Courting Miss Adelaide (10 page)

A lump the size of a melon formed in her belly. She’d been ten when she’d tumbled from a horse, breaking her leg and nearly getting her head stomped by the hooves. She’d steered clear of horses ever since.

Adelaide looked into two pair of eyes—one pair dancing with excitement, the other issuing a challenge. With God’s help, she’d show this man her strength, her ability to overcome her fear, to be an example of courage to this child.

Raising her chin, she approached the horse gingerly, edging her hand closer. The huge animal raised a hoof, slammed it down, stalling Adelaide’s hand midair. Ranger’s dark brown tail swished at the flies pestering its hindquarters. Sucking in a gulp of air, she again reached a palm. The horse snorted. She withdrew.

Charles took Adelaide’s hand and led her closer. “There’s nothing to fear.”

Oh, but she knew differently. And it wasn’t only the four-legged animal in front of her.

Emma handed Adelaide the brush, leaving her little choice. “Here, Miss Adelaide!”

Charles sent her a gentle look of encouragement. “No rush. A big animal like Ranger takes getting used to.”

Adelaide lifted her chin. She’d show him Adelaide Crum had courage. She laid the brush against Ranger’s side, slowly moving the tool downward, careful not to press hard. Beneath the bristles the flesh on the horse’s belly quivered, but Ranger didn’t move.

Emma laughed. “Look! He’s ticklish!”

Charles patted Emma’s shoulder. “So he is. Maybe it’s Miss Crum’s touch.”

Adelaide ran the brush along Ranger’s back and once again down his sides, then stood back and cocked her head at Charles.

“This is fun!” Emma’s eyes danced with delight. “Let’s visit Ranger every day.”

“I know Ranger would love seeing two such pretty ladies.” He turned back to Adelaide, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Now that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“No, he’s a beautiful animal.”

Charles ran a hand along Ranger’s dark brown mane. “He’s alone too much. That’s not good for a horse.”

“That’s not good for anyone,” Adelaide said quietly.

Charles, looking eager to put distance between them, hurried to put the brush away, then led Ranger to his stall and secured the door.

Fine, she didn’t want to get involved with a man. Not even this one. She knew firsthand the pain a man could cause. Her father had left her mother, hadn’t cared enough to see his daughter again, not even once, as if she were unworthy, unlovable. With God’s help she’d become strong, able to stand on her own two feet, all without a man.

So why had she accepted Charles’s supper invitation? Loneliness. The answer tore through her, forcing her to take a steadying breath. No amount of hard work, praying or sharing with friends could fill the empty spot inside her.

Charles returned and the three of them stepped outside. Emma ran to the hay mound and then sent a questioning glance over her shoulder.

Adelaide nodded approval. “Go on. That looks like fun.”

Emma flung an armful of hay into the air, squealing as it showered down on her upturned face. Grabbing more, she tossed it at Charles, the pieces scattering at his feet. Laughing, he scooped up an arsenal and chased after her. Emma raced behind Adelaide’s skirts, at the exact moment Charles tossed the hay.

When the itching strands hit her face, Adelaide yelped, the fun, the sheer freedom of it leaping in her chest. “You’re going to be sorry!” She ran toward the hay mound for ammunition.

“Oh, no you don’t.” Charles dove after her, tugging her down on the hay.

Suddenly he stopped, gazing down at her. With his face only inches away, close enough to touch, close enough to kiss, she froze, her breath caught in her throat.

Even she, a woman who knew nothing of men, recognized longing in his eyes, in the tiny specks of gold in their depths.

“Here I come, ready or not!” Emma tumbled down, pelting them with fistfuls of hay.

Charles and Adelaide sprang apart, the mood broken. For a split second, she’d forgotten Emma and exposed her to unseemly behavior. Thankfully, Emma didn’t appear to have noticed.

Charles’s gaze shifted to Emma. His hand shot out and tickled her.

The little girl shrieked and scrambled out of his reach, tossing more hay their way. “You can’t get me!”

“I will. Just wait.” Charles jumped to his feet, and then pulled Adelaide up after him. “Are you all right?”

“Yes.” Adelaide’s world tipped off balance. Since she’d met Charles, her tidy life had turned upside down, inside out. Her inhibitions had crumbled, as well, turning her into someone carefree and full of life—Addie, the hair-down woman.

