted at times that she didn’t pay attention to details, however.
“I’m going to freshen up your room, Miss Caroline.” She indicated the mound of clean bedding in her arms.
“All right, Sylvia.”
See? She did know her employees. Duncan McKenna was wrong about her. He had to be, because the picture he painted of her was most unflattering.
On the landing, she cupped the cone-shaped knob on the handrail. “Thank you, Sylvia.”
The housekeeper’s slim face registered surprise. She tucked a tendril of dark hair beneath her mobcap. “Oh, miss, there’s no need to thank me. It’s my job.”
Caroline spent the remainder of the day making out menus and reassigning guest rooms for their arrivals the following week. They may have left Charleston years ago, but their ties to that city remained intact. Business associates and friends visited throughout the year, so much so that her home sometimes felt like a hotel. The news that Isaiah Marsh and his son, Theo, had been added to the guest list wasn’t exactly welcome. Isaiah was boisterous and tended to make crude jokes. Theo wasn’t anything like him. The thirty-year-old heir to a fortune was suave, handsome and smart as a whip. A definite catch. It was the calculating aspect of his personality that gave Caroline pause. He was one of a carousel of suitable bachelors her mother had attempted to pair her with. In Louise’s opinion, any single man between the ages of twenty and forty with the right pedigree and desired amount in their bank account was suitable husband material. Thankfully, Theo was as uninterested in wedding her as she was him.
Marriage didn’t strike her as an institution she wanted any part of. As far back as she could remember, her parents’ strained relationship had been marked with indifference on her father’s part and nagging reprimands on her mother’s. They didn’t esteem each other. There’d been few displays of affection. She hadn’t realized there was anything amiss until her adolescent years, when she’d noticed her friends’ parents’ behavior differed from her own. The situation had only worsened with the move to Tennessee, but her mother’s complaints to Albert had fallen on deaf ears. So she’d determined to become the social queen of Gatlinburg, and Caroline was expected to play her part as reigning princess.
Her nerves were frayed by the time dinner rolled around. Her father had extended an invitation to the banker and his wife, Claude and Merilee Jenkins, as well as the reverend and his wife. As they gathered around the sumptuously laid table, the silver candleholders polished to a high shine and candlelight reflected in the mirrors on the walls, Caroline prayed that Claude wouldn’t mention her frequent visits to the bank.
She had gone to the kitchen to ensure the soup was ready to serve when Duncan McKenna slipped inside the rear hallway. She stopped short to avoid a collision with the Goliath. He put out a hand to steady her. The feel of his rough skin against hers evoked a strange fluttering sensation in her middle.
Caroline jerked out of his grip. “You picked a bad time to speak with my father. He’s entertaining guests.”
The scent of Ivory soap clung to him. The waning sunlight entering the hallway set his hair and beard aflame. The effect of it all, combined with those startlingly blue eyes, made him more striking than any other man she’d encountered, even with the beard.
He didn’t make his apologies and exit as expected. He remained exactly where he was, his potent gaze sweeping her person before lifting once more to her face, giving her the impression he saw much more than was on the surface.
“I’m not sure I agree with your mathair.”
“Excuse me?”
“The color of your dress,” he stated. “I liked the one you had on this morning better. The dark blue matched your eyes and brought a bloom to your cheeks.”
Other men had paid her compliments. Theirs hadn’t filled her with a giddy contentment and longing to hear more.
It’s the accent, she told herself.
“You’re being familiar again, Mr. McKenna. We are about to have dinner. You’ll have to come back in the morning. After breakfast.”
His nostrils flared. Hands on his hips, he bent closer, his sculpted mouth filling her vision. “Tell me something, Caroline. What is it about me that offends you so? Is it because I, a lowly working man, dared to ask you for a dance?”
Her father’s voice dispelled the tart response forming on her lips.
“Ah, there you are, Duncan. There are some people I’d like you to meet.”
Caroline shifted out of the Scotsman’s way.
He smoothed his beard. “I don’t wish to intrude, sir.”
“Nonsense.” Albert made a dismissive motion. “Caroline, put another setting at the table.”
Squashing her objection, she dipped her head. “Yes, Father.”
Before Duncan made to move past her, he looked at her, lips trembling with amusement. Her skin flushed hot. And to think, mere moments ago, she’d been drawn in by what she’d assumed was sincere admiration. This stranger had a habit of laughing at her expense. As the men disappeared into the dining room, she wondered if complaining to her father would do any good. Duncan McKenna was proving to be troublesome in more ways than she’d first anticipated.
Chapter Three (#uc2a5bf7e-f825-58ca-b2ee-36a6e762e345)
Duncan slid the succulent beef into his mouth and savored the mushroom gravy it was coated in. He hadn’t enjoyed a spread like this since before he’d set out on his own. The dining room was a sumptuous, understated display of elegance in hues of silver and blue. Dark, heavy furniture contrasted with papered ivory walls. Suspended above the table, the chandelier sparkled with a hundred crystals. Candles that were interspersed among serving platters shimmered off the silver-rimmed china. If not for his upbringing, he’d have been intimidated by his host’s obvious wealth and social connections.
Albert sat at the head of the table. Louise helmed the opposite end.
“How long have you been in the country?” Reverend Monroe, a serious man who wore compassion like a second skin, asked from the far end beside Louise.
“Ten years. My grandparents came five years before that and, once settled in Boston, encouraged my father to join them. I was sixteen when we left Scotland. I havnae been home since.”
“Scotland or Boston?” Louise chose to belatedly acknowledge his presence with a sardonic question.
“Scotland is the jewel of my heart. I will always consider it my home.” His gaze was drawn to the woman seated opposite. Caroline poured a thin stream of cream into her teacup. He had yet to catch her eye. That she resented his presence was obvious. “As for Boston, I havnae visited that city since I left, either.”
While he yearned to roam the rolling green hills of his native land once more, his feelings about the bustling city where his soul had nearly succumbed to darkness were more complicated.
Claude Jenkins sat on Duncan’s left. “What made you decide to travel?” he asked.
His wife leaned forward to address Duncan across Claude’s barrel chest. “You’re plenty old enough to settle down. Aren’t you interested in finding a wife? Starting a family?”
“I was engaged once,” he admitted. “It didn’t work out.”
Over the lip of her china cup, Caroline’s navy-hued gaze swerved to his. Her curiosity was plain. Was she wondering what type of woman would agree to marry him?
Mrs. Munroe made pitying noises. The reverend wore an expression of confidence. “�Delight thyself also in the Lord, and He shall give thee the desires of thine heart.’ Keep praying. God will lead you to the right woman in His time.”
Before Duncan could respond, Caroline lowered her cup and spoke. “You didn’t answer the other question. Why did you leave Boston? What would possess a person to leave their friends and family behind?”
He got the impression her aim wasn’t to provoke him but to glean an honest answer. Surely the lady wasn’t thinking of leaving her privileged life?
“America is a land of abundance,” he said. “Varying landscapes. Fascinating people. I yearned to explore more of it.”
He spoke the truth, just not its entirety. Edwin Naughton’s face as he lay dying flashed in his memory, and the familiar shaft of guilt and regret gutted him. He may not have caused his valet’s death, but it could’ve been prevented if Duncan had taken action. Sometimes, when he thought back on his former life, he didn’t recognize the man he used to be.
Albert nodded sagely. “The desire for adventure is built into a man’s character, as is the drive to conquer his world.”
