Reclaiming His Past (7 page)

“Who's this?” He stretched out his fingers.

“Her name's Cinders. Careful, she's not all that friendly.”

Belying her words, the black feline butted her head into Grant's palm, eager for affection. Then she promptly leaped onto his lap.

“You were saying?” Grinning, he slid her a sideways glance.

Jessica watched Cinders lap up his attention. “I've never seen her do that.”

“So you named her that because of her coloring?”

“Jane named her. Our older sister Megan used to entertain us with stories. For me, the scarier the better. Jane's the opposite—she hates to be frightened. One night, after a particularly harrowing tale, this kitten hopped out of the shadows and pounced on poor Jane. Her fur was streaked with ashes. I'm not sure how she got so filthy.”

Grant sneezed. “You don't know where she came from?”

“We searched the woods for her mother and came up empty. Cinders didn't make it easy for us to care for her, but we managed. I get the impression she regards us as necessary but annoying.”

His tanned, capable-looking hands gently stroked her sleek fur. He sneezed again. Dipping his head, he murmured, “You and I have something in common, don't we, Cinders?”

Another sneeze overtook him, and he winced. Either his head or his side was paining him. Maybe both. Her mother had applied fresh ointment and gauze that morning and told her it looked the same as yesterday. Taking in his profile, Jessica worried over the possibility of infection.

Only because he'd be forced to stay here longer
, she reassured herself. Her focus must be on her own life, her own problems. Not someone passing through their lives. They would do their Christian duty and send him off with warm wishes.

Jessica frowned. “Grant, I think you may have a sensitivity to cats.”

“I can put up with itchy eyes and a runny nose for my newfound friend. After all, she's the first one I've made here in Tennessee.”

“You and I aren't friends?” she said partly in jest, the tiniest bit hurt that he'd discounted her.

In the intimate closeness the serene, dark forest imparted, he lifted his head to regard her with eyes that had deepened to a navy hue. “That's a question only you can answer, Jessica. Friends trust each other. They don't suspect them of deceit and ill intent.”

There was no condemnation in his tone. He'd spoken frankly, but there was understanding there, too. As if he identified with her misgivings.

“In that case, the answer is yes.”

The slow arrival of gratitude, then relief and finally happiness passing over his clean-shaven features did serious damage to her defenses. Bolting to her feet, she bid him a brief good-night and reentered the house, seeking sanctuary in her room.

She couldn't allow herself to like Grant Parker. Empathy was acceptable. Concern for his health was natural. But opening herself up to a man, even for something as innocent as friendship, could very well be the first step to disaster.

Chapter Seven

T
he closer Jessica got to town, the easier it was to breathe.

Rising before dawn, she'd completed her chores, fixed breakfast and dressed for church all before her mother emerged from her bedroom. Alice had been surprised, to say the least, but willing to keep their patient company. Jessica had woken Will and asked him to see to Grant's needs before he left.

She hadn't wanted to face Grant across the breakfast table and witness the questions in his eyes. The brief moment of camaraderie between them last night had unsettled her, as had the unexpected longing to remain there on that porch with him, exploring the connection she felt, learning as much about him as possible. It wasn't wise, getting attached to an outsider, and she was determined to be wise.

A brisk breeze tunneled through the forested lane, rustling the multicolored leaves that hadn't yet fallen. Crossing the wooden bridge suspended above the wide but shallow river, she eyed the church's steeple rising toward the cloud-dotted sky and framed by Mount Le Conte's gentle slopes. The shops on either side of Main Street blocked her view of the white clapboard building, but she knew the churchyard would be bustling with parishioners.

Attending services used to be a pleasant, peaceful endeavor, a time to sing hymns and reflect on God's glory, to delve into God's Word and be encouraged by fellow believers. That had changed after she became involved with Lee. Caught up in a whirlwind romance, she had allowed her relationship with her Creator to become less of a priority. Her prayer time and daily Scripture reading had suffered. Lee had become her main focus and now she couldn't seem to move past the shame and self-recrimination to find God's peace.

After the tragedy, folks formed opinions about her involvement with Lee and his associate, John Farnsworth, who was sitting in a jail somewhere in Virginia. Those with sympathetic attitudes saw her as a gullible young woman who'd been blinded by love. Others weren't so kind. They thought she'd been privy to Lee's activities all along and had chosen to keep quiet. Either way, the fact that every single person in Gatlinburg was aware of her most private failure made life uncomfortable.

Spotting Jane and her family beneath the tallest, oldest oak on the church's property, she veered toward their wagon. Six-year-old Clara ran to greet her with a hug. “Auntie Jessica!”

Caressing Clara's bouncy brown curls, Jessica smiled at the little girl who'd charmed her way into her affections. With her dark hair and sparkling bright green eyes, she looked enough like her uncle Tom that she might be mistaken for his biological daughter. Since both her parents were deceased, Tom had taken her in and treated her as his own.

