The Bridal Swap (4 page)

In less than ten minutes, Kate and his mother were making their way back downstairs. His mother reached the bottom steps first. “Will you make Kate a cup of hot tea? Her breakfast is on the stove.”

To Kate, she said, “I’m sorry to run off, but Laney Hedrick has been ill. The ladies in our sewing circle are taking turns delivering meals, and today happens to be mine. Would you mind spending the morning with Joshua? He’s agreed to show you around.”

Pausing on the last step, Kate’s fingers tightened on the banister. Her gaze shot to his face, then away.

“I’d like that.”

His gaze narrowed. Kate Morgan’s perfect manners couldn’t conceal her wariness. Was it him? Did he make her uncomfortable? Did she think he’d lash out in anger at her because of what Francesca had done? Or was she simply a timid young lady?

Their temporary guest was a stranger to him. Francesca had spoken at length of her parents but when it came to her sister, she’d been strangely reticent. He wondered why that was. Was theirs a strained relationship?

“I’ll be back in time to fix supper, I hope. If not, there’s smoked ham and bread for sandwiches.”

“Don’t rush, Ma. We’ll rustle up something if you’re late.”

The back door clicked shut. Silence hung thick in the air. Kate avoided his gaze, staring with great interest at the white pine floorboards.

Clearing his throat, he headed for the kitchen. “I’ll get your breakfast.”

While he set the water to boiling and retrieved a teacup and saucer from the cabinet, she stood gazing out the windows overlooking the front yard. He wondered what she was thinking. Why the forlorn expression? Did she miss the big city already?

At the sight of the heaping portion of eggs, bacon and biscuits, her eyes widened and she pressed a hand against her midsection. “I can’t possibly eat all that.”

Swallowing his irritation, he gripped the top rung of the chair in front of him. “You want me to make something else?”
Your Royal Highness?

She looked doubtful. “I normally have a bowl of oatmeal or a slice of toast with marmalade.”

He thought back to the few weeks in March he’d spent with Francesca. “Your sister has quite the appetite.”

Hurt flashed across her face, which she quickly masked. “My sister can eat anything she likes and it doesn’t affect her figure.”

Josh stood mute. What had he said to cause her pain? His heart beat out a warning. He’d known Kate Morgan less than twenty-four hours, and already she was getting under his skin.

“Well, you certainly don’t look as if you need to worry about that,” he said brusquely. “I’ll check if we have oatmeal.”

Her eyes flared with surprise. “Wait. Please don’t go to the trouble.” Lowering herself into the chair, she indicated the plate. “This smells delicious.”

At least she wasn’t sulking. Francesca would have.

He retrieved her tea from the kitchen and set it on the table, along with a crock of honey, then sank into the chair across the table. He watched her eat, thinking he’d never seen such refined manners. She ate carefully, her jaw barely moving as she chewed, dabbing her mouth with her crisp napkin.

“What would you like to do today?”

“I’d like to scout out some possible sites for photographs. Can you suggest any particularly interesting spots?”

“First I need to know what you’re interested in photographing. What kind of book is this going to be?”

“A sort of travel guide. I’d like pictures of the mountains, of course.” Her eyes sparkled as she warmed to her topic. “Churches make interesting photos. Barns. Wagons. Everyday scenes of life on a farm. Would you show me your farm?”

“Sure.”

“I also like to take portraits of people. I noticed the one of your family on the fireplace mantel. Perhaps I can take another one and give your mother a print.”

“She’d like that, I’m sure. That was taken many years ago.” He sipped the stout, black brew. “As to possible sites, I’ll have to give it some thought.”

“Thank you.”

“How long will it take you to gather all the photographs you need?”
In other words, how long before you leave?

“I’m not certain. But I’m not in any hurry to go back. My parents are touring Europe for the next two months. Francesca is on her honeymoon—” She broke off, her gaze shooting to his. Flustered, she rushed ahead. “Anyway, I didn’t like the idea of rattling around the estate with only staff for company.”

“I’m curious why you didn’t go with your parents. Surely Europe is a more interesting subject than our mountains.”

“Simple. They didn’t ask. My parents prefer to take their vacations alone.”

“I see.” Taken aback by her candid response, he said, “Well, I imagine you’ll soon be bored here.”

“If that happens, then I will know it’s time to go home.”

“Don’t you have fancy parties to attend? Shopping to do? I’m sure you noticed our one and only general store.”

