Shades of Honor (39 page)

If only she could. Amelia would gladly marry to save her father’s mill, but there weren’t any men in her life. Not one.

“Your father loved that place, too, honey, but look what it did to him.” Tears filled her mother’s eyes and her forehead creased. “He spent his whole life trying to keep that mill alive and now you and I are alone and we have to sell it off anyhow.”

Amelia’s heart broke and she put her arms around her mother. She would give anything to ease her mother’s grief, but there was nothing she could do. If it were possible, she would run the mill herself. She had spent each summer there until she was sixteen years old, trailing her father’s footsteps. She’d been daddy’s girl and her father had humored her desire to be at his side. She’d begged his crew to teach her the business, but her father had refused, claiming it unsuitable work for a young lady. It hadn’t stopped Amelia from observing and watching, and by her sixteenth summer she’d weaseled her way into helping him with his office work.

Her seventeenth summer she’d spent with Richard.

Her parents had been delighted to see her interest finally turn toward courting, but the romance that had given them such high hopes had ended after a few short weeks. Only her father had known why Richard had stopped calling.

Her mother cupped Amelia’s cheek in her palm, her eyes filled with apology. “I’m sorry about this, but unless you marry, we don’t have any other options.”

Amelia bit her lip and nodded. Her mother was right. Unless Amelia could find a husband, she and her mother would have to depend on themselves. Knowing her options were nonexistent just deepened the pain slicing through her.

As soon as her mother left the room, Amelia spun toward the coffin, toward the security of her father. She took his unresponsive fingers in her hand and held on for life. “You’re the only one I’ve ever been able to count on, Papa. I can’t live without you. I can’t!” She clutched his fingers to her chest, her heart cramped with pain. “I can’t bear to lose the mill, either, Papa, but I don’t know what to do.”

 
 
o0o

The moment Kyle laid eyes on Amelia, guilt consumed him. She stood in her parents’ lavishly decorated parlor beside her father’s casket, a fragile ivory princess with eyes so large and sad, Kyle forgot he was standing in the crush of mourning friends and family members who had gathered for the evening funeral.

Kyle didn’t move or beckon Amelia in any way, but the instant she saw him, she left her mother’s side and crossed to where he stood. Kyle’s mind was so cluttered with apologies and self-recriminations, he couldn’t utter a word of greeting.

She scanned his face then lowered her lashes and touched her fingertip to the red scabs crossing the back of his hand. “I’m sorry for this,” she said, her voice soft and hoarse as her trembling fingers glided over his knuckles. She tipped her face toward his. “I want to thank you for everything you did last night.”

Looking into Amelia’s sad brown eyes and feeling the coolness of her hand covering his own made Kyle want to bolt for the door. Silky skin and private conversation made for a lethal combination that Kyle wanted no part of, especially when Amelia’s expression was so open and vulnerable. He was a fool for a woman in distress. He’d been the same way with Catherine, who was this very minute standing across the room pretending to talk with her youngest sister, Lucinda, while covertly watching Kyle.

Amelia laced her fingers in front of her slender, black-clad hips, the gesture capturing Kyle’s full attention. She had long legs, he thought as his eyes scanned down the length of her skirt then back up over the slight curve of her hips. Dull black fabric encased her small waist and rounded nicely over her breasts.

“Mama and I would like you to be a pallbearer for Papa.”

Kyle’s stomach lurched and his knees turned liquid, but the thick banister behind him kept him from sinking to the parquet floor. He couldn’t remember a time he felt more sick at heart. Unable to form a sensible reply, he simply stared at her.

“Papa thought the world of you.”

He had told Tom he was sorry, that he shouldn’t have doubted him, but for all Kyle knew, Tom Drake had died hating him.

Kyle groped for words, the pain of losing his own father piercing him anew as he glanced at Tom’s inert form shrouded in a coffin across the room. “I’m sorry, Amelia.” He wanted to say more, to tell Amelia that her father had taught him as much about the lumber business as his own father had, that he was sorry he’d confronted Tom with his suspicions and upset him, but the constriction in Kyle’s chest left his voice too rough for talking. “If you’re trying to say you’d rather not do this, I understand.” Amelia averted her face, but Kyle heard the sorrow in her voice and it sliced through his defenses.