“My father encouraged me and my brothers to do just that.”
“I only hope you’ve had enough to satisfy you for a while.” Albert’s smile was polite and entirely professional. “We’d like to keep you around as long as we’re able.”
Caroline suffered a coughing fit just then. Covering her mouth with her napkin, she mumbled an apology.
Claude asked about his travels, about the people and places he’d seen, and so Duncan regaled them with the more interesting and humorous bits. Neither Louise nor her daughter remarked on his speech. While the older woman regarded him as one would a pesky rodent inside the flour bin, Caroline followed the conversation with barely concealed interest. Well aware he wasn’t her favorite topic, he surmised that stories of other places intrigued her. The Turners had the means to travel, but perhaps she’d chosen to stay close to home.
Louise rose to her feet and, diverting her guests’ attention, announced that dessert and coffee would be served in the parlor. Duncan intercepted her reluctant glance his way and decided to offer his thanks for the meal and return to his cabin. While Albert and the other couples had made him feel welcome, the Turner females would clearly like to be rid of him. His proud Scottish heritage welled inside him. In his younger years, he would’ve stayed to spite them. He’d changed in more ways than one. No use sticking around where he wasn’t wanted.
* * *
Duncan hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. He’d come inside to discuss the ordering of supplies when he’d heard Caroline utter his name. In the hallway outside Albert’s study, he hesitated, debating whether to step into the open doorway and announce his presence or leave the way he’d come.
“Why him?” she lamented. “Why not hire someone local?”
“Because no one local has his qualifications.” Exasperation colored his tone. “George had been struggling the last few years to accomplish his tasks. I kept him on as a courtesy. McKenna’s just the man to restore things to their rightful order.”
“Father, you haven’t heard the way he speaks to me. Mr. McKenna has the manners of a...of a...” she said, floundering. “He’s infuriating!”
Holding his hat in his hands, Duncan fought his rising temper, fingers crushing the crown. How dare she? If she cost him this job... Of course, there’d be others. But he’d just got here. He wanted to explore, meet the locals. Rest from his long journey over the mountains separating North Carolina and Tennessee.
“He seems like a perfectly reasonable man to me. Has he made untoward advances?”
Silence. Duncan’s whole body tensed. If she lied, he’d be run out of town.
“No,” she said at last.
His head fell back and he offered a silent prayer of thanksgiving.
“Give it some time.” Albert’s leather chair creaked. “This time next week, you’ll be too busy entertaining our guests to exchange more than a dozen words with him. Your mother tells me Theo Marsh is looking forward to seeing you again.”
“Mother is engaging in wishful thinking.” She made a huff of displeasure. “What about after everyone leaves? How am I supposed to go about my daily life with him around, waiting to antagonize me?”
“I’m sure you’re exaggerating. Duncan comes on the highest recommendation. We need him.”
“But—”
“I suggest you apply your energy to what you do best—parting me from my money.”
Duncan pivoted and walked lightly down the hall, bent on escape. Anger firing his blood, he pushed into the sunshine and smashed his hat on his head. He felt like kicking something. Or planting his fist into a wall. He settled for hefting grain sacks from the delivery wagon to the feed room. The physical labor helped expend the resentment burning through his veins. He was mucking out the stalls when she strode through the entrance.
“Why are you doing Anthony’s job?”
The temper he’d wrestled with his entire life begged to be let loose. Calling on his self-control, he tunneled the pitchfork into the straw.
“Why does it bother you?” he bit out.
“Forget I asked.”
He continued working while she saddled her mare. As she made to lead Rain outside, he couldn’t maintain his silence any longer. Fingers still curled about the pitchfork, he moved into the aisle. She slowed, her demeanor wary.
“I heard you talking to your father about me.”
Color brushed her cheekbones. “You were eavesdropping?”
“That wasnae my intent, I assure you. Nevertheless, I heard what you said, and I want you to know I plan on keeping this job. I’m no’ keen on traversing those mountains again anytime soon.”
Averting her face, she caressed Rain’s neck. “I realize you have to earn a living,” she conceded. “And since my father is resolved to keep you around, I suggest we agree to steer clear of each other.”
Surprise stilled his tongue. She was offering a practical solution?
He became enthralled by the affection shining in her eyes as she gazed at her beloved horse. What would it be like if she were to turn that affection on him? Yearning arced through him like a bolt of lightning, rooting him to the ground. He didn’t like Caroline, so why entertain such thoughts about her?
Had to be loneliness. He’d broken off his engagement to Maureen Craig a few weeks before he’d left Boston, which was well over a year ago now. He hadn’t courted a woman since. Of late, he’d been thinking more often about finding a wife, settling into married life and starting a family.
He cleared his throat. “I, ah, believe that’s reasonable.”
Their gazes meshed, and he found himself searching for answers. What made this woman tick? Was there more depth to her than he’d first thought?
“Then we have an agreement,” she said. “You stay out of my way, and I stay out of yours.”
His fingers curled into the wooden handle. “Aye.”
Focused on her exit from the building, he didn’t hear Wendell approach and nearly jumped out of his skin when the man spoke directly behind him.
“You misunderstand Miss Caroline.”
Turning around, he said, “Good morning, Wendell. Can I help you with something?”
Wendell’s brown-black gaze was knowing. “Miss Caroline is like a cactus fruit. Prickly on the outside but soft and sweet on the inside.”
“There’s nothing sweet about that woman.”
“A wise man learns to look beyond the obvious. She hasn’t had an easy life.” His attention moved beyond Duncan’s shoulder to the grand Victorian-style house visible through the entrance, the sun bathing its green exterior and white trim in golden light.
Duncan had sensed that all was not well between Caroline and her parents. Didn’t mean she had the right to treat others, mainly him, as if they were the dirt beneath her high-priced boots. Being around Caroline was like looking into a window to his past. He used to think like her. Before he’d become a follower of Jesus, he’d bought the lie that earthly riches and achievements gave him value. He’d treated those he considered his equals with respect. Those who were poorer, who were of the working class or not members of the right family, he’d ignored altogether. He cringed with shame every time he thought about his boorish behavior.
“Give her a chance,” Wendell advised, bringing him back to the present.
The man’s words stuck with him the rest of the day. As the days rolled past, he couldn’t get them out of his head. Was she hiding her true self behind that aloof exterior? Or was she exactly what she presented to the world?
Disgusted with his preoccupation, he went out of his way to avoid her. A week passed without them having to exchange more than a simple greeting. There were no more dinners in the Turner house. Whenever he needed to confer with Albert, he waited until he was certain she was out of the house. And any time she entered the stables, he found an excuse to tend to tasks elsewhere. It wasn’t an ideal situation, but it maintained a tenuous peace between them.
That Friday, he ate his lunch as usual on the porch steps of his temporary home. Situated across the fields and tucked deep in the woods, the cabin couldn’t be seen from the main area of the property. About a ten-minute walk from the main house, the cabin was self-sustainable with a vegetable garden, smokehouse, chicken coop and a decent-sized barn. The home itself consisted of one room, with a bare-bones kitchen—a cast-iron stove in decent condition, a lopsided hutch and a handful of shelves to hold pots and other utensils—and a bed pushed against one wall. Two chairs were situated at the square table made of pine. The place might not be fancy, but it suited his needs.
