Loving Linsey (7 page)

“I couldn't just stand by and do nothing when Daniel was standing directly on death's doorstep.”

“So you tried to drown him?”

“Will you stop shouting at me?”

“I'm not shouting; I never shout!”

“Then stop yelling. People are staring.”

Made aware of their audience, the bluster went out of Addie. As her body began to sink, Linsey hastened to guide her sister to the bench beneath the apothecary's overhang before she landed in the mud. Then she joined Addie on the seat. All color had left her sister's face, and Linsey worried that she was on the verge of swooning. “Breathe,” she ordered, rubbing her hand against Addie's back.

Gradually the trembling abated, and her back rose and fell in an normal pattern.

“Better now?”

Addie released a deep breath and straightened. “Yes. Though I think I've had ten years scared off my life.”

“I'm sorry I frightened you, Addie. And honestly, I didn't mean to push Daniel in the
water, either. I'm trying to catch him for you, not kill him,” she added with a wry grin.

“I know that, but from the look on Daniel's face a moment ago, you won't convince him so easily.”

No greater truth had ever been spoken. The man seemed convinced that every misfortune that befell him did so because Linsey commanded it. Even if she had such power, she couldn't imagine using it against anyone. Even Daniel.

Still, why was it that every time she tried to do something good, it went so terribly bad?

“I must get back to the children,” Addie said, leaving the bench.

“Do you want me to walk with you?”

“No, no. I'll be fine now, truly. Just try and stay out of trouble, please?”

Once Addie turned away, Linsey did the same, heading toward the livery to rent a buggy. Mr. Graves had led his horses away some time ago, much to Linsey's relief, and though most of the townspeople had also dispersed, returning to their shops and daily business, several lingered behind. She hated looking foolish, which probably accounted for why she had such a difficult time dealing with Daniel. No matter how hard she tried to be civil to him, he seemed to bring out the defiance in her.

Well, it really didn't matter, since Addie would be the one dealing with him—not her, thank God.

Which brought her back to the original problem. How did one go about matchmaking?
That was one thing Aunt Louisa had never forced on them: finding a husband, settling down. Linsey suspected it was because Aunt Louisa had been blissfully happy as a spinster for many years before she met Wayne Gordon, and according to Aunt Louisa, he had been well worth the wait. She always said that when they found their destiny, they would know it. He'd make their toes curl, their breath quicken, and their heart sigh just by walking into a room.

Addie experienced all those symptoms around Dr. Daniel Sharpe, Jr., no question.

The problem was, how to get him to feel the same way toward Addie.

The drive out to Jenny's place gave Linsey plenty of time to ponder her plan. She spent the next hour inventing and discarding ideas until her head ached. The only experience she had with matchmaking was the misery she'd suffered at Mrs. Harvey's hands. Linsey shuddered. She refused to put either Daniel or Addie through that.

She'd definitely have to be more subtle. Addie, she was sure, would cooperate; but if she forced Daniel, he might run screaming in the opposite direction. It had to seem natural.

Unfortunately by the time she reached the drive leading to the orphanage, Linsey found herself no closer to an answer than when she'd left town.

The sight of the split-log house never failed to evoke fond memories. Mud fights . . . baseball games . . . sack races . . . but mostly of
lavender-scented dresses and warm hugs on cold nights.

As a child, Linsey had often been a visitor to the rambling house. Most times Aunt Louisa brought her, bearing fresh vegetables from the garden—something which a household full of children never seemed to get enough of. Later, when Addie came to live with them, they often stole away to the house to play with the other children.

Yet it had been Jenny whom Linsey had gravitated toward. She'd been seventeen, an old and wise age to a girl of five, and so lively that Linsey used to sit in awe of her. So strong, so independent. She remembered wanting to be like Jenny when she grew up, not understanding then that the girl-turned-woman hid a deep longing to have someone to depend on herself.

She'd found him, finally, many years later. Noah Tabor was a huge man with gentle hands, warm brown eyes, with a pair of motherless girls no one could resist, and who had seen past the wheelchair Jenny sat in to the heart no other man had cared to find.