Her eyes dulled. “If my presence here is inconvenient, I will leave immediately.”

Now he felt like a heel. He’d been insensitive. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to make you feel unwelcome.”

Lashes lowered, she sipped her tea. Her fingers were elegant, nails trim and shiny, skin like satin. One gold filigree ring adorned the fourth finger of her right hand. They were the hands of a privileged lady, unblemished by hard work.

How would he handle the strain of seeing Francesca’s sister every day? Reminding him of all he’d lost. And the gossip her presence would stir up…

Undoubtedly, he was going to be the subject of a lot of talk. That’s simply the way things worked in small towns. Wasn’t every day a man’s fiancée up and married someone else.

“Are you ready for that tour?” He pushed back his chair.

She hesitated. “If you have something you’d rather do, I can entertain myself. I brought quite a collection of books with me, as well as my harp. I’ll be fine on my own.”

“You brought your harp?” Who traveled with musical instruments? He’d never understand the whims of the wealthy.

“It’s a Celtic harp, small enough to hold on my lap. I’ve played for many years. The music soothes me.”

“I know what you mean,” he said, surprised they had something in common. “About the soothing part. I play the fiddle.”

“Oh?” Interest stirred in her expression. “I would like to hear you play sometime. Fran didn’t mention that you played an instrument.”

“That’s because I didn’t tell her.”

One pitfall of relationships conducted at a distance was that important details were often overlooked or left out entirely. In Francesca’s case, details like another suitor. Thoughts of her with another man churned up unpleasant emotions. The betrayal affected him deeply. If and when he ever decided to court another lady, he’d be certain to keep things simple.

And the lady sitting across from him was anything but.

Chapter Four

S
trolling about the O’Malley farm, Kate’s gaze was drawn repeatedly to her handsome guide. Sunlight filtered through the leaves overhead, showering patches of light on the navy cotton shirt stretched taut across his back and shoulders. Josh’s rich drawl made each word sound like a caress. Listening to him explain the names and uses of each structure lulled her into a state of contentment.

He’d spoken hesitantly at first, his expression guarded, as if he expected her to be bored. Her many questions had brought about a change in his tone and manner, however. He was clearly proud of his family’s farm. And from what she’d seen, he had reason to be.

She surveyed her surroundings with a practiced eye. People back home would enjoy seeing these rural images. The wealthy would use them as a guide to plan sojourns to the mountains. Those who couldn’t afford to visit would at least be able to glimpse the beauty of East Tennessee. She could hardly wait to get started!

Kate found the workings of a farm fascinating. Here people had to be self-sufficient, working with the land and its offerings to provide for their needs.

She would never tell him Francesca would’ve been less than thrilled with her new home. No doubt, she would’ve taken one look and hightailed it back to the city.

Pushing away from the corn crib, he jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “All that’s left to show you is the apple house.”

“Apple house?” Five rows deep, the orchard fanned out in both directions behind him. There wasn’t a building in sight.

“It’s where we store the apples we don’t immediately use.” He extended his arm. “The ground is uneven in places. I wouldn’t want you to stumble and fall.”

She slipped her hand into the crook of his arm, his muscled forearm bunching beneath her fingers. They strolled at an even pace to the orchard. A gentle breeze stirred the trees, carrying with it the fragrant, tangy scent of the fruit hanging from the branches.

“I don’t see a house.”

He pointed to the steep hillside beyond the trees. “Look there. See the door?”

Squinting, she could just make out a low roofline and a child-size door. “It looks like a child’s playhouse.”

He laughed. “Come, I’ll show you.”

As they drew closer, she saw that it had been built into the hillside and only the front facade of stone and timber was visible. When she questioned him, he said it was to maintain the temperature inside at an even level and thus keep the apples from spoiling. Again, she was impressed by the family’s ingenuity.

Using his shoulder, he edged open the door. With a flourish of his hand, he said, “Ladies first.”

She bit her lip. From where she was standing, the interior looked awfully dark and cavelike. But he was waiting patiently, assessing her with those intense blue eyes.

She didn’t have to stay inside, she reasoned. What could a quick peek hurt?

Drawing a deep breath, Kate stepped through the doorway, bowing her head to avoid the low crossbeam. Cool, musky air filled her nostrils. Stacks of empty baskets filled the long, narrow space.

It wasn’t so bad.

