Where The Heart Is (Choices of the Heart, book 1) (16 page)

“Chelle, you have company,” Jean called from the foot of the stairs. Chelle put her pen and ink away and hurried down. Martin stepped into the kitchen with a gust of cold wind behind him. Chelle joined him by the stove and took his chilled hands in hers. “You’re half frozen, lad.”

She loved that she’d learned to imitate Martin’s broad Yorkshire, while his attempts to mimic her drawl hardly sounded like English at all. He shrugged out of his coat and looked down at her with a light in his eyes that warmed her from the inside out. “That wind feels like it’s blowing straight down from Greenland.” With a gentle tug, Martin brought her closer. With his arms just out of bandages, he couldn’t hold her the way she knew he wanted to, which was just as well, with the whole family sitting at the table except for Jack, who’d gone to the store for the mail.

“There’s plenty left of the raisin pudding I made for supper, and it’s still warm. It’ll stick to your bones for the ride home later,” Caroline said.

“You don’t have to ask me twice, Caroline.”

Brian pushed back his chair. “Take my seat, Martin. I fancy the fireside at the Crow tonight, along with a pint of Harry’s bitter. Jean, will you come along?”

“Nay, you go on. I’ve a bit of a headache. I think I’ll go upstairs.”

Chelle caught herself rolling her eyes. Did the whole family have to be so obvious about disappearing? Her father stood and put on his cap. “I’ll join you, Brian.”

Caroline set a bowl of golden-topped, cinnamon-scented pudding on the table and left the room without bothering to make an excuse. In less than five minutes, Chelle and Martin were alone.

In the two weeks since they’d decided to keep company, they’d spent three evenings here in the kitchen. Already Martin seemed to belong in the house as much as Chelle did. She stood on tiptoe for a slow, sweet kiss that left them both wanting more. She couldn’t doubt any longer that the attraction between them was real, but would it be permanent?

The wind rattled the kitchen window. A picture flashed into Chelle’s mind of those gusts shaking the tent where Trey would sleep tonight. Martin noticed the sudden change in her attention and took her hand as she joined him at the table. “What’s troubling you, Chelle?”

She caught a glimpse of the web of scars that began on the underside of his wrist and disappeared under his shirt cuffs. Scars he’d accepted without a trace of bitterness. Chelle would have loved him for that alone if she’d been sure she was capable of real love. The love Martin and Leah deserved. “I was writing to Trey when you arrived. With winter coming, I worry about him.”

“I know, but from what you’ve said of him, he’s well able to take care of himself. Hold on to that.” Martin tucked a lock of Chelle’s hair behind her ear and lingered to draw a lazy circle over the sensitive skin there. “If you’re going to worry, I’ll just have to see if I can distract you.”

He proceeded to do just that, with another blindingly sweet kiss. Chelle leaned into him, shutting out the world with Martin’s taste until the sound of Jack closing the yard gate brought them back to reality.

Jack stepped inside and shut the kitchen door behind him, took the two of them in with a glance and cleared his throat. “Now then, Martin. I see you’re havin’ some of Caroline’s pudding. Chelle, where is everyone?”

Chelle tried for some dignity. “Dad and Brian have gone to the Crow. Jean went upstairs with a headache. I think Aunt’s gone upstairs, too.”

“Then I may as well join Colin and Brian for a pint. Tell Caroline if you see her. Here’s the mail.” Jack dropped three or four envelopes on the end of the table, did an about-face and was gone.

Chelle caught a glimpse of her flushed face in the window, her lips still wet from kissing. The sight made her blush even more fiercely. “He almost caught us.”

Martin wore a wicked grin. “But he didn’t.”

“He wasn’t fooled for a second, and you know it.” Chelle reached for the mail. A letter for Jean, one for Uncle Jack… her heart jumped when she saw her name on the third envelope in an unfamiliar hand. She wasn’t corresponding with anyone but Trey. When she opened it, all the glow faded from the evening. “This is from the Paxtons’ solicitor. They’re suing you for custody of Leah and naming me in the suit. They have a court date on December first. I can’t believe they have the gall to go through with it.” In the two weeks since her last encounter with Leah’s grandparents, Chelle had come to believe their threats had been idle.

