Книга - Reclaiming His Past

Reclaiming His Past
Karen Kirst


No Possessions, No Memories, Not Even A Name!The wounded stranger found on Jessica O’Malley’s property has no idea who he is. And Jessica would be foolish to trust him after being proven so wrong about a former suitor who turned out to be a criminal. But Jessica’s wariness toward the newcomer is soon turning to interest…and hope.Until he knows his true identity, “Grant” can’t make a life in this quaint Tennessee town. He certainly shouldn’t be thinking so much about the feisty redhead with beautiful, guarded eyes. But even as he fights to keep a distance from Jessica, his feelings for her grow. And he can’t help but wonder if he’ll want to return to his old life when his past is revealed.Smoky Mountain Matches: Dreams of home and family come true in the Smoky Mountains







No Possessions, No Memories, Not Even a Name!

The wounded stranger found on Jessica O’Malley’s property has no idea who he is. And Jessica would be foolish to trust him after being proven so wrong about a former suitor who turned out to be a criminal. But Jessica’s wariness toward the newcomer is soon turning to interest...and hope.

Until he knows his true identity, “Grant” can’t make a life in this quaint Tennessee town. He certainly shouldn’t be thinking so much about the feisty redhead with beautiful, guarded eyes. But even as he fights to keep a distance from Jessica, his feelings for her grow. And he can’t help but wonder if he’ll want to return to his old life when his past is revealed.

Smoky Mountain Matches: Dreams of home and family come true in the Smoky Mountains


“You and I aren’t friends?” she said.

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.


KAREN KIRST was born and raised in East Tennessee near the Great Smoky Mountains. A lifelong lover of books, it wasn’t until after college that she had the grand idea to write one herself. Now she divides her time between being a wife, homeschooling mom and romance writer. Her favorite pastimes are reading, visiting tearooms and watching romantic comedies.


Reclaiming His Past

Karen Kirst




www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


I will instruct thee and teach thee in the way which thou shalt go: I will guide thee with mine eye.

—Psalms 32:8







To Kelly Young—who could’ve guessed we’d wind up in the same place? I’m so thankful for you and your family. Looking forward to many more years of friendship.


Contents

Cover (#u98771225-8c03-50d5-8cfa-f7d869c2d30d)

Back Cover Text (#ub4666892-9bba-50fa-bea5-174da841b438)

Introduction (#u03ed27eb-d53f-5e95-8e9b-8c122675dac8)

About the Author (#udb5f8c71-6a60-5b1d-8b38-2b75fd45e39a)

Title Page (#u8822140f-e80c-58fa-a877-ae3e86d047a2)

Bible Verse (#u7e790afb-785b-5523-b9bf-d3b78daa29c3)

Dedication (#u8aeb1d25-78db-5e89-a954-a54565b36dae)

Chapter One (#uea1722aa-10e4-5475-999a-af46b536c708)

Chapter Two (#ue3a14a0b-0ad6-5c27-8ab3-84d30bef4a10)

Chapter Three (#u412bec3f-16b2-5015-8f18-3111170ba86f)

Chapter Four (#u19134fb8-5f67-5ac1-a64e-cec1e5951be7)

Chapter Five (#u3b14619a-9fff-5a53-be78-dfc6539d1c38)

Chapter Six (#u26b50d1a-52d2-5772-9e00-fd543e0a2072)

Chapter Seven (#udd064149-8356-538b-8425-0fb9a2f4b54c)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One (#ulink_d5a5bffc-e375-5bd2-914f-6ad933df0349)

October 1885

Gatlinburg, Tennessee

It wasn’t easy staying angry at a dead man.

Jessica O’Malley hesitated in the barn’s entrance, the tang of fresh hay ripening the air. The horses whickered greetings from their stalls, beckoning her inside, probably hoping for a treat. She used to bring them carrots and apples. She used to enjoy spending time out here.

This place had become the source of her nightmares. Her gaze homed in on the spot where the man she’d loved had died defending her. The bloodstain was long gone, but the image of Lee as she’d held him during those final, soul-wrenching moments would be with her for as long as she lived.

His whispered apology, his last uttered words, came to her during those nights she couldn’t sleep. At times she missed him so much it hurt to breathe. Other times she wished she could give him a piece of her mind. How could he have been so reckless, so irresponsible with their future?

If he’d been honest with her, if he’d made different choices, she wouldn’t be living this lonely, going-through-the-motions existence She wouldn’t be a shadow of her former self, clueless how to reclaim the fun-loving girl she once was.

Lost in troubling memories, she was wrenched back to the present by a weak cry for help. Her empty milk pail slipping from her fingers, Jessica hurried to investigate. She and her mother lived alone on the farm. And right this minute, her mother was inside the cabin preparing breakfast. She surged around the barn’s exterior corner and had to grope the weathered wall for support at the unexpected sight of a bruised and battered man near the smokehouse.

He was hatless and looked as if he’d romped in a leaf pile, and his golden-blond hair was messy. “Can you help me?”

“Who are you? What do you want?”

He dropped to his knees, one hand outstretched and the other clutching his side. Jessica belatedly noticed the blood soaking through his tattered shirt. Bile rose into her throat. Lee’s gunshot wound had done the same to his clothing. There’d been so much. It had covered her hands. Her dress. Even the straw covering the barn floor had been drenched with it.