Charles took off after Emma and scooped her up. “I’m too fast for you, Emma,” he teased, swinging her in front of him.

When he turned to Adelaide with a grinning Emma nestled on his arms, both looking more like scarecrows than themselves, Adelaide ached to enfold them in her arms. Maybe then, she would find the sense of family she’d been looking for her entire life. But she had no trust to give.

Emma burst out laughing, pointing first at Adelaide, then at Charles. “You look funny!” she crowed.

Charles bounced her on his arms, sending pieces of straw fluttering to the ground. “No funnier than you, cupcake.”

The little girl giggled. “I’m not cupcake. I’m Emma!”

Charles put Emma down, grabbed a pitchfork leaning against the side of the stable and repaired the mound. Adelaide brushed hay from Emma’s hair, then from their shoulders and skirts.

“Can I climb on the fence?” Emma said.

Adelaide nodded and Emma raced off. Charles crossed to her side. “You missed some.” With gentle fingers, he pulled strands from her hair. She couldn’t meet his gaze.

Adelaide’s chignon had pulled loose, and her clothing was in disarray, totally unlike her finicky nature. “Thank you.”

Charles tucked a loose curl behind her ear, the movement of his hands sweet and tender. “You’re a mess.”

Adelaide’s hands flew to her hair, but he clasped them in his, stopping her. “I like you that way.”

Their gazes locked; her mouth went dry.

What if someone had seen their silliness in the hay? If so, the committee might hear of it and take Emma. Hands shaking, she tugged the hairpins from her hair and pulled it into a knot, securing a proper demeanor right along with it. “I apologize. Our behavior wasn’t suitable.”

With a curt nod, he took a step back. “We’d best be going.”

Adelaide called to the little girl a few feet away. “Emma, Mr. Graves and I need to get back to work.”

With Emma chattering between them, they sauntered down the walk. A robin, with a morsel in its beak, swooped into the leafy branches of the tree they passed, silencing frantic chirping coming from an unseen nest. The scent of fresh-mown grass carried on the breeze. The beauty of the day and Emma’s contented expression restored Adelaide’s serenity.

Until Mrs. Willowby, the feather on her hat bobbing in rhythm with her stride, headed toward them, holding the hand of the little orphan boy. “I’d like you to meet our Ben,” Mrs. Willowby said, her tone laced with pride.

Ben ducked behind his mother’s skirts, then peeked around.

Adelaide smiled. “Hello, Ben. Do you remember Emma?”

Mrs. Willowby’s gaze roamed over them. “My, don’t the three of you look like a family?”

Charles took a step over, separating himself from the two of them, from the image.

Adelaide kept walking, tugging Emma along with her. “Have a good day, Mrs. Willowby. You, too, Ben.”

Once they were out of hearing distance, Adelaide slowed the pace. Emma was coming home with her. The thought sung through her. Nothing Mrs. Willowby could say could change that fact.

“Ben looked happy.” Emma sighed. “I wish we were a family, like that lady said. Then William could come live with us.”

Charles squatted down beside Emma. “You have a family, the Drummonds. Don’t you like living with them?”

Emma shook her head.

Charles chucked Emma under the chin. “Why not?”

Adelaide held her breath and waited for Emma’s answer, hope rising and falling in her chest like the bobber on a fishing line. But Emma shook off Charles’s hand and ran off to examine a rock alongside the road.

Charles nodded toward Emma. “She’s a great little girl. Everything delights and fascinates her. She gives me a new view on the world, a world I’ve tended to see through jaded eyes.”

“Jaded? Why?”

A shadow passed over his face and he looked away. “Nothing specific, simply some of the things I’ve seen.”

“Saturday’s dinner invitation didn’t include Emma,” she said. “Perhaps we should cancel our plans.” At the prospect, disappointment ached inside her and she hoped he would disagree.

His gaze went to her. “No,” he said, the word echoing with finality. “I don’t want to cancel.”

He held out his arm. Adelaide hesitated, and then slipped her hand through the crook. He drew her close, his hand resting lightly on hers. Adelaide’s stomach hadn’t rolled like this since she’d won the county spelling bee in the eighth grade.

“It’ll be fun to take Emma to a restaurant,” Charles said.

“A restaurant?” Emma had rejoined them, a small, smooth rock cradled in one hand. “I’ve never eaten in a restaurant before.”