Wrapping the reins around the brake handle, Linsey gathered her skirts in one hand, the basket of horseshoes in the other, and hopped to the ground. Her heels clacked on the wooden ramp bordered by late-blooming asters making one last lacy showing before the first frost.

As Linsey approached the front door, she could almost hear the walls echoing with laughter and secrets and childish squabbles.
Closer, though, she realized that at least two—the laughter and the squabbles—were actually taking place.

She hesitated briefly, unwilling to interrupt Jenny if she had her hands full.

Then again, she amended with a twitch of her lips, perhaps an interruption was exactly what Jenny needed.

Amanda Reed, Noah's young sister-in-law, opened the door. Amanda and her sister Amy had often been mistaken for Noah's daughters rather than the sisters of his late wife, Susan.

An unmistakable sheen in the little girl's eyes made Linsey's heart melt in sympathy. She crouched low and brushed the bangs off the six-year-old's brow. “Amanda, honey, why are you crying?”

“Doc shot me.”

“He did?”

Amanda nodded, dislodging a pair of tears. “With a pricker this long.” She spread her hands an exaggerated distance.

Linsey tugged a tatted hanky out of her sleeve and wiped the chubby cheeks. “Oh, I bet that hurt.”

“But he said I was a brave girl, so I got a peppermint stick. Joseph won't get one 'cause he cried like a baby.”

“Joseph won't have to feel alone because I'd cry like a baby, too.” She gave one last swipe to the wispy bangs, then straightened. “Is Jenny here?”

Amanda nodded. “She's in the front room with the doc.”

She stepped back, allowing Linsey to enter
the front hallway into the normal muss and fuss of a household more concerned with love than tidiness. Mud-caked shoes littered the floor; caps and coats hung at cockeyed angles on a row of hooks. It was the complete opposite of the painfully formal appearance of her own home.

Linsey shook off the comparison and followed Amanda to a double-wide doorway gauged with the various heights of Jenny's youngsters. The sight of the man on Jenny's sofa made Linsey stumble to a stop. Why she had expected Doc Sr. instead of Daniel, Linsey didn't know. But there he sat, a knot of children surrounding him, groping at his chest for heaven only knew what.

He reached into the breast pocket of his coat and withdrew a handful of green-striped sticks. The children scrambled all over him likes ants on an apple core, driving him against the back of the sofa. A deep rumble of something sounding suspiciously like laughter struck Linsey dumb. No—she must be mistaken. Daniel didn't laugh. He barked. He glowered. He even bared his teeth on occasion.

But he never laughed.

He managed to peel off the tangle of arms and legs, plucking children off his chest, then his back, flipping one little boy over his head and tickling him until he cried out that he'd pee his pants if Doc Jr. didn't stop.

Jenny rolled into the room just then, an eighteen-month old baby on her lap that Linsey couldn't remember seeing before. He—or
she, since it was hard to tell—must have come from the county orphanage.

What compelled Linsey to conceal herself in the corner, she couldn't say, except that catching the staid and dour Daniel acting almost human was a treat she didn't want to miss. And she feared if he spotted her, the hint of softness would disappear.

“I know you only came by to give the children inoculations,” Jenny told him, “but I was hoping you'd take a look at little Michael here. He's got a fretful rash, and the cornstarch isn't working.”

“I'll be glad to.”

“I feel just awful asking you to do more when I can't even pay you proper for all you've done already. But I'll have John load a tub of butter in the buggy along with that crate of layers.”

If Linsey hadn't been watching Daniel closely, she might have missed the strained slash of his mouth, since the parody of a smile disappeared almost as quickly as it formed.

“Let's take a look at the little fellow.”

As he took the baby, bringing him close to his chest, Linsey forgot all about the conversation.

Her heart turned to mush. Daniel had always struck her as the type of man who kicked puppies and pushed old ladies out of his path. She'd never expected he would be so good with children. Oh, so he was a little gruff, his hands a little awkward as he examined Michael, as if he didn't quite know what to do with the wriggling
bundle of drool in his lap. Somehow it made him more endearing. What a confusing man he was: so hard-skinned on the outside, so soft-hearted on the inside.