Finished with his lunch, he started along the path toward the Turners’ house, whistling a jaunty tune he’d learned as a child. When he emerged into the fields, instead of heading to the stables, he decided to explore the section of the property Caroline had failed to show him. According to Anthony, there was a pond large enough for fishing and swimming that Albert had given them permission to use.
Shin-high grass whispered against his pant legs as he strolled past the grazing fields and paddocks, past the vegetable garden with its neat, even rows that were pungent with the smells of sun-warmed tomatoes, green peppers, cantaloupe and toiled earth. He entered the apple orchard next. A small one, compared to the farm he’d worked before this, but ample for their needs. The orchard gave way to mature oak and maple trees that were more distantly spaced than in the forest. Ahead in a meadow dotted with a riot of wildflowers, sunlight shimmered off the glass-like surface of the pond.
Enthralled by the serene view, he didn’t at first notice he wasn’t alone. But as he neared the water’s edge, he spotted the green canoe floating atop the surface. Duncan blinked at the unusual sight of Caroline at rest.
She lay very still, a folded shawl cushioning her head and her hands folded over a leather-bound book, her chest rising and falling in an even rhythm. Water gently lapped the sides of the craft. Overhanging branches cast her upper body in shade, while the afternoon sun painted her in buttery light from the waist down.
In the delicate peach dress, with her countenance smooth, the long, curved lashes kissing her skin and her dusky pink mouth soft and slack, she looked as if she belonged in a painting.
A funny feeling took root in his chest. This girl, the one who wasn’t looking at him with lips curled and eyes as wintry as the North Pole, was someone he might like to get to know. Too bad it was a mirage.
Intending to leave as quietly as he came, Duncan turned to leave. But then his nose twitched, and he sneezed suddenly and violently. With a startled cry, Caroline bolted upright and scrambled to her feet, barely catching her book before it fell. The canoe rocked.
“You!”
Sidling down the grassy slope, he put up a warning hand. “Careful, lass. You could—”
“How long were you watching me?” Color raced along her cheekbones, her expression aghast.
“No longer than five or ten minutes,” he quipped, unable to resist teasing her. “Maybe fifteen. Did you know you snore?”
She sputtered. “I do not snore!”
She shifted and the canoe dipped.
“Caroline...”
Arms flailing, she went right over the edge backward into the blue-green water. Duncan fought the urge to laugh. Wading into the shallow water, he reached her in four long strides.
“My book!” Ignoring his outstretched hand, she dove for it, grasped it with trembling fingers. Mouth pursed in a flat line, she flipped through the now-sodden pages. “It’s ruined.”
“I’ll replace it,” he said. “Give me your hand.”
She inspected the sodden fabric of her dress. “Mother is going to have an apoplectic fit.”
“You have dozens of other dresses in your wardrobe, I’m sure.”
“Our guests are arriving later this afternoon. I’ll have to redo my hair!”
“It’s not the end of the world.” His fingers closed around her upper arm. It was impossible not to notice the warm suppleness of her skin. “Come on.”
She shrugged him off. Chest heaving, she crossed her arms and delivered a withering stare. The effect was ruined by the darkened strands plastered to her nape and cheeks. Her hair arrangement drooped, and there was more than one leaf lodged in the mass.
Her fair beauty was undeniable. He tried to imagine what she’d look like with eyes soft with approval and her mouth curved in a sincere smile. He couldn’t quite manage it.
“This is your fault,” she spat. “If you hadn’t been spying on me, this wouldn’t have happened.”
“I wasn’t spying on you.” Water lapped at his thighs and seeped into his boots. Even so, his temperature ratcheted up a notch. Would she run to Albert with this, too? “Since you neglected to show me this part of the property, I decided to have a look for myself. I didnae ken you were here.”
“We had a deal.” She poked his chest. “This isn’t what I’d call abiding by your word.”
“Do you not know when a man is teasing you? I haven’t the time or the inclination to stand around and watch you sleep.”
Her features pinched and, with a groan of frustration, she pushed past him. She slogged through the muck. Mud clung to the fine peach fabric. By the time he reached the bank, she was already marching through the meadow, boots squelching with each step, outrage obvious in her rigid posture.
A smile lifted the corners of his mouth. He knew it was wrong, but he kind of liked seeing Caroline with her hackles up.
Chapter Four (#uc2a5bf7e-f825-58ca-b2ee-36a6e762e345)
Caroline was still burning with embarrassment when she reached the house. Oh, he’d tried to mask his amusement, but it had been there in his eyes. He enjoyed seeing her squirm. In the hallway, she removed her boots and wet stockings, and wrung the excess water from her petticoats and overskirt. Beneath the anger, there existed a disturbing ache for something she couldn’t quite name. As she hurried up the staircase to the second floor, she remembered the shocking solidness of his wide chest. It had been like poking her finger into a wall of iron. Iron sheathed in warm, firm flesh, she amended.
She entered her bedroom and braced herself for hysterics.
“Can I help you, Mother?”
Louise turned from where a half-dozen dresses were laid out on Caroline’s bed. The wardrobe doors had been thrown open.
“We must choose your outfit for tonight...” Her jaw sagged in a most undignified manner. “Look at you! You’re a mess! What happened?”
“There was a mishap at the pond.”
Her hands pressed against her cheeks, Louise inventoried the damage. “You’ll have to bathe again. I hope there’ll be enough time for your hair to dry. You know how difficult it is to work with if it isn’t.”
“Yes, Mother.”
“Tonight has to be perfect. Theo’s interested, but according to his father, he’s balking at matrimony. You must dazzle him in order to wring a commitment from him.” Twisting back to the bed, she fingered a beaded ivory gown. “This one is lovely, but it will draw attention to your wide hips.”
Looking down, Caroline skimmed her hips with her hands and grimaced. It was a common complaint of her mother’s.
“If only you had inherited my physique.” Louise tutted, “instead of Albert’s mother’s. Ah, well, there’s nothing to be done about it. Let’s hope the Turner name is enough to draw him in.”
The familiar feeling of not measuring up, of not being good enough, coiled inside her chest, slowly suffocating any measure of contentment she was able to eke out of her daily life.
She hugged her middle. “I don’t wish to marry Theo Marsh.”
“You’re not a fresh-faced eighteen-year-old.” The skin around her watery blue eyes tightened. “You can’t afford to be picky at this stage. Theo will be considered a good catch.”
“You wouldn’t mind that I’d be living in Charleston? What about my responsibilities here?”
“I’m perfectly capable of handling Gatlinburg’s affairs.” Rifling through the dresses, she lifted a floaty creation of seafoam green and studied her daughter with a critical eye. “This one might do.”
Caroline drifted over to the large four-poster bed. “You wouldn’t see me very often,” she persisted. “A couple of times a year.”
Louise cast her a sharp glance. “What’s the matter with you? You’re not getting sentimental all of a sudden, surely.”
“No, of course not.”
She’d stopped yearning for hugs and bedtime stories long ago.
“Good.” She picked up the pale green dress. “Wear this one. I’ll send Sylvia and Betty up with the tub.” She sniffed. “You may borrow a sample of your father’s latest soap—he’s calling it Parisian Citrus—a blend of grapefruit, orange and tangerine with white musk from France. Hopefully that will be enough to rid you of the lake stench.”
Caroline’s gaze slid to her dressing table and the bottom drawer where she’d stashed the documents. Was the white musk truly from France?
