The Longing (3 page)

Slowly, the deep lines in Tom’s face eased as
his tense body relaxed on the pine floorboards.

Kyle grabbed Tom’s shoulders and shook him,
trying to jar him back to consciousness. “Tom!” he shouted. Another
fierce shake loosened Tom’s jaw, but no air passed his blue
lips.

“Breathe goddammit!”

Kyle shouted the order a second time, loud
enough to rattle the windows, but Tom Drake couldn’t breathe. He
was dead.

Amelia Drake
propped her forehead in her hand and listened to the rain pummel
the windows. It echoed across her empty schoolroom in Laona as she
read a page in her teaching handbook—for the fourth time. To her
increasing irritation, the words remained a jumble of nothingness.
Between the noise of the storm and her wandering thoughts, she
couldn’t concentrate on her work for a minute.

The desk was distracting her again. Amelia
slapped the book closed and shoved away from the massive pile of
oak huddled in front of her like a mountain of secrets. She
squeezed her eyes closed, but her imagination soared and fanned her
private fantasies until her insides melted with longing. God
forgive her, but Amelia craved the wild, reckless passion that had
caused Miss Denby, the former schoolteacher, to toss away her
teaching career and make love to a poor furniture maker on her own
desk.

There would never be a Gordon Prues coming to
rescue Amelia from the life of sameness and solitude she’d been
living since replacing Miss Denby. Amelia would continue to spend
her hours with her students, and when they went home to their
families each evening, she would stay behind in a cold, empty
schoolhouse feeling her youth ebbing away. To know she would never
experience anything so grand or exciting as Miss Denby’s passionate
affair tore a vicious wound in Amelia’s soul.

The bitter truth was that when she was
seventeen Amelia’s own reckless actions had condemned her to this
life of spinsterhood.

She should have said no when Richard Cameron
had pushed her to make love with him.

A violent crack of thunder shook the building
and lightning illuminated the damp, musty-smelling room. Amelia
crossed to the window and rested her arms on the sill, gazing up at
the angry evening sky, wishing she dared to step outside and feel
the rain sting her skin, to feel free and alive for a few stolen
minutes. But Philmore Bentley, president of the school board, and
his nosy wife, Eva, lived next door. If they saw Amelia outside
after dark, she would be severely reprimanded.

Life as a teacher was painfully restrictive,
but it was a virtuous, respectful position that she had needed
after her disastrous affair with Richard. For four years Amelia had
been trying to live within the board’s strict dictates, but her
true nature bubbled and spit behind her facade like a volcano on
the brink of erupting.

She felt imprisoned in her small apartment
behind the schoolhouse, but her teaching contract stipulated that
she must live there. It was a suitable home for a single woman
whose only visitors were her parents and her two dearest friends,
Lucinda Clark and Evelyn Grayson, but it was stark and tiny and
dreadfully depressing. Unlike Lucinda, who had three older sisters
and whose house resonated with life and excitement, the silence in
Amelia’s single room was deafening. It was devoid of the laughter
and love Amelia felt in Evelyn’s home. No matter how many years
Amelia spent here, the little box would never feel comfortable or
warm.

Thunder rolled overhead and the front door
creaked open. Amelia shook her head and turned away from the
window. Closing the door was a lesson she’d failed to teach any of
her students. No matter who left last, the door always remained
ajar. With a resigned sigh, she headed toward the front of the
building to close it.

The shadowy outline of a man suddenly filled
the doorway and Amelia stopped in midstep. Runnels of rain slid off
the wide shoulders of the man’s coat. He pushed the door closed
against the wind, trapping her inside with him. She stumbled
backward, wondering if she could make it to the door of her
apartment and lock it before he could grab her.

As if the man sensed her panic, he lifted the
dripping hat off his head to reveal a handsome, familiar face.
Stunned by Kyle Grayson’s formidable presence in her humble
schoolroom, Amelia couldn’t fathom what would bring him here, in
the pouring rain no less.