“Is that a new dress?”

Clara's smile widened as she performed a pirouette. A buttery-yellow color, the dress was trimmed in white ribbon, and a wide sash encircled her waist. “Auntie Nicole made it for me.”

Jessica's older sister Nicole was an excellent seamstress. She filled orders from her shop in the rear of the mercantile she owned with her husband, Quinn. “It's lovely.”

Taking Jessica's hand, Clara tugged her over to where Tom was assisting a very pregnant Jane from the wagon. Seeing her identical twin sister in that state was strange. This was Jane's first child, so her peculiar reaction was to be expected, Jessica supposed. Plus, it gave her a clear picture as to how she herself would look if a man as trustworthy and steadfast as Tom Leighton ever entered her life and decided he wanted marriage and a family with her.

“Jess.”

Jane's face, a mirror image of her own, crumpled with worry as she came near. Wearing one of the handful of dresses she'd let out to accommodate her growing form, she'd arranged her red hair in a sophisticated twist and accessorized with two ornate pins. Folks were able to distinguish between them because of their hairstyles. Jane favored more formal upward styles, while Jessica preferred to simply restrain the mass with a ribbon.

“I was in the mercantile yesterday afternoon when I heard the news. I wanted to come at once, but Tom urged me to wait until today. How are you coping?”

“It's odd having a stranger in the house, of course, but it's a temporary situation. Ma's there to change the bandages, and Will provides added security at night.”

Not that they needed protection from Grant, she silently conceded.

Tom joined his wife, his arm coming protectively about her shoulders. “See? What did I tell you? Your sister is made of sturdier stuff than you think.” He winked at Jessica.

Angling her face up to his, Jane shot him a smile that made Jessica feel as if she were intruding on a private moment. “I'd like a few minutes with her, if you don't mind.”

“We'll be inside.” Tom dropped a kiss on her forehead before holding out his hand to Clara. “Come along, my little bird.”

The child obeyed, but not without numerous glances over her shoulder as they crossed the spacious expanse to the church steps.

Jessica pointed to Jane's round tummy. “How's the wee babe?”

“Active.” Her countenance went dreamy until her gaze cleared. “Don't try to distract me. I want to know every single detail about this man. How old is he? Is he kind?” Her nose scrunched. “Or grouchy? Oh...is he covered in filth? Of all the homesteads in these mountains, why did he have to pick yours?”

“Grant didn't exactly pick us.”

“He knows his name? I thought he had amnesia.”

“We chose it for him. Couldn't exactly address him as ‘Hey, you.'”

Jane absently rubbed her tummy, her manner assessing. “There's something in your voice...your expression...” Her hands stilled. “He's young, isn't he? And handsome.
Jessica—
”

“There's no need to worry, Jane.” She held up her palms, bitterness rising up. “I learned my lesson well. I'm not about to repeat my mistakes. No unsuitable men for me. Actually, there aren't any men, suitable or otherwise.”

“What happened with Lee is over and done with. It shouldn't stop you from seeking love and happiness. I want you to have what I have, just with the right man.”

A pair of young men dressed in their finest clothing strolled past. “Hey, Jess.”

“Hello, Pete.”

“Lookin' mighty fine today.” Lowell turned and walked backward, wiggling his brows suggestively. The light in his eyes was harmless, however. “Sit with me?”

“Not this time.” She rustled up a smile to soften the refusal.

“I'm not giving up hope.”

Pete elbowed him. With a tip of his hat, Lowell spun forward and loped toward the church.

Jane's expression was shrewd. Before she could voice her obvious opinion, Jessica said, “I'm not interested, and you know it. Besides, he's only teasing.”

“I disagree.” Sadness surfaced. “At some point, you have to forgive yourself and move on. We all make choices we wish we could undo.”

Memories overtook her. Jane had been the one to first suspect Lee was involved in suspicious activity. After witnessing him selling moonshine to several locals, she'd pretended to be Jessica in order to investigate and had discovered an abundance of evidence on his property. Jessica had not only been livid over the pretense, she'd stubbornly refused to believe the man she adored could be a criminal. Her stubbornness had nearly cost them both their lives. Lee hadn't been so fortunate.

As if interpreting her thoughts, Jane linked their arms and began walking. The service would begin in minutes. “Lee made his own choices, just as we did. His death is
not
your fault.”

“You've said that before.”

“I'll keep on saying it until you accept it.”

Jessica inhaled the brisk air, her attention on the fenced-in cemetery adjacent to the building. They'd held a funeral for Lee in the days following the fire. But Lee's family had wanted him buried in their home state of Virginia, so they'd arranged for his body to be transported there. It hurt not to have a grave to visit or decorate with flowers.

They stopped at the base of the steep steps. On either side of the double doors sat containers of yellow, orange and purple mums, their bright hues cheerful against the stark white structure.