“It’s been years since I’ve toured our facilities,” she rushed out. “I think a trip to Charleston would be perfect this time of year, don’t you? We could go as soon as the Marshes and Lightwoods leave. I’d like to visit our old neighborhood, perhaps attend services at our church. I’m sure we could fit in a trip to the factories.”
“You know your father resents anything he sees as interference in his business. If I delve beyond the most basic of inquiries, he gets testy. It’s not a woman’s world, he says. There is the issue of safety to consider, as well.”
“He allowed me to visit as a child.”
“You’ve forgotten the filthy conditions.” Her nose wrinkled. “And the smell, at times, can overwhelm a body.”
“I haven’t been out of Gatlinburg for two years, Mother. I’d like a change of scenery.”
Being in Charleston would give her the opportunity to discover if the information in those documents had been fabricated. She could pretend interest in the family business and gain access to the offices, the machinery, storerooms where they kept the ingredients and even the laboratory where new compositions were tested.
“Then stop balking at the issue of marriage. If you want out, Theo is your ticket.”
With that, she swept out of the room.
Caroline sank onto the mattress, testing the idea of taking her satchel and going alone. If she hoped to be free of the blackmailer’s evil plan, she had to find out the truth. Her father saw her as an empty-headed heiress, good for hosting dinner parties and little else. He wasn’t going to divulge his deepest secrets to her.
Snaring Theo was a short-term solution. Sure, she’d get to Charleston. She just wouldn’t get out. She’d be locked into a loveless marriage like her parents’, an intolerable proposition.
Once she was clean and her hair dry, she dutifully donned the seafoam green gown, choosing pearl-and-emerald earbobs and a matching necklace to accompany it. She sat for an hour while Betty brushed her hair and twisted the mass into a tidy twist. Then, pasting on her best smile, she descended the stairs and entered the parlor. All the guests turned to greet her. Theo, distinguished in his black suit, his short dark hair brushed off his handsome face, waited until everyone had drifted back to their original conversations to take his turn. Lifting her hand to his lips, he kissed her knuckles. His gray eyes gleamed with appreciation.
“You’re even lovelier than the last time I set eyes on you,” he drawled. “I’m glad my father insisted I come.”
Unexpectedly, Duncan’s mocking blue gaze entered her mind. She blinked it away. “You’d rather be somewhere else?”
He lowered her hand but didn’t release it, his thumb stroking her knuckles. While pleasant, his touch didn’t evoke butterflies in her tummy or prickles of excitement along her skin. Duncan didn’t have to make contact for that to happen. All he had to do was come close. Irksome man!
“I had planned a hunting trip with my friends. But Father’s been in correspondence with Albert, and he hinted how lonely you’ve been. I thought I’d see if I could remedy the situation.”
The strange light in his eyes made Caroline uncomfortable. Intuition warned he didn’t have serious intentions.
Pulling out of his grip, she lifted her chin. “I’m afraid you gave up your hunting trip for nothing. Your father was misinformed. If I were lonely, I wouldn’t need you to assuage it. I have plenty of pets already.”
Glancing about to ensure they weren’t overheard, he leaned close, a hardness entering his gaze. “Careful, Caroline. Your reputation as a cold, bitter shell of a woman means your options are few. A light flirtation with me would go a long way in convincing others that you’re not a lost cause.”
His words sliced into her, mainly because she sometimes did feel hollow inside. Maybe he was right. “My mother thinks I should aim for a marriage proposal from you.”
His head jerked back in horror. “Marriage? To you?”
The couple standing beside the fireplace turned to stare. Humiliation surged. Louise’s glass halted halfway to her mouth. Disapproval wrinkled her skin, and her gaze seemed to scream what Caroline had always suspected—you’re a mistake, a complete failure as a daughter.
She turned away and hurried for the nearest exit, desperate for privacy.
Outside, the brisk, moisture-heavy wind tugged her hair and skirts. Jogging to the stables, she made for Rain’s stall and began readying her for a ride. All she wanted was to be on her horse, climbing high into the mountains, with nothing around save for the birds and trees.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
From the aisle behind her, the rolling accent lashed at her. She didn’t have the strength to deal with Duncan right now. Not looking at him, she fought threatening tears. “Going for a ride, what does it look like?”
His boots scraped along the cobblestones as he came nearer. “Postpone it. The sky is about to unleash its fury.”
“Can’t.” She settled the thick pad across Rain’s back.
His hard hand clamped on to her arm and spun her around. In the barn’s dim interior, his eyes blazed blue brilliance. “Going out right now is a foolhardy act.”
Caroline averted her face so he couldn’t see how upset she was. “Apparently I am a fool.”
He was silent a long beat. “What?”
Injecting steel into her voice, she said, “Release me at once, Mr. McKenna. This is my horse, my choice. Besides, you don’t know this area like I do. This is a passing rain shower, nothing more.”
His hand fell away. With a muttered exclamation of displeasure, he stalked off. So she was stunned to see him on Jet minutes later, his Stetson tugged low over his eyes.
“Why—”
“Seeing as how you’re determined to go despite my warning,” he bit out, “I’m obliged to accompany you.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“It’s no’ you I’m worried about. It’s the horses.”
Caroline pressed her lips into a tight line and, nudging her heels into Rain’s flank, guided her toward the woods. She didn’t want him around, but it didn’t look as if she had a choice in the matter.
The satchel flashed in her mind. Freedom from her parents’ displeasure, from her current lifestyle and her disappointment in herself, dangled like a rare, delicious fruit ripe for the picking. There was no reason to stick around any longer. Leaving Gatlinburg was the answer to her problems.
* * *
The deeper into the mountains they traveled, the more convinced Duncan became that their outing would end in disaster. Like a whistling locomotive, the wind barreled through the shallow valley, whipping the trees rooted into the steep inclines on either side into a frenzy. Both horses were on edge. If either of them had possessed nervous dispositions, he or Caroline would’ve already been tossed from the saddle. The strip of sky visible above them was a churning, purple-gray mass of impending doom.
Anger simmered beneath his thin veneer of control. Caroline rode ahead of him, as silent and stiff as a marble statue. Maureen had acted similarly whenever she was miffed, which had been often. When he proposed again, it would be to a sweet, easy-to-please lass of poor means. Money complicated matters.
“What’s put a bee in your bonnet?” he called. “Someone not act as you wished them to?”
The slope of her shoulders went rigid, but she didn’t answer him.
“Whatever’s upset you, ’tisna worth risking the horses. Let’s turn back.”
She angled her head so that he could see her profile. “I didn’t ask you to accompany me. Leave if you want. I’m not ready.”
A raindrop splattered on his sleeve. Shifting his Stetson up his forehead, he eyed the sky again. On a typical midsummer evening, they’d have several hours of daylight left. Not this night.
“It will be dark soon.” He tried to reason with her. “We don’t have lanterns.”
Frowning, she lifted her head to the heavens. Was she finally going to act sensibly?
“You don’t wish any harm to come to the horses, do you?” he tacked on.
With a low command, Caroline brought Rain to a halt. He did the same with Jet, smoothing his palm along the animal’s quivering muscles.
“I suppose we have no choice, do we?”
The resignation in her voice aroused questions. When she circled around, he glimpsed the depth of her melancholy. Something was troubling her. Something more than a mix-up with the hors d’oeuvres or a snag in her stockings.
Rain began to fall in discordant patterns. Tugging his brim lower, he said, “Stay close. We may have to find shelter if this gets out of hand.”