Then Josh came in behind her, his body blocking out the light.

Her heart tripped inside her chest. Nausea threatened, and she felt strangely light-headed.

Memories from the past swept over her, and spinning on her heel, she collided with his solid chest. “Please, I need to get out.”

His hands came up to steady her. “What’s wrong?”

Without answering, she ducked beneath his arm and shot out the door. Once again in the open field, she sucked in a lungful of air.
Please don’t pass out.
Pressing a palm against her clammy forehead, she willed herself to remain calm.

“Hey.” He came abreast of her, his hand cupping her upper arm. “You’re as white as a sheet. Let’s go over here and sit for a spell.”

Kate leaned on his strength as he guided her to a fallen log beneath a nearby apple tree. He helped her settle, then sat close beside her. She couldn’t dwell on his nearness, only her acute embarrassment.

What must he think of her?

“I—I’m all right now.”

“What happened back there?” he prompted, his voice thick with concern. “Did I do something to make you uneasy?”

“No, it wasn’t you.” Eyes downcast, she plucked at the ruffles on her sleeve. “I don’t like small, confined spaces. I tend to panic, as you’ve just witnessed.” Her heart rate was slowing to normal, the nausea fading.

“I wouldn’t have insisted on your going inside had I known. I’m sorry.”

She shifted her gaze to his hands, resting on his knees. Tanned and smooth, they were strong, capable hands.

“It wasn’t your fault. I knew better.”

“Have you always felt this way?”

No, not always
. “For a long time, yes.”
Please just leave it at that.

He was quiet. Then, reaching up to the limb suspended above their heads, he plucked two apples and offered her one. “Feel like eating something? The natural sugar might put some color back into your cheeks.”

She met his assessing gaze and got lost in the blue depths. The quirk of his lips in a friendly smile broke the spell.

Accepting the fruit, she balanced it in the palms of her hands, wondering how she’d be able to eat it without making a mess of herself and her outfit. Come to think of it, she hadn’t eaten an uncut apple since she was a little girl. It was one of those simple acts classified as unladylike. A young lady of her social standing should never appear less than picture-perfect.

Beside her, Josh was already enjoying his.

A tiny seed of rebellion sprouted in her mind. She wasn’t in New York. This wasn’t the estate. She was on a farm in the Tennessee mountains. Surely the rules of what her mother considered proper conduct could be bent a little.

Sinking her teeth into the firm flesh, Kate relished the sweet-tart explosion on her tongue. Maybe it was the combination of warm sunshine and fresh air or Josh’s presence beside her, but she was certain this was the most delicious apple she’d ever tasted.

When the core was all that was left, she glanced over to find him grinning at her.

“What?”

“You, ah, have juice dribbling down your chin.”

“I do?”

He caught her wrist. “Wait. Use my handkerchief.”

Pulling a clean white square of cloth from his pants pocket, he reached over and wiped her chin. His other hand still held her wrist, the pads of his fingers pressed against her skin so that surely he could detect the spike in her pulse.

He lowered his hand. “There,” he murmured with a distracted air, “good as new.”

“Thanks,” she managed in a weak voice.

Then, as if just noticing he still held her, he dropped her wrist like a hot coal.

Surging to his feet, he put distance between them, stroking his goatee in a nervous gesture. “Well, that’s all there is to show you. Tour’s over.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Guess we should head back to the house so that I can warm up the soup Ma made for lunch.”

What had just happened? Whatever it was, he’d been affected the same way she had. And he didn’t seem at all pleased.

What was he thinking? Allowing himself to be affected by Kate Morgan. Of all the foolish, irresponsible… Hadn’t he learned a thing from his tangle with one spoiled heiress?

Annoyed, he was quiet on the walk back and throughout the meal. Kate, perhaps sensing his mood, was quiet as well, seemingly content to listen to his father, brothers and himself discuss farm business.

With the afternoon stretching before them, he’d decided to show her around town. Strolling beside her, he glanced at her profile.

She was soaking in their surroundings as if imprinting the scene upon her memory. Was this city girl a nature lover or was this intense observation a result of her profession?

Her expression brightened. “Look!”

He followed her gaze to a hollowed-out tree trunk where a momma raccoon and four kits lay curled up in their nest, a tangle of gray-and-white fur.

“What an adorable sight!” she whispered, her smile full of girlish excitement. “How old do you think they are?”