Martin took the letter, scanned it, flung it down on the table. “I can believe it, though I’ve been hoping they’d given up the idea. Of course, someone has told them I’ve been calling here. They have a real spite against you, Chelle.”

“And because of me, you’re in danger of losing your daughter.” The thought stabbed her to the heart.

“I told you before, I won’t be bullied, and I won’t have you blaming yourself for this. I’m as much to blame as you are. Damn.” Martin got to his feet, shoulders tight with anger. “I’d better be off home. I’ve been out most of the day, and Jessie will have picked up the mail this afternoon when she and the little one were in the village. There’ll be a solicitor’s letter for me, too, I’ll warrant. She’ll recognize Mr. Slater’s name, guess what it’s about and worry until I open it.” He shrugged into his coat. “I’ll see you soon, lass. Goodnight.”

He strode out. Major’s hooves beat a tattoo on the cobbles. Chelle climbed the stairs and shut herself in her room.

Martin had come so far since he’d taken Leah home. His daughter meant everything to him. He couldn’t lose her now.

Chelle’s unfinished letter to Trey lay where she’d left it, on top of her writing case. She spread the letter on the nightstand and retrieved her pen and ink from the drawer.

Of course, you have no idea who Martin is. He’s Mr. Rainnie, Leah’s father. I’ve gotten to know him very well.

Another gust of wind rattled the window pane. Somehow, the lonesome sound made the distance between her and Trey feel endless. If only she could see him, tell him face to face about Martin. Trey had always read her so well. He’d likely have something to say that would help her make sense of her feelings.

Or would he? After all, he’d never had much to say about Rory. She’d never even told Trey the whole truth about why she and Rory had broken up.

Perhaps it was time she did.

Trey, there’s something I want to tell you. We didn’t have a lot of time to talk before Dad and I left for England. There was so much to do, and I didn’t want to make things harder for you or Dad, but now I want you to know.

I told you Rory and I broke up because he couldn’t accept our views on the war and the Confederacy. That was true, but there was more to it than that. The last time we spoke, I told him Dad wanted to go home. Rory said that he loved me and wanted to marry me and that he’d even spoken to his parents about it.

They weren’t pleased, but they agreed to an engagement, to last until the war ended and Rory came home. I’m sure they only bent that far because they didn’t want to part with Rory on bad terms, and they thought that by the time the war was over he’d change his mind. I could go to England with Dad in the meantime, but after I returned to Georgia and Rory and I were married, neither Dad nor you would be welcome at Pinehaven, and I wasn’t to visit either of you. We’d have no contact except by letter, and I wasn’t to mention either of you to the McAfees.

I don’t think any of this was Rory’s idea, and I don’t think he liked it, but he agreed to it. Perhaps he thought his parents would change their minds with time, but if so, I didn’t give him the chance to say so. I lost my temper and said he could tell his parents that I would always welcome my family in my home wherever that happened to be, and I wouldn’t dream of marrying a man who couldn’t welcome them, too.

I’m not telling you this to make you feel guilty. I’m telling you to make it clear that I have no regrets, and because I’m wondering now if, over the past eight months, I’ve grown enough and learned enough to be able to tell if I’m really in love or not.

If she had learned that much, it was because of Martin. Whatever the cost to herself, Chelle couldn’t repay him by costing him his daughter.

* * *

As he expected, Martin got home to find a letter from Mr. Slater waiting.

Jessie was outraged when he told her what it contained. “That’s rich when you think of how they treated their own daughter,” she snapped. “I’m surprised at the magistrate for even agreeing to hear them.”

“So am I when it comes to that, but who knows what the Paxtons told Mr. Slater. Anyway, we’ll find out at the hearing. Go on up to bed, Jessie. There’s naught to be gained by worrying. I’ll be going up soon myself.”

When Jessie had gone upstairs, Martin poured himself a drink and settled in his chair by the hearth. He didn’t expect to sleep, and he didn’t. Through the window, he watched the sky over the byre flush pink with dawn, then went out to do the chores. He came in to breakfast and found Jessie none the wiser that he hadn’t gone to bed at all.