Not waiting for her response, he maneuvered Jet around on the tight path. Thunder roiled through the valley. The storm wasn’t on them yet. Seeking God’s assistance, he prayed they’d reach the Turners’ safe and sound. The clouds opened up, releasing sheets of moisture that drenched him in seconds. Riding behind him on the trail, Caroline was unprotected in her fancy evening gown.
Duncan didn’t have time to worry about her comfort. Squinting to see his way ahead, he searched for the rocky outcrop they’d passed fifteen minutes earlier. No point trying to continue in this onslaught. They’d wait out the storm until it was safe to ride again.
He glanced over his shoulder every few minutes. While her misery and worry were apparent, she remained in control of her horse, and he admitted she was an adept horsewoman. One point in her favor.
The thunder pealed again and, this time, the intensity of it shook the ground. Jet balked. Duncan tightened his grip on the reins. Lightning cracked like a whip, striking a tree close to the path. Caroline screamed.
Twisting in the saddle, Duncan found his chest seizing with horror as Rain reared, front hooves slashing the air, eyes rolling in their sockets and nostrils flaring. And suddenly Caroline was sliding off. Rain’s rear leg caught the lip of the path, the soft earth crumbling beneath her hoof. The large gray went down, taking Caroline with her.
“Caroline!”
Vaulting to the ground, he paused long enough to secure Jet to a tree limb before scrambling down the slight slope. The interwoven treetops above kept some of the rain at bay. Soaked to the skin and splattered with mud, she struggled to sit.
He crouched beside her, searching for visible injuries. “Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine.” Her wince communicated otherwise. “Please, see to my horse.”
Duncan twisted and saw Rain farther below them. She was on her feet, at least.
“Are you sure nothing’s broken?” He turned back. “What about your head? Did you strike it?”
Her hair hung like twisted wet cords and her eyes were large and anxious in her pale face. “I’m bruised, that’s all.”
Thunder rumbled through the valley again. Duncan hurried to check on her horse. A gash the size of his fist had opened up her side, likely from a broken-off tree limb. It was deep and raw and would be prone to infection. A fresh wave of anger washed over him. A fine, dependable animal was hurt because of Caroline’s selfishness.
She navigated the slippery terrain to join him, her hands skimming the horse’s good side. “Is she all right?”
“I’m afraid not,” he gritted. “Take a look for yourself.”
Her forehead crinkled in bewilderment. Coming around to where he stood, she saw the injury and gasped. “Oh, Rain.” Her arms went around the horse’s neck, and she buried her face in the gray coat.
Duncan hardened his heart. This was her fault. She’d disregarded his warning, and her horse had gotten injured because of it.
The storm’s fury intensified. The sky lit up with successive lightning streaks. Tethered to the distant tree, Jet pranced to the side and tossed his head.
“Let’s get these horses out of the elements.”
A shudder racked her. Moisture clung to her exposed shoulders and arms. Taking hold of the reins and speaking in soothing tones, she led Rain up the ridge.
* * *
Cold leached into her from the rock against which she was wedged. Her head resting on her bent knees, face hidden in the dirty layers of her skirt, she was mired in shame. Beneath the rocky outcrop he’d discovered, Duncan stood apart from her, preferring the horses’ company to hers. She didn’t blame him.
The thunder and lightning had grown distant, but the rain’s relentless pursuit remained constant. It pounded the earth, splattering mud in all directions. At least here, in this cramped space, they’d have the chance to dry out before heading home.
She couldn’t stop shaking. The scene replayed in her mind yet again, the lightning striking within feet of them, the sensation of falling through the air and slamming into the ground, expecting to be crushed at any moment beneath her horse. She offered up a prayer of thanksgiving that Rain hadn’t suffered a life-threatening injury. If she’d broken a leg or dislocated a shoulder, Caroline would’ve been returning home without her.
There was still a possibility of infection. She’d never forgive herself if that happened. And neither would Duncan. Caught up in her problems, she’d ignored his advice and put them all at risk.
The weight of her burdens threatened to suffocate her. Her father’s indifference, her mother’s disappointment, Theo’s scorn and Duncan’s contempt congealed into a single, sharp accusation. Caroline couldn’t please any of them. The need to be far from Gatlinburg was a living, breathing thing.
Registering movement, she kept her head down until Duncan sank to the ground and nudged her.
“Here. Put this on.”
Threading the damp strands out of her eyes, she focused on the bundle of material. Darkness had fallen. His features were wreathed in shadows, his eyes gleaming and the crimson-red undershirt snug against his upper body.
“It’s no’ completely dry,” he said with a hint of impatience. “But at least you’ll be covered.”
She slipped her arms into the too-long sleeves of his shirt and overlapped the side panels over her midriff. A cedar scent clung to the fabric. “Thank you.”
He shifted his legs and, resting his forearms on his bent knees, linked his hands. The man took up a lot of space. He was big and close, his upper arm butted against her shoulder, and Caroline was acutely aware of their seclusion. His body generated blessed heat that she yearned to share in. She glanced over, inexplicably fascinated by the patterns of faint veins on the backs of his hands, the thickness of his wrists and the fine spattering of freckles on his corded forearms. Regardless of the enmity that existed between them, Caroline accepted that the rugged Scotsman affected her on a level she hadn’t before experienced. She would’ve liked to trace those freckles, test the texture of the fine auburn hairs and curl her hand into his, drawing strength from him when her own seemed to have failed her.
“As soon as the rain stops, I’ll search for kindling that isn’t completely waterlogged and try and start a fire. ’Twill be a long night.”
Disquiet muddled her thoughts. The fact that spending time alone with Duncan didn’t bother her set off alarm bells. Admit it. He fascinates you.
“We can’t stay here.”
He swiveled his head her direction. “There’s no moon, and we dinnae have lanterns. I’m no’ about to risk further harm to the horses or ourselves to satisfy your whims.”
Hurt lanced through her. “My parents will be searching for me.”
“Let them. Unlike us, they’ll be prepared to travel by night.”
Caroline stared straight ahead, trying to picture her parents in a panic. She couldn’t quite manage it. Would they even try and locate her? Or would their guests’ comfort trump hers?
She twisted her hands into a tight ball. “Rain’s going to be okay, right?”
“As long as we’re diligent in her care, I’d say she has a good prognosis.” His voice was brusque, his manner aloof.
Caroline’s mind explored the nine years of friendship she’d shared with Rain. Her heart squeezed with regret.
“I’m sorry,” she managed to say in a strangled voice. “I should’ve listened to you.”
“Feeling sorry won’t change anything. ’Tis a hard lesson you need to learn, Caroline Turner. The world doesn’t spin on your orders. Cease thinking of yourself first, and mayhap another accident like this can be avoided.”
Chapter Five (#uc2a5bf7e-f825-58ca-b2ee-36a6e762e345)
Something coarse swatted his face. Duncan registered hard, mineral-rich earth beneath his cheek and, blinking open gritty eyes, frowned at the nearness of a horse’s hoof. Levering himself to a sitting position, he noted the purple and pink fingers stretching across the dawn sky. The spot where Caroline had been was empty. Jet and Rain stood there, poor excuses for chaperones. He hadn’t meant to drift to sleep, had only closed his eyes for a moment, thinking to rest until the storm abated.