“I’d say four or five months.” He matched his voice to hers so as not to disturb the sleeping family.

“To see them in real life is such a treat!”

“What? You don’t have raccoons in the big city?”

She appeared thoughtful. “Perhaps in Central Park. The deer are plentiful there, I’m told, as are foxes.”

The largest city he’d visited was Knoxville. Amid the noise, crowded streets and hectic pace, he’d quickly discovered he preferred country life.

“You’ve never been there?” he asked, wondering for the first time what she did to pass the time.

“A handful of times. I wasn’t fortunate enough to see any wildlife.”

“Well, there’s plenty of it here.”

Her gaze was drawn once again to the sleeping raccoons. “I’m continually struck by God’s handiwork. His imagination and creativity. Nature reflects His majesty, wouldn’t you agree?”

Josh was surprised to hear her speak about God. He’d tried on several occasions to engage Francesca in a conversation about faith, but she’d skirted the issue, saying only that she was a frequent church attendee. Was this another area of difference between the sisters?

“I agree wholeheartedly.”

Something in his voice must’ve snagged her attention, for she turned and thoughtfully regarded him. They shared smiles of understanding, an acknowledgment that on this important subject they were in agreement.

Then, before he could get too accustomed to her heart-melting smiles, he resumed walking. She fell into step beside him.

Crossing the bridge into town, the first business they passed was his friend Tom’s barbershop. Since it was midafternoon, the shop was empty of customers. Tom stood in back, polishing his tools.

Glancing out the window, he spotted Josh and waved, his brows hiking up when his gaze lit on Kate. He flashed Josh a wolfish grin and a thumbs-up. He must not have heard of Francesca’s defection.

The tips of his ears burning, Josh slid his gaze to Kate, who appeared unaware of the exchange. Her stiff black bonnet shielded the sides of her face, so it was unlikely she’d seen anything.

Great. Everyone was going to assume she was his bride-to-be. He’d forever be explaining himself. It’d be easier to call a town meeting and set the record straight once and for all.

They walked in the direction of the mercantile. Out of habit, his gaze homed in on the empty store for sale across the street, the one he’d been saving up to buy. When he saw the owner, Chadwick Fulton, ducking inside, he stopped abruptly.

“I see someone I need to talk to. Would you mind if I met you at the mercantile in about fifteen or twenty minutes?”

“No, not at all.” Curiosity marked her expression.

He hesitated, suddenly remembering his and Francesca’s outings in Sevierville and her insistence that he stay by her side. “Are you sure? I wouldn’t want you to feel ill at ease, you being new in town. I can put it off until another time.”

“Don’t worry,” she surveyed the single road of businesses and smiled, dimples flashing. “I’m fairly certain I won’t get lost.”

Pleased by her response, Josh smiled back. Apparently, Kate Morgan could take care of herself. “Clawson’s is the last business on this side of the street. You can’t miss it. I’ll catch up with you.”

He waited until she’d gone inside to cross the street and study the storefront. He imagined the words
J. D. O’Malley Furniture Company
scrolled in large letters across the plate-glass windows. His dream of opening his own furniture store was so close to reality.

“Good morning, Mr. Fulton,” he greeted as he entered, closing the door behind him.

Seated behind the only piece of furniture left behind, a scuffed hunk of wood masquerading as a desk, the old man looked up and grunted. “O’Malley.”

“How are you today?”

“What do ya want?”

Fulton’s grumpy response wasn’t unusual. He was an unhappy, crotchety old man.

“Sir, I came by to let you know that I’ve almost got the money to buy this place. I’ll be paying you a visit as soon as I finish a few more orders.”

“The sooner I sell it, the better,” he groused, then shook a gnarled finger at Josh. “Remember, I ain’t holdin’ this place for you. Cash talks, and so far you ain’t shown me any.”

Josh understood it was the way of business, but he didn’t have to like it. Mr. Fulton wouldn’t agree to accept a deposit. “Yes, sir. I understand.” He tugged on the brim of his hat. “Good day.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He waved him out. “G’day.”

After taking one last look around the space and mentally calculating how many pieces he’d need to fill it, he left. He eyed the mercantile across the street, deciding he had time to stop by the post office and see if he had any letters from his cousin Juliana. He wasn’t consistent in his replies, but so far she’d overlooked that fact and kept the letters coming. They never failed to lift his spirits.