Jane turned to her. “Promise me you'll be careful.”

“Grant isn't dangerous.”

“I'm talking about guarding your heart.”

Jessica frowned. “I never said he posed a threat to my emotional well-being.”

“You didn't have to.”

* * *

Seated across from Jessica in the O'Malleys' confined dining space, Grant watched her mix bite-size pieces of ham with collard greens, pinto beans and corn bread and sprinkle the pile with Tabasco hot sauce. Scooping up a large portion, she guided the fork to her mouth, pausing when she caught him staring. “What?”

“That's...disgusting.”

“Not to me.” Shrugging, she went back to ignoring him, something she'd been doing since her return from church.

He turned to Alice, seated in between them at the table's end. “Has she always done that?”

A fond smile creased the older woman's features as she smoothed the napkin in her lap. “Her pa liked his food spicy. Before Tabasco was available, he grew hot peppers and concocted his own sauce. When Jessica was about six or seven, she wanted to try it and he allowed her to. We could tell that it was too much for her, but she dug in without complaint.”

Grant shook his head, pointing with his fork. “Do you sprinkle hot sauce on your baked goods, as well?”

Her nose wrinkled in disgust. “Of course not.”

“What do you prefer? Spicy or sweet?”

She sipped her coffee. “Spicy.”

“Interesting, coming from a baker.”

Grant tucked into his food, eating one selection at a time. No mixing for him. The lady's tastes mimicked her personality. While he didn't know her well, he'd already glimpsed both spicy and sweet aspects of her nature. Last night, he thought they'd made a connection. Her initial wariness gone, she'd treated him as someone worthy of her trust. When she'd finally admitted that she believed his account of events, he'd been relieved. But then she'd clammed up and retreated inside, and he'd woken this morning to find her already gone. He couldn't shake the feeling she'd done that deliberately to avoid him.

She'd arrived home right before lunch and given him the briefest of greetings before disappearing into the kitchen to help Alice.

What does her opinion matter, anyway? You're not staying.

His throat tightened. Without his memories, there was no way to understand his potential, no way to know what kind of life he was meant to lead. He had no money, no physical possessions and no reputation to recommend him. Anyone who hired him would be taking a risk.

Lost in thought, he didn't pay heed to the women's conversation. A slice of apple pie appeared at his elbow minutes later and, startled out of his reverie, he looked up into Jessica's inquiring gaze. She'd noticed his distraction, had she?

“When did you have time to make this?” he said.

“There's always time for baking.”

“Baking helps her sort through her problems,” Alice inserted.

“Ma.”

“It's not a national secret, my dear.”

Circling the table, Jessica resumed her seat, taking her time arranging her skirts. Had she always been this private? Or was it that she didn't want
him
knowing her personal quirks?

Apparently satisfied the fabric was folded and draped to her liking, she lifted her head, her eyes meeting his. Grant's heart jolted anew at her loveliness. She was dressed more formally today in an exquisite lavender outfit. The scooped neckline was demure, the form-fitting bodice overlaid with lace. A cameo brooch attached to a ribbon choker drew his gaze to the swan-like grace of her neck. Delicate pearl ear bobs winked at her ears. A bold choice considering her deep red hair, her outfit's lavender hue gave the appearance of fragility, like a rare wild flower vulnerable to the elements. The fire in her green eyes belied that notion. Life events may have weakened her confidence, but Jessica was a fighter.

He deliberately turned his attention to the dessert. She may be pure pleasure to look upon and great fun to tease, but he wasn't free to pursue any woman. He had to accept that he might never be in that position...not without knowing whether or not he had someone special in his life. Or if he had a bounty on his head.

The pie's lattice crust was light and flaky, the thin apple slices coated with cinnamon, nutmeg and just the right amount of sugar. He couldn't prevent a groan of appreciation.

“Now I understand why Mrs. Ledbetter hired you to do her birthday cake. You weren't kidding—you
are
the finest baker this side of the Tennessee River.”

Alice's bushy brows shot toward her hairline, and Jessica squirmed in her seat. “I said that in the heat of the moment. It was an exaggeration.”

“I don't think so. You have true talent.”

“You're not the only one who shares that opinion,” Alice said. “Up until a few months ago, she and Jane supplied desserts to the Plum Café in town. Every day they'd bake cakes and pies. All sorts of goodies. When Mrs. Greene sold to the new owner, we never suspected he'd terminate their agreement.”

“Either the man's taste buds are messed up, or he's a fool.”

“Plenty of people have complained, but he won't listen. Apparently he's accustomed to having everything done in-house.”

“A businessman who turns a deaf ear to his customers' wishes won't be in business for very long,” he said.

“It's Gatlinburg's only café. He doesn't have to worry about competition.” Jessica's tone was weighted with disappointment.

“How frequent are orders like Mrs. Ledbetter's?”