Shifting, his stiff neck protesting movement, he spotted her in the distance. When she’d left the cover of their outcrop, he hadn’t a clue. She was seated on a dead tree with her back to him, her shoulders hunched forward, her head bowed. Her white-blond hair spilled halfway down her back, a beacon in the dim light.
Duncan stood and stretched the kinks from his body, silently praying for the Lord to grant him patience. A bit of compassion wouldn’t hurt, either. Not that long ago, he’d shared Caroline Turner’s outlook, a fact that shamed him and was probably the reason she burrowed beneath his skin like an irritating splinter.
Inhaling a cleansing breath of rain-freshened forest, he approached, navigating the muddy ground with care.
“Good mornin’.”
Caroline’s head whipped up. Her eyes told the story of her misery. She was in a bedraggled state. Below where his heather-gray shirt swallowed her top half, her seafoam green skirts were wrinkled, soiled and torn in places. Her hair was uncombed and limp. And yet, she was lovelier in this moment than he’d ever seen her.
Unsettled by the thought, Duncan spoke more gruffly than he’d intended. “You should’ve woken me.”
Her wretchedness intensified. “My eagerness to get home has waned since last evening.” She picked at the dirt beneath her nails. “I’m not looking forward to explaining all this to my parents.”
A frisson of unease slithered along his spine. As a newcomer, he didn’t have a solid reputation built up to support his word. Caroline was his employer’s only child. And she’d already complained about him to Albert. Kneading the knots in his neck, he tried not to think about the possible ramifications of the night they’d passed in isolation. The two most obvious scenarios involved irate men with guns running him out of town or, worse, a preacher ready to perform a wedding ceremony. He’d take the men with guns any day.
“No use delaying the inevitable.”
With a slow nod, she took her time getting up.
Duncan moved closer. “You said you weren’t hurt.”
Her features were drawn. “I’m bruised. Nothing’s broken.”
Worry lodged in his chest, taking him by surprise. “The ride back willnae be comfortable, I’m afraid.”
“I know.”
At least she wasn’t a whiner. Maureen would’ve been assaulting his ears with complaints he could do nothing about.
The journey wasn’t easy for either of them. They’d agreed to ride together in order make it more bearable for Rain. The rigid way Caroline held herself testified to her discomfort, as did her frequent, sudden inhales as Jet navigated the uneven terrain. As for Duncan, his concentration was all but shattered. Riding with an alluring female in his arms wasn’t exactly an everyday occurrence.
Her hair tickled his nose, causing him to sneeze. His chin and her skull had connected so many times he’d ceased murmuring apologies. The worst was whenever the terrain sloped unexpectedly, and her bare, smooth hands latched on to his, holding on for dear life. By the time his cabin came into view, Duncan was ready to spring from the saddle.
She stirred from her quiet contemplation. “Maybe we should part ways here.”
“We’ll endure the inquisition together.”
“It will look better if I arrive alone.”
“My mother raised me to be a gentleman, Miss Turner. Besides, your father will have questions for me.”
He hoped Albert Turner would be satisfied with his answers.
* * *
Riding into the stable yard, Caroline forgot the curious sensations stirred by the Scotsman’s nearness. The stirrings of hunger pangs faded. Her hope that their arrival would go unnoticed withered. Horses and men milled about, local farmers who should be tending chores but were no doubt here at the behest of her father. Almost as one, they turned to watch Jet’s ambling approach and Rain following behind, their initial expressions of surprise changing to speculation.
Duncan’s arm circled her waist, balancing her against his chest, and she felt his muscles go taut. His beard snagged her hair again, and a long exhale feathered across her ear. Too late, she remembered that she still wore his shirt, leaving him with nothing but his undershirt. Her skin pricked under the weight of their suspicions.
She recognized the commanding figure on the porch steps as the town’s sheriff, Shane Timmons. He was conversing with her father and Isaiah Marsh, Theo’s father. The trio noticed the hush encompassing the crowd at the same time. Her father’s features pinched into prune-like proportions. A feminine exclamation drew Caroline’s attention to the shadowed seating area. Her mother moved as if weights were attached to her legs.
As Duncan halted their progress and silently slid to the ground, Caroline braced herself for an ugly scene. He reached for her, his hooded gaze wary, his demeanor somber. He’d lost the leather strip he used to hold back his hair. The auburn waves skimmed his bearded jaw, as shiny as a new copper penny.
She registered the sureness of his hands around her waist and took an odd comfort from his nearness. Her boots met the ground, and her knees threatened to buckle. She gasped at the stabbing pain in her right side and the soreness up and down her body.
He didn’t immediately release her. “You okay?”
Biting hard on her lower lip, she nodded.
When he put a wide gap between them, resignation firming his mouth, she felt ridiculously bereft.
Her father met them in the yard, his harsh visual assessment of their state of dress making her feel like an errant child. The sheriff joined them, while Louise remained on the landing, using the banister to support her weight. That she wasn’t launching into an earsplitting tirade gave Caroline pause.
“You owe me an explanation, Mr. McKenna.”
Caroline stepped in front of Duncan. “It’s my fault, Father. I—”
“Hush, Caroline.” Albert’s gray eyes were cool. “If I’d required your input, I would’ve asked for it.”
She flinched. Some of the men in the group shifted their stances, elbowing each other and whispering. Humiliation made her throat close up.
A gentle, work-roughened hand encircled her upper arm and eased her back a few steps. Duncan. She couldn’t bring herself to meet his gaze.
“The lass and I are guilty of nothing more than poor judgment. We took the horses out for a ride last evening and got caught in the thunderstorm. Her mount suffered an injury. It was my decision to take shelter and wait for morning light to return home. You have my word of honor that your daughter’s virtue remains unblemished.”
Caroline wished disappearing was an option. Her gaze on the flower beds, she berated herself once more for not listening to Duncan. First her horse had been injured, and now they were being made a spectacle of. Gossip this juicy wouldn’t die down for months. What else would become of one bad decision?
“That may be.” The hint of disbelief in her father’s voice shocked her. “However, you can agree how this looks. I won’t have my daughter’s reputation forever tainted because of your actions.”
Was Duncan about to lose his job? In any other circumstance, she’d be relieved to be rid of him. But he clearly needed the income. Who knew? Maybe his family members were destitute, and he sent money home to support them.
She forced her lips to move. “It wasn’t his decision to go. Duncan tried to persuade me to wait. He went along for the sole purpose of keeping the horses safe.”
Albert’s brows lifted. “I would hope he was interested in keeping my daughter safe, as well.”
“Of course Miss Turner’s well-being is a priority.” Duncan’s voice rang with sincerity. “That was one reason I didnae risk traveling through the night. She got bucked off her horse once. Wasnae wise to continue.”
She recalled his very real concern that morning. Despite his annoyance, he’d been gentle as he’d helped her onto Jet’s broad back.
Sheriff Shane Timmons spoke up. “Are you all right, Caroline?”
The compassion in his azure gaze made her eyes smart. Her own father hadn’t bothered to ask. Unable to speak past the knot in her throat, she nodded.
“She needs to be examined by a doctor,” Duncan asserted.
Albert summoned Anthony and sent him to fetch Doc Owens. “Oh, and Anthony? Bring Reverend Monroe, as well. Tell him it’s a matter of great urgency.”
The gap in his teeth appeared. “Yes, sir.”
The hush surrounding them was deafening. His intentions sunk in, and Caroline weaved on her feet. Surely he wouldn’t force them to marry?
“If you are indeed a man of honor, Mr. McKenna, you will put to rest the speculation and give my daughter your name.”