Breakfast was barely cleared away when Hugh Paxton drove into the yard. Martin’s foul mood took an immediate turn for the worse. He swore under his breath, reached for his coat and slammed the door behind him. “Say what you came to say and be off, Hugh. You aren’t welcome here.”

Hugh climbed down from the seat and stood his ground, though from his expression it wasn’t easy. “I take it you’ve received Mr. Slater’s letter. Now you know I meant what I said the last time I was here. I don’t want that McShannon girl raising Eleanor’s child.”

Martin took a deep breath and clamped down on his anger. “I don’t believe you or Margaret really care a rap for Leah. This is all about Rochelle.”

Hugh swallowed hard, but he didn’t back away. “We know you’ve been keeping company with her. Delia Putnam has been telling all over Carston how you and Miss McShannon behaved at the harvest dance. She’s not one of us, to begin with, and she’s a brazen little wh—”

The furious rush of Martin’s pulse drowned out the rest of the word. He lashed out with both fists and felt them strike flesh, hard. Eleanor’s father landed in an unconscious heap on the cobbles.

“Christ.” As Martin’s rage faded, shock took over.

Jessie came running from the house, shivering without a coat. “Good Lord. What possessed you?” She knelt beside Hugh and chafed his wrist. “Don’t just stand there gaping, get him into the house and go for the doctor.”

Martin carried Hugh inside to the sofa and left him to Jessie’s care. His ride to the village echoed the night Leah was ill, with many of the same thoughts racing through his mind.
Please, God, I can’t lose her, too.
He’d never be able to live with himself if this cost him his daughter.

Doctor Halstead happened to be home. He took one look at Martin’s face and grabbed his medical bag. “What are her symptoms this time?”

“It isn’t Leah. I just punched Hugh Paxton senseless.”

The doctor completely lost his professional demeanor. “The devil you did. Where is he? How bad is he?”

“He’s at my place. He was unconscious when I left him. Jessie’s with him. Hurry, man.”

Home again, Martin stopped on the doorstep to prepare himself for the worst. He couldn’t fathom his relief when he opened the door and saw Hugh awake, propped up on pillows, holding a bag of ice to his jaw. Doctor Halstead hurried in and began examining him while Martin waited at the table with Jessie.

“He roused about five minutes after you left,” she whispered. “He’s sore and bruised, and in a rare temper with it, but that’s all if you ask me.”

Doctor Halstead joined them a few minutes later. “You’re lucky, Martin. There doesn’t seem to be any serious damage done. You’ll be facing a simple assault charge instead of anything worse.”

Assault charge?
Of course. Hugh would have a much better chance of getting custody of his granddaughter with her father cooling his heels in jail. A sentence of one or two weeks was all it would take, and the facts guaranteed that.

Leah sat by Jessie’s feet, playing quietly, a little subdued by the tension in the room. Martin picked his daughter up and held her close while he took a few deep, calming breaths, then he handed her to Jessie and crossed the room to the sofa. “Hugh, if Eleanor could see us now, she wouldn’t be pleased.”

Hugh shifted the bag of ice on his face and raised his stone-gray eyes to Martin’s. “Don’t speak of my daughter to me. You’ve chosen to replace her with a creature that isn’t fit to wipe her boots.” He swung his feet to the floor and squared his shoulders. “When I leave here, I’m driving into the village to lay charges against you. Tell Mrs. Mason to get Leah ready. She’s coming home with me.”

“No, she is not. Go and send the bailiff for me. That’s your right, but as long as I have legal custody of Leah, she isn’t leaving this house. Now be off. I’ve already said you aren’t welcome here.”

Leah started whimpering at the sound of his raised voice. Once Hugh was gone, Martin scooped her into his arms. “Sssh, lassie, it’ll be all right. I swear. There now.” He bounced her gently, looking at Jessie over his daughter’s head. “I’ll sort out this mess somehow. Take good care of her, Jessie, for however long it takes.”

* * *

The aroma of simmering applesauce greeted Chelle as she stepped into the warmth of the Fultons’ cottage. Kendra shifted little Davy to one arm and gave the pot a stir. “Come in and get warm. Would you mind holding him while I get this off the stove?”