“I just assumed you’d have enough offers from his friends and crew.”

“I would rather have you do it.” Tears glittered in her eyes as she looked up at him. “It would mean so much.”

His resistance melted. “All right. If you’re sure.”

“I’m certain.” She took his hand and clasped it between her own. “Thank you for giving me someone to depend on,” she whispered. “You have no idea what that means to me right now.”

Pounding heat rushed through his head and neck until his collar felt like a noose that was slowly strangling him. His gaze ricocheted through the parlor in search of an exit, or an excuse that would extricate him from Amelia’s presence. But all he saw was surprise in Catherine’s eyes, and Eva and
Philmore
Bentley standing a few feet away, wearing appalled expressions that suggested they would like to send Kyle straight to the gallows. He’d obviously offended their sense of decency last night when he tossed Amelia on his horse and galloped out of the schoolyard, and they appeared outraged now by Amelia’s overt display of gratitude.

As if she sensed their stares, Amelia released Kyle’s hand and angled her back to them, making it look as if she were simply turning to head in the other direction. “I need to talk to you alone,” she said quietly, then lifted her skirt a modest half inch and made her way back to her mother’s side.

Kyle didn’t
want
to be alone with Amelia. Especially now that she was touching him and looking at him with her expression all soft and needy. He didn’t want to be needed. Needy women were dangerous. So were the intense stares of Eva and
Philmore
Bentley who looked as though they were expecting a marriage announcement from Kyle and Amelia after the funeral.

Kyle nodded to the older couple and gave Catherine a discreet glance of acknowledgment, but it was Jeb Kane who caught and held Kyle’s attention.

The mill foreman crossed the room and met Kyle at the foot of the magnificent cherry staircase that rose in a slow arc to the second floor. Expecting a glare filled with animosity, Kyle was surprised that the foreman’s eyes held only sorrow and sympathy. “Damn sad day,” Jeb said, shaking Kyle’s hand.

“And one filled with regret, Jeb. Believe me, I had no idea Tom had been so ill.”

Jeb nodded as if acknowledging the sincerity in Kyle’s statement. “Tom kept his troubles to himself.”

“As I should have done. If you haven’t already told Victoria and Amelia what happened, I intend to, at a more appropriate time, of course.”

“Why add to their distress?”

“That’s the last thing I want to do, but you were there last night, Jeb. You know I upset Tom with my suspicions. How can I not tell them that I caused his collapse?”

“It only upset Tom that you thought he was trying to hold you back. That man loved you and your accusation hurt him.”

Hearing it put so baldly drove a stake of shame straight through Kyle’s heart. More than anything, Kyle wished he could roll back time. He would swallow the suspicion of Tom’s betrayal and accept Tom’s word without question. He would have accepted Richard’s invitation to supper instead of charging off to Tom’s in outrage. Better to have subjected himself and Catherine to Richard’s inquisitive eyes than to suffer the gratitude in Amelia’s.

There was nothing he could say now that would change what had happened, no apologies to Jeb or Amelia or Tom’s wife that would undo the damage. The only honorable thing to do was fulfill the vow he had made to Tom. He would do whatever it took to support Amelia and Victoria.

Jeb stretched his neck as if seeking a respite from his tight collar. “You’re an ambitious man, Kyle, but a good one just the same. Tom knew it. And I know it. You hurt Tom’s pride, but you didn’t kill him. Tom may have been upset, but it was because he felt he let
you
down. He wouldn’t have wanted things left this way. Don’t crucify yourself over something you can’t change.”

Regardless of Jeb’s words, Kyle knew he would never forgive himself. He’d sensed something bothering Tom for a long time; whatever it was, it had destroyed a damned good man. And Kyle had unwittingly sent that man to his grave.

“Come on,” Jeb said, turning toward the pastor who was waiting beside the coffin. “It’s time to carry Tom out.”