Caroline gaped at the man beside her. “You aren’t going to agree to this, are you? I’m not about to marry a stable manager!”
Snickers spilled through the spectators. Duncan winced, just like he’d done on Independence Day when she’d declined his invitation to dance. Caroline wished the words unsaid.
Heaving in a breath that made his wide chest expand, he curled his hands into fists. “This may come as a shock to you, lady, but I’m no’ keen on marrying a self-absorbed, shallow socialite with nothing in her head but fashion and parties. Looks like that’s what I’m getting, though. You can thank your stubbornness for this debacle.”
His words stung. Shallow. Wasn’t that similar to what Theo had said? That people thought she was an empty shell with nothing of substance inside?
Twisting away, a vein ticking at his temple, he addressed her father. “I’ll wed her.”
The edges of her vision grew fuzzy. This couldn’t be happening.
She wanted to stomp her feet and scream at the top of her lungs and make them all go away.
If she married Duncan McKenna, she wouldn’t be able to leave Gatlinburg, after all. She’d be stuck here in her old, miserable life, only now she’d be known as the girl whose husband had been guilted into marrying her.
Chapter Six (#uc2a5bf7e-f825-58ca-b2ee-36a6e762e345)
“Why, God?” he groaned. “Of all the women in the world, why her?”
He couldn’t fathom how the Father who claimed to love him and want good things for him would shackle him to a woman like Caroline Turner. A woman who, on the inside where it counted, could be Maureen Craig’s twin. He’d left Boston to escape just these sorts of people, and now he was rejoining their ranks.
The bread and jam he’d choked down earlier soured on his stomach.
In a few hours’ time, he’d enter into a marriage he didn’t want.
His arms full of supplies, he was about to enter Rain’s stall when the man Albert had introduced as Shane Timmons strode into the stable. The light shining through the high windows glanced off the pistol at his hip.
“How can I help you, Sheriff?”
His probing gaze cataloged the scene. “Looks like you’re the one who could use a hand.” He came close and, spying Rain’s flank wound, whistled low. “That’s a doozy.”
“Aye, it is.” Going in, he arranged the honey jar and bandages in the corner and tried not to relive those horrible moments when he’d watched Caroline slide from the saddle and plunge to the ground. Running his hand along Rain’s side, he said, “It could’ve been worse.” For both the animal and her owner.
Shane removed his hat and, pushing his light brown hair out of his eyes, gestured to the horse. “How about I apply honey to the bandage while you clean the wound?”
Duncan didn’t exactly feel like company, but he wasn’t about to refuse the sheriff. Now that Gatlinburg was to be his permanent home, making allies would prove important.
“I’d appreciate it.”
While he filled a container with clean water, Shane applied a generous amount of honey to the square bandage that would cover the wound. Rain was a docile patient. In a matter of minutes, they had her patched up, the bandage protecting the gash from flies and dirt getting in.
Shane surveyed their work. “Should heal nicely. Caroline will be relieved.”
Duncan twisted the lid to the honey jar. He didn’t ask how well the sheriff knew her. It didn’t matter.
“I realize you haven’t had time to get to know many people yet,” he continued. “I want you to know I’m here if you need anything.”
“How about a way to turn back the clock?” he muttered, carrying the remaining bandages and honey jar to the tack room.
Shane closed the stall door and followed him. “You don’t have ties here. You could refuse to marry her. Leave town.”
Duncan pivoted. “Is she that bad then?”
Humor graced his mouth. “This isn’t about Caroline or my opinion of what you should do. I’m trying to put myself in your shoes. I wanted you to know the whole of Gatlinburg isn’t against you.”
“I’d be lyin’ if I said I hadn’t thought of running. I’ve done nothing wrong in the sight of God, and neither has she.”
“I believe you.”
“But it’s my duty to honor the McKenna name. I won’t sully it by acting the coward and sowing seeds of doubt in the locals’ minds.”
And there was the matter of his intended bride to consider. As furious as he was with her, the thought of leaving her to bear the brunt of his rejection troubled him. It would serve her right, he reminded himself, recalling her adamant objection to marrying a common working man. In that moment, he’d been the object of every single man’s pity within hearing distance.
The sheriff held out his hand. “I suppose this means you’ll be adding to our population. Welcome to Gatlinburg, Mr. McKenna.”
“Call me Duncan.” They shook hands.
“I’ll be praying for you and Caroline.”
He blinked at the reference to them as a team. A couple. From this day forward, he’d be irrevocably linked to her.
“We’ll need all the prayers we can get.” Did his face bear the same grave acceptance as his tone?
After the sheriff departed, Duncan returned to his humble cabin, one that didn’t even belong to him. One bright spot in this mess? The thought of watching Caroline adjust to life as a stable manager’s wife.
* * *
“I can’t do this.”
Caroline’s reflection in the mirror was nothing like how she’d imagined a bride should look. With no time to procure a proper wedding dress, Louise had chosen a ball gown from Caroline’s wardrobe that she hadn’t yet worn. Besides the ostentatious design, the color was wrong for her. But she hadn’t had the gumption to argue with her mother, not when she’d caused Louise’s dreams for her to shatter.
Crafted of fine, golden yellow silk and overlaid with white netting, the bodice was snug, the curved neckline lower than she preferred and the skirt boasted poofs of fabric that reminded her of popped corn. She ran her palms over her waist. The style certainly didn’t hide the span of her hips.
Her best friend, Jane Leighton, adjusted one of the yellow paste jewels Betty had woven into her upswept hair. “You’re going to get through this,” she encouraged, her moss green eyes solemn. “Don’t think about what next week or next month might bring. Take things one day at a time.”
“He hates me.”
Jane met her gaze in the mirror. One of a set of identical twin sisters Caroline had known since she was fifteen years old, Jane was practical and calm and wise. She was one of a very small handful of people Caroline trusted.
“I’m sure he’s merely frustrated with the situation he finds himself in.”
Caroline twisted on the low, circular seat. “No, he truly hates me, Jane.”
“Then I suggest you find ways to change his mind.”
“I don’t think anything I could do or say will make him forgive me.”
“There were two of you on that mountain ridge. You didn’t force him to accompany you.” She swept a swath of her thick red hair behind her shoulder, the band on her fourth finger catching Caroline’s gaze. Jane was married to the love of her life. Tom Leighton adored and respected his wife. Sadly, that was not to be the case in her own marriage.
“I haven’t said �I do’ yet, and I already know my marriage is going to be a disaster.”
“You can’t think like that, Caroline. Focus on being friends first. The rest will come later.”
Exactly what the rest was comprised of worried her. Once Louise had unleashed the brunt of her disappointment, she’d attempted to broach the subject of wifely duties. Horrified, Caroline had cut her off. Theirs wasn’t the caring mother-daughter relationship that would make such a delicate conversation easy.
She comforted herself with the fact that Duncan’s intense dislike would prevent him from pursuing that aspect of their relationship. She recalled the way his casual touch made her feel—jumpy and awkward and strangely empty—and prayed she was right.
Louise breezed inside the bedroom. “It’s time, Caroline.” She appeared to have acquired dozens more wrinkles about her mouth in the hours since that morning.
Jane gave her hand a final squeeze. “You’re going to be fine. You’re God’s beloved child. He’s allowing this for a reason.”