Charles smiled. “Then it’s time you did.”

Adoration filled Emma’s gaze. Did Charles have any idea how much he mattered to Emma?

They parted ways, Emma and Adelaide to the shop and Charles back to the paper. Despite her resolve, Adelaide missed him already. She sighed. If only she could get inside his head, understand his thoughts. Like a locked door, she had hints of what was on the other side, but until the door opened, she couldn’t be sure.

She’d have to find the key. No, better to leave that door locked. Opening her heart to a man would only lead to heartbreak.

Chapter Seven

I
nside Charles’s office, the noisy newspaper was downright quiet compared to his afternoon with the gregarious seven-year-old girl. Still, he knew Emma’s absence hadn’t brought this sense of emptiness. He wanted to be with Addie. Too much. He felt split down the middle, with one side, the rational side, telling him to run the opposite direction, while the other side hungered to see Miss Crum, to savor her goodness. But he didn’t dare.

Not when a monster crouched inside him.

People said he looked like his father. When he shaved, his father’s face looked back at him—the public face his father wore in town. Charles could still remember his father’s gentle touch as he’d run his fingers through Charles’s hair during church service. When Adam Graves wasn’t drinking, he’d been an affectionate man and Charles had loved him with all his being.

But the years passed and his father drank more and more, quoting Scripture and beating his family. Many a Sunday following a thrashing with a razor strap the day before, Charles and Sam had sat cautiously in the pew. Until the time when Adam quit attending church and his family saw only his private face—that of a man filled with hate.

His father appeared in his mind’s eye, as plain as if he stood before him. Lips curled in a snarl, eyes bulging with rage, mouth spewing curses, veins bulging in his neck mere seconds before he’d start hitting. The sounds of fists meeting flesh ricocheted through him with such vividness Charles discerned the familiar metallic taste of blood upon his tongue.

Unseen fingers closed around his windpipe, suffocating him until bile rose in Charles’s throat. He leapt from his chair and dashed for the privacy of the alley.

Teddy blocked Charles’s exit. “You all right, boss?”

“Don’t you have enough to do around here besides poking your nose in my business?” Charles growled, sidestepping him.

In the alley, with sweat beading his forehead, Charles leaned against the brick and struggled to slow his breathing.
Inhale. Exhale. Inhale.

But childhood memories continued to slam into him with the same brutal force his father had used to subdue his family.

Until the worst memory of all exploded in his brain with such power he could no longer resist—the memory of
that
night.

Even all these years later, Charles could not forgive himself.

He’d better get a grip on his life, on his mind. He had a business to run, Sam’s family to help.

Yet, his hands balled at his sides. Adam Graves had been the reason his brother drank. If Sam hadn’t been in that barroom brawl, he’d be alive today. Sam had inherited the family legacy of bitterness, distrust and booze.

Wiping his brow, Charles took in a gulp of air. He couldn’t change the past but he could leave it there, far from the present, far from everything he’d worked hard to gain.

But images from that night popped up again and again, released by the reading of his father’s will and the insane hope he could have a normal life.

Blocking thoughts of Addie, thoughts tempting him to indulge in the fantasy of a family, Charles pushed away from the brick and started inside. After dinner on Saturday, he’d make no more plans with Miss Crum. He wouldn’t open her to the pain and anguish of his past, wouldn’t taint her pretty world.

From the shop window, Adelaide glanced at
The Ledger.
That simple act set her heart humming. She brushed her fingertips across her lips, reliving the almost-kiss in the haystack. Charles Graves had feelings for her, but only a foolish woman would believe those feelings involved a future. He didn’t want that any more than she did.

For now, God had given her Emma, bringing joy into her life. She’d be the best mother she could be. And make sure Charles noticed at supper. If Frances couldn’t care for Emma, then surely Charles would support her with the committee.

She turned away from the window and watched Emma roam the showroom, examining the array of adorned hats, captivated by the fruit, plumes and flowers.

Adelaide joined her at the display. “Want to try on a hat?”

Emma beamed. “Could I?”

Adelaide lifted a bonnet from the stand, the one she’d visualized Emma wearing that day in the shop, the same day Laura had bullied her into placing an ad, bringing Charles into her life, and through him, Emma.
I owe Laura a new hat.
With damp eyes, she placed the bonnet on Emma’s head. “I designed this especially for a young lady like you.”