Although they knew each other, and had even
shared a stolen kiss when Amelia was sixteen, they had rarely
crossed paths in the past several years. Kyle was a business friend
of her father’s, and not long ago he’d been Evelyn’s fiancé before
she’d broken their engagement to marry his older brother, but
Amelia hadn’t spoken more than a polite greeting to Kyle in years.
Not even during the brief dance they’d shared at a wedding a few
months past. Amelia’s senses had been too stimulated that evening
by the feel of Kyle’s hands on her waist, and the occasional brush
of his leg against her own as they danced. It was the first time
since she was seventeen years old that Amelia had touched a man,
and to her embarrassment, she hadn’t wanted to let go of Kyle when
the dance ended.

“You’ll need your wrap,” Kyle said, jerking
Amelia’s thoughts back to why he was standing in her schoolroom.
“Ray Hawkins is coming with a carriage to take you to your parents’
house.”

She searched Kyle’s dark, anguished eyes, but
his expression remained as rigid as chiseled granite. Suddenly, her
own heart stopped beating. She struggled to round her mouth and
force her breath past stiff lips. “Who’s hurt?”

“Your father collapsed with chest pains an
hour ago.”

“Oh, my God!” Amelia whirled toward the row
of cloak pegs along the back of the room, but Kyle caught her arm,
his grip firm enough to stop her but gentle as he turned her to
face him. That he only stared at her filled Amelia with fear so
thick she couldn’t breathe.

“He didn’t...I’m sorry,” Kyle said softly,
his voice filled with grief. “The doctor didn’t arrive in
time.”

Amelia’s body turned hot and her ears rang,
but the cry echoing in her mind never left her gaping mouth.
Backing away from Kyle and the horror of his words, Amelia shook
her head. It couldn’t be true. Not her father. He’d started the
fire in the schoolroom for her just this morning. He’d laughed and
kissed her cheek before leaving to start his day at the mill. Just
like he did every Thursday morning.

“Jeb and Doc Finlay took him home to your
mother,” Kyle said, his eyes dark, his expression filled with
regret. “They’re sending Ray down with the carriage for you. I told
them I’d ride ahead and make sure you’d be ready.”

Her father? He couldn’t be...he
just...no!

“I’ll stay with you until Ray gets here.”

Amelia shook her head. An unstoppable cry
squeezed from her throat and tears blurred her vision.

Kyle’s lips compressed and his nostrils
flared, but his hard, unblinking gaze confirmed the truth.

“Oh, God. Oh, Kyle, no!” Amelia clapped her
hands to her mouth as tears streamed over her fingers.

He caught her as she stumbled into his
chest.

Sobbing, she shoved against him, trying to
push him out the door. “Take me home.”

“Wait for the carriage. It’s storming.”

Was he insane? What did she care about a
carriage when her father...when he...oh, God...her mother needed
her! And her father...her poor father . . .

She tore herself from Kyle’s arms and bolted
outside. Rain slapped her face and wind ripped her hair from its
prim chignon, but Amelia barely felt it as she ran to Kyle’s
horse.

As she struggled to put her foot in the high
stirrup, she heard the door to the schoolhouse slam shut. An
instant later Kyle wrapped his strong hands around her waist. She
gripped the saddle horn and hopped on one foot, frantically trying
to hook her raised foot in the stirrup, but instead of lifting her
onto the saddle, Kyle tugged her back.

“Buck’s too skittish right now.”

She struggled against Kyle’s grip, but he
held tight. “Let go of me!”

He didn’t release her.

With an angry screech, she turned and slapped
his wet face. The impact snapped his head back and stung her palm,
but his look of shock didn’t stop her from reaching for the saddle
horn again. She was going home, and she wasn’t waiting for a damned
carriage.

The horse reared and danced away from her,
but Amelia charged forward to grab the slippery stirrup. Her feet
tangled in the hem of her muddy, wet dress and she stumbled into
Buck’s side.

“Get back!” Kyle’s voice cracked like the
loud burst of thunder as he dragged her away from the rearing
horse. “Amelia! Ray will be here any second. Get your wrap and wait
inside.” Like a giant handcuff clamping her waist, Kyle’s strong
hands turned her toward the school.

Amelia refused to wait for a carriage or let
Kyle drag her back into the building. She twisted around to face
him and struck his granite chest with her fists. Then she screamed
with all the panic she felt bursting inside her. Even in the
pouring rain and booming thunder, her neighbors would have heard
the earsplitting scream. They would come outside and distract Kyle.
Then she would take his horse and race for home.

Kyle caught her chin and forced her to look
at him. “It’ll ruin you if you’re found out here with me.”