Caroline worried over that tidbit the entire trek down the stairs, through the main floor and out into the sweltering July afternoon. The heavy air closed around her like a wool glove. The heat, combined with nerves, caused her palms to grow damp. While she considered herself a follower of Jesus Christ, she’d never felt like a beloved child of God. She’d never felt like anyone’s beloved.
The yard was blessedly empty of most of the morning’s onlookers. As she made her way into the shade of a multitude of oak and maple trees, her gaze swept those in attendance. Their out-of-town guests, including Isaiah and Theo, congregated on her left. Theo’s expression was inscrutable, his light eyes intent on her. The group on her right was comprised of her friends and their husbands. Tom was there waiting for Jane to rejoin him. Shane stood with his arm around Allison, his wife, who shot her a reassuring smile. Caroline’s gaze fell to Allison’s unmistakable pregnancy, and she stumbled. Panic clawed its way to the surface.
“Miss Caroline.” Wendell stood shyly off to the side, wearing his finest clothes, his wispy black hair slicked off his face. He held out a bouquet of white and yellow blossoms plucked from the gardens. “For you.”
Her fingers closing around the stems, she brought the flowers to her nose, hoping the rush of emotion would pass.
“How thoughtful of you, Wendell,” she murmured. “Thank you.”
He dipped his head. The affection in his brown-black eyes made her want to weep. Since the day they’d arrived in Tennessee, the older man had taken a shine to her. He’d been kind. He’d invited her to help him with the flowers, and she’d accepted, mostly because she’d known Louise wouldn’t approve. But then she’d started to enjoy his company and the work, and an unlikely friendship had flourished. He’d become like a benevolent grandfather.
Unable to linger, she took a single step and encountered the reverend standing with a striking, somewhat forbidding stranger. Caroline halted. She scanned the manicured lawns. Where was Duncan?
She peered at the stranger a second time. His expression had gone grimmer than before, his familiar cobalt gaze searing her like a branding iron. She hadn’t recognized him at first. His auburn hair had been cut military short on the sides and back, the top locks left slightly longer to spill over his forehead. The beard was gone. The planes and angles of his face were uncovered for her inspection. His jaw was square and firm, his chin unyielding, his full, sculpted mouth softening the noble beauty of his features. His tan was uneven, but a few days in the sun would fix that.
Caroline’s lungs squeezed every last drop of air out. In his crisp black suit and snowy white shirt, her husband-to-be was elegant and refined, his bearing that of a king assured of his subjects’ loyalty. His new appearance couldn’t hide the untamed part of him that fascinated her, however, and she knew then and there she was in big trouble.
* * *
“Please join hands.”
Duncan automatically obeyed the reverend’s directive, reaching for Caroline’s and enclosing them in his. Her skin was smooth and cool, the opposite of his work-worn hands. He thought his heart might fail him. As the words rolled from the older man’s lips, Duncan stared at the woman who was about to pledge to love, honor and obey him. She didn’t love him. Didn’t respect him. As for heeding his wishes? He doubted she’d do that without a fight.
She didn’t look like any bride he’d ever seen. Brides were supposed to wear flowing white gowns and appear serenely happy as they met their groom at the altar. Caroline may as well have been attending a costume ball or an opera. And she didn’t look serene in the slightest. Gone was the haughty disdain. She looked as if a single tap of his finger would shatter her into a thousand pieces. Not an auspicious start to any union.
Unfortunately, the garish ensemble didn’t lessen her outward appeal...an appeal he would have to fight against. He’d seen her reaction to his polished appearance. He’d assumed, wrongly, that she’d prefer him shorn and shaved. But the moment she’d spied him, she’d glanced about for a way of escape. He repulsed her.
She wouldn’t even meet his gaze. Her luminous blue eyes, dark and tumultuous, were fastened on his collar. Every few seconds, she’d moisten her lips and pull in slivers of air. Because her hair had been pulled into a tight roll at the back of her head, he could see the rapid pulse in the curve of her neck. Duncan had the inane urge to place his fingertips there, to soothe her anxiety, to make her feel better about what was happening.
Who was he kidding? She wouldn’t welcome his touch.
“Do you, Duncan McKenna, take this woman, Caroline Turner, to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
He didn’t speak. All he could think was that his parents and his brothers were missing the most momentous day of his life. He pictured his kilt hanging in his wardrobe and his great-grandmother’s ring that had been kept in the family safe for his future bride. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to have gone.
At his prolonged silence, Caroline finally lifted her eyes to search his. The whirlwind of emotions there punched him in the gut.
“Aye.”
Her throat worked, and in that moment, her disquiet was palpable.
“Do you, Caroline Turner, take this man, Duncan McKenna, to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
“I...” Her hands were trembling now. “I do.”
Her lids slid down, blocking his view.
“By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
Duncan stood there, numb to the core. He was locked in a marriage he hadn’t asked for, all because of this woman’s willful behavior. A fresh shock of anger pulsed through him.
He released her hands and adopted a casual air. “We can skip that part, Reverend. We all know ’tisna a love match.”
Several of the women gasped. Louise, his new mother-in-law, latched on to Albert’s arm. The reverend frowned, uncertain how to proceed. Caroline kept her gaze on the grass at their feet. Was she paler than she’d been a few moments ago? Did that mean she was relieved at having been spared his attentions or was she merely annoyed at his rude behavior? At the moment, he couldn’t find the energy to care.
His father-in-law saved the day. Lifting a hand above his head, he invited everyone to join the bride and groom in the parlor, where refreshments had been set out to mark the momentous occasion. Conversation joined the birds’ song as a few came over to offer awkward congratulations. A dark-haired man approached Caroline, and she edged closer to Duncan.
“Theo. Meet Duncan McKenna.”
He shook hands and murmured the proper pleasantries, but his eyes were hard and his smile predatory. Disregarding Duncan’s presence, Theo rested his hands on Caroline’s shoulders and bent his head.
“Congratulations, Caroline,” he murmured. Then he pressed a prolonged kiss on the corner of her mouth.
Possessiveness caught him unawares. Duncan shifted closer and curled an arm around her waist, forcing Theo to remove his hands. She stiffened.
“If you’ll excuse us,” Duncan purred, “cake and lemonade await.”
Theo’s gaze snapped with annoyance, but he bowed deeply and stepped aside. As Duncan guided her across the lawn, his hold on her unrelenting, she said, “I’m not in the mood for cake and false pleasantries.”
“Can’t say that I am, either, but it’s expected of us.”
“I didn’t figure you for a man who acted to appease others’ expectations.”
They’d reached the base of the porch stairs. Glancing about to ensure no one was watching, he guided her to the corner of the house.
“What are you doing?” The tremor of unease in her voice prodded his pride.
Pulling away, he snapped, “Never fear, sweet lass, I’ve no intention of forcing my attentions on you.”
The way she kicked up her chin was at odds with how she wrapped her arms around herself in a defensive gesture. The storm of emotions in her eyes were too jumbled to measure. “That’s a relief.”
The jealousy that had been doing a slow burn through his veins surged. He crowded her space. Her eyes went wide and her lips parted. “Let me make something perfectly clear, my wife. I willnae tolerate infidelity. This may no’ be a true marriage of our hearts and minds, but in the eyes of the law and this town, we’re husband and wife. Whatever’s been goin’ on between you and that businessman can no’ continue. I willnae allow it.”
“Nothing has been going on between us.”
“He’s the man your parents wished you to marry, is he no’?”
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