She could almost forgive him for being such a cad earlier—

Until he caught sight of her.

The twinkle in his eyes dulled, and the compassionate aura turned hard. He set the child away as if she'd caught him doing something sinful. “What are
you
doing here?” he grumbled.

Linsey moved into the room, the tender feeling inside her giving way to annoyance. “Bringing good cheer. You look like you could use a double dose.”

“Linsey! This is a nice surprise.”

Jenny's welcoming smile lifted Linsey's flagging spirits. At least someone was glad to see her. “I brought you a gift. Horseshoes to put above the doors and nails to hang them with—not those old store-bought kind, but real ones made of Mr. Potter's own forge and fire.”

“How thoughtful.”

“Make sure when Noah hangs them that he keeps the ends turned up, or the luck will run out.”

Abruptly Daniel shut his bag and stood. “Miss Kimmel, I'm finished up here—unless you need anything else?”

“No, but thank you for coming all the way out here.”

“Just rub this salve on Michael's bottom at
each changing and that rash will clear up in no time.”

As he strode out the door in that no-nonsense walk of his, Linsey fought a battle with annoyance and lost. She glared at his back, then gave in to the childish urge and stuck out her tongue at him.

A giggle came from nearby, and as she turned she caught sight of Amanda standing beside a broadly grinning Jenny.

“Honestly, I don't know what Addie sees in him,” Linsey said in way of defense.

“Is your eyesight failing you, sugar?”

“Of course not. Obviously the man has a few attractive . . . assets . . .” Linsey frowned. “Okay, a lot of attractive assets. But looks aren't everything; he's got the disposition of a porcupine. You saw him: he all but threw quills the minute he set eyes on me.”

Jenny handed the toddler over to Amanda, who aided his wobbly steps toward the children playing tea party in a far corner of the room. “Did you ever consider that maybe he doesn't know any other way?”

“Oh, please. How hard is it to be polite once in a while? Or to smile? Do you realize that I've never seen that man crack a grin in all the years I've known him?”

“It can be impossible for one who never learned how.”

“Surely you don't mean Daniel!”

“You know how stern and exacting Doc Sr. can be. Imagine living with that day in and day out for twenty-some-odd years. Remember
that not everyone is as lucky as you, Linsey. Not everyone was raised in a family who loves them for who they are.”

Linsey almost laughed at the irony. Her “family” consisted of a castaway stepchild and a doddering old aunt. She wouldn't trade Addie or Aunt Louisa for anything in the world, for Jenny was right, they did love her. More, they needed her.

But deep down inside dwelled a yearning for something bigger. To belong to someone who needed her on a deeper level. Someone who needed her as woman, the way Noah Tabor needed Jenny Kimmel.

The squeak of wheels rolling on the hard wooden surface pulled Linsey's attention to Jenny.

“Do you remember when Noah brought Amy and Amanda to me? He didn't know the first thing about raising two little girls and the thought of it scared him to death.”

“Nobody would have thought any less of him had he not raised them. It's hard work being a parent.”

“But he wanted to. He just didn't know how. All he needed was a little faith in himself.”

“You gave him that.”

She smiled softly. “Well, I like to think I helped. It was always inside him, though.”

The only thing inside Daniel was a heart of ice. Linsey sighed. “This is different, Jen. We're talking about Daniel, not Noah.”

“They aren't so different. Maybe all Daniel needs is for someone to show him how to smile.”

A yearning to be the one to put a sparkle in his eyes, to be the one who taught him how to smile, gripped Linsey with a swift and sudden fierceness. She abruptly shook the notion away. That was Addie's job, not hers. Addie was the teacher, after all, and Daniel's future wife. “Where is Noah, anyway?” she asked in an effort to divert her thoughts.

Just the mention of the man's name put a light in Jenny's eyes and a rosy glow in her cheeks. It was getting positively disgusting, the way men had the power to change a woman's entire bearing.

“He's over at Widow Hutchin's place, mending the fence her mule busted. Work has been picking up, thank heavens. For every step we take to get ahead, something winds up pushing us back. I don't know what I would have done if Doc Jr. hadn't been willing to take his services in trade.”