“My father’s dead, Kyle! Do you think I
care?” She opened her mouth, intending to scream until he released
her, but Kyle hooked an arm around her waist and yanked her against
him. He cupped the back of her head and pulled her open mouth into
his thick-muscled shoulder.

Bound hard by his arms, and partially
sheltered from the rain, Amelia felt she’d been pulled beneath the
protective limbs of a giant tree. Her heart and mind hung suspended
in a weird silence that amplified Kyle’s hard breathing and the
sound of rain splattering against her skull.

The crack of a gunshot ripped through the
night and jerked Amelia back to the present, to death, and the
searing pain that shredded her heart.

Kyle’s hand shot out and snagged the reins of
Buck’s bridle before the gelding could bolt.

“Unhand her this instant!”

They both jerked their heads toward Philmore
Bentley who was marching across his soggy yard with a rifle in his
hands. Eva Bentley, the strictest board member and town gossip,
stood on her porch squinting in their direction.

Kyle urged Amelia away from him and the
deadly end of Philmore’s gun, but she clung to his hand. “Help me,
Kyle. I need to get home.”

Philmore cocked his gun. “I warned you to get
away from her.”

“Phil!” Kyle yelled through the rain. “It’s
Kyle Grayson.”

Kyle pulled off his hat and faced Phil and
his nosy wife, but Amelia yanked his sleeve. “Put me on your
horse!”

“What’s going on over there?” Phil demanded,
as he lowered the nose of his gun toward the grass.

Amelia could feel a scream of hysteria rising
in her throat and knew if it left her mouth, she’d scream until
they hauled her off to the asylum. “Now, Kyle. I
mean
it.”

“There’s been an accident and I’m taking Miss
Drake to her parents’ house.” He turned to Amelia and girded her
waist with his fingers. “Put your hands on my shoulders and jump
when I tell you to.”

“That young lady needs a chaperone with her!”
Mrs. Bentley yelled, charging off her front porch, her intent to
stop them obvious in the militant thrust of her jaw.

“Jump!” Kyle whispered.

The instant Amelia bent her knees and pushed,
she was airborne. The horse shifted as she hit the saddle, but Kyle
held her steady.

“Hook your knee over the horn and hang on.
I’m coming up behind you.”

She’d barely managed to do so before she felt
the sideways shift of the saddle as Kyle stepped into the stirrup
and swung himself up behind her.

“You stop right there, Mr. Grayson!” Mrs.
Bentley stood below them with her fists planted on her plump hips.
The rain plastered her hair to her head and her chest heaved from
splashing across the school yard.

“Beg pardon, Mrs. Bentley, but I’ve brought
Amelia distressing news of her father’s death and I need to get her
home immediately.”

“Oh, good heavens,” she said, her expression
shifting from outrage to a mixture of shock and sympathy. “I’m so
sorry, dear. Phil will get the carriage and we’ll take you home
right away.”

Not about to wait for Phil or explain that a
carriage was already on the way, Amelia kicked the gelding’s broad
side and the horse lunged forward. Kyle’s arm clutched her waist,
but Amelia had to grab the horse’s coarse mane to keep herself
seated.

“You’re going to kill us,” Kyle said, but he
lifted Amelia off the saddle, settled himself behind her, then let
her bottom slip back into the cradle of his thighs. He pulled her
against his chest then folded the sides of his jacket around her
shivering body. “Hold on,” he said, then kicked his horse into a
full gallop out Liberty Street.

Amelia didn’t know if Kyle meant she should
hold on to his coat or the horse, but the feel of his strong arm
around her made her head reel. She felt trapped but oddly protected
by the warmth of his hard body. Still, Kyle’s arms didn’t keep her
from falling apart. She wept hard as they raced past Kyle’s sawmill
in Laona and turned onto the road leading to Jamestown. Thankfully
they would only travel a little over a mile to Shumla Road. Her
teeth chattered and her shoulders quaked despite the warm nest Kyle
provided with his body.

“We’ll be there soon,” he said near her ear
as the rain and tears stung her eyes.

“What happened?” she asked between sobs. When
Kyle didn’t answer, she thought he couldn’t hear her over the
rumbling thunder and rushing wind, or perhaps he hadn’t understood
her tear-drenched words. “Were you with Papa?”