After minutes of maneuvering through doorways, Kyle, Jeb, and six other men moved the coffin outside into the evening air. Then they made the long trek across a field to a tiny family cemetery surrounded by lilac trees bursting with fragrant purple blossoms. The throbbing pain in Kyle’s shin made him clench his teeth, but it was nothing compared to the ache in his heart as he carried Tom Drake to his grave.

Kyle managed the walk and the struggle of lowering the casket to its final resting place, but as they concluded the ceremony and returned to the house, he stayed to the back of the crowd to hide his increasing limp. After endless minutes of standing in the parlor, Kyle was light-headed and nauseated by the hot pain burning up his leg. He braced his hand on the back of a chair, but discovered too late that he'd caught his fingers in the back of a woman’s hair.

He glanced down as Amelia stood up. She grabbed at the back of her hair that was now straggling free of its pins, then turned and stared at Kyle.

For the first time all day, he saw her face bloom with color. His own face heated. “Sorry, Amelia. I meant to rest my leg a moment and didn’t realize the chair was occupied.”

“What's wrong with your leg?” she asked, gathering two thick strands that had fallen free then tucking them into the mass of hair she was holding behind her head.

“He hit it with a maul this afternoon,” Duke offered.

Boyd turned from his discussion with Radford and Evelyn. “Was that the same one you hit last week?”

Kyle scowled at his younger brothers, praying the conversation their mother was having with Agatha Brown and Victoria Drake on the other side of the parlor would keep her occupied. If she knew he’d hurt himself, she’d pester him to death until she made certain it wasn’t a serious injury.

“Maybe Doc Finlay should look at it.”

“It’s nothing, Amelia. Really,” Kyle said when she cast a doubtful glance at his leg.

She plucked the pins from her hair then gathered it quickly and twisted it up again. She was efficient and made quick work of it, but not before Kyle admired the multitude of colors that shifted through that long mass of chestnut hair. Then he remembered how gorgeous it had looked last night slicked back from her face and dripping with rain.

“Excuse me,” Amelia said, then turned and wove her way through the crowd. Kyle watched the sway of her skirt and cursed himself for doing so.

Boyd whacked Kyle on the shoulder. “That is one beautiful and
eligible
lady who is definitely interested in you. Do yourself a favor and don’t be an ass this time.”

Kyle caught the uneasy look that passed between Radford and Evelyn, but he knew Boyd wasn’t trying to be cruel. He was offering sensible advice, but Kyle didn’t want it. Women were poison and he had no desire to have his heart ripped out again. The only safe woman was Catherine. She didn’t want a commitment or a man who would demand her heart. She wanted a friend and occasional intimacy, and that suited Kyle’s life perfectly.

To his embarrassment, Amelia came back with Doc Finlay, who stopped in front of Kyle. “Let’s have a look at that leg,” he said, indicating the chair Amelia had just vacated.

Knowing he would cause more of a scene by balking, Kyle sat and pulled his pants leg to his knee. Doc Finlay squatted and inspected Kyle's purple-streaked, swollen leg while Amelia looked on with a concerned expression that grew more queasy by the minute.

Focusing his gaze on the doctor’s balding head, Kyle sat in stony silence as the doctor probed the area along his shinbone that was turning the color of eggplant. Pain raced clear to his thigh, but Kyle clamped his teeth together, refusing to let anyone know how much it hurt.

“The gash will heal without stitches. Other than a lot of swelling, I can’t see any damage that won’t mend in a few weeks.” The doctor pulled the pants leg over Kyle’s injury then stood. “You might have a fragment of bone floating around your shin for the rest of your life that could cause some discomfort from time to time, but you’ll survive.”

Amelia's face paled and her eyelids fluttered. The next thing Kyle knew she was falling forward into his arms.

The instant he realized he was holding her again with her bottom in his lap, he panicked. He looked for an empty chair or couch to deposit her on, but the house was packed with people. His heart pounded, whether from his quick reactions or simply panic at having Amelia in his arms again, Kyle wasn't certain, but he was desperate to get rid of her. If everyone would just move back so he could get up, he would put Amelia in his chair. But they all crowded in to see what was happening, the Bentleys standing front and center, his own mother’s expression filled with concern as she guided Victoria Drake directly toward them.