“Please...ma’am...”

The distress in his scraped-raw voice galvanized her into action. Searching the autumn-draped woods fanning out behind her farm’s outbuildings, she hurried to his side and ducked beneath his arm. She barely had time to absorb the impact of his celestial blue eyes on hers. “What happened to you?”

“I...don’t remember.”

Struggling to help him stand, she shot him a disbelieving look. At this moment, she supposed it didn’t matter how he’d come to be on her property. He required immediate medical attention. “Let’s get you inside.”

Several inches taller and made of solid muscle, he leaned heavily on her, his hitched breaths testament to his discomfort. His uneven gait made the distance to her two-story cabin seem impossible.

His injuries likely hadn’t resulted from a wagon accident or a toss from the saddle. “Should I be worried someone will show up here to finish the job?”

The split on his full lower lip reopened when he frowned deeply. Dark blond stubble lined his hard cheeks and chin. “Can’t say. My mind’s gone hazy.”

Can’t or won’t? Either he was rattled, or he was reluctant to admit the truth. Perhaps he thought she’d refuse him aid if he did.

When they reached the main door, he sagged against the notched logs, eyes closed, chest heaving. Beneath his tan, a deep purple bruise blossomed over his cheekbone. What sort of trouble had befallen him?

“Just a few more steps,” she urged, compassion eclipsing suspicion. “Then you can rest.”

His golden lashes fluttered, and his startling gaze locked on to hers. “Thank you.”

Confusion and pain swirled in the depths, yet he’d taken the time to express gratitude. Yanking the door open, she called for her mother. He was too big and heavy for her to maneuver into the bedroom on her own, and his strength was fading fast.

“Is something the matter?” Alice advanced into the room wiping her hands on the apron stretched across her plump figure, bushy brows lifting above her spectacles. “Who’s this?”

“I was about to milk Sadie when I heard him outside. Can you help me get him into Jane’s room?”

Halfway to the couch, he stumbled, his hand curling into the wet, stained fabric of his shirt. A weak groan escaped him. Jessica prayed he wouldn’t collapse right there on their living room floor.

“Just a little farther,” she grunted.

Having spent her entire life in these mountains, her ma had dealt with more than her fair share of mishaps. Solemn yet determined, she hurried over and took his other arm. Together they got him to her sister’s old room and stripped the quilt off the bed before lowering him onto it.

“Let’s see your wound, young man.” Alice edged his bloodied hand aside.

Jessica transferred her attention to his boots and began working them off.

“Looks like a knife’s to blame.” Alice’s tone was grave. “It’s too deep for me to stitch up. We need Doc Owens.”

Grabbing a towel from the washstand, Alice leaned across and pressed it against his opposite flank.

“You go, Mama. I’ll stay with him.”

“I’m not sure that’s the best idea.”

“I am.” She was far more comfortable with firearms than her ma. Thanks to her cousins’ patient instruction, she’d learned to protect herself. “I can handle this.”

The stranger dwarfed the bed, his body rigid atop the mattress, his head deep in the pillow and his teeth gritted. Images of Lee, wounded and dying on the barn floor, bombarded her. The boots hit the floor with a clatter.

He flinched.

“Jessica.” Her ma was looking at her with a knowing, sympathetic expression that she’d grown to loathe this past year, one that made her feel as if she was five years old again. “You don’t have to prove anything to me.”

Sinking onto the mattress edge, she gently dislodged her ma’s hand. “I’m not trying to prove anything. I’m armed. You’re not. When was the last time you shot a gun, anyway?”

“Too long.” With a shake of her head, Alice began untying her apron strings. Wisps of her silver-streaked brown hair had escaped her loose bun to dance about her hairline. “Are you certain you don’t mind? I know how you get around this sort of thing.”

“I’m certain.”

“I’ll hurry.”

“Be careful. And don’t worry about me.”

“That’s like telling a robin not to fly,” she said wryly.

Her mother left her with the mystery man, the swish of the clock’s pendulum punctuating the bed’s creaking beneath their combined weight. Long lashes fanned against his cheeks. He possessed handsome, open features that made it hard to guess his age. Jessica figured him to be in his midtwenties.

His forehead screwed up. “Think I’m gonna be sick.”

Seizing the patterned washbowl, she struggled to maintain pressure on his injury as he tipped over the side of the bed. Unwanted sympathy welled in her chest. He collapsed against the pillow minutes later, perspiration dotting his brow.

Blond strands stuck to his forehead, and the impulse to smooth them back surprised her.

“False alarm, I guess,” he murmured.

“Hold the towel in position. I’ll be right back.”

Jessica darted into her room across the hall and retrieved the tin of homemade ginger candies from her bedside cabinet.

“Try one.” Resuming her spot, she held one out to him. “They’re good at relieving an upset stomach.”

When he’d complied, he glanced out the single window situated square in the middle of the log wall. Jane’s old room faced the rear of their property. There wasn’t much behind the cabin besides the well and outhouse. Beyond the small clearing, a thick deciduous forest dominated their property.

“Where are we?”

“In my home.”

“No, I mean what part of the country?”

“Tennessee. The eastern section. Gatlinburg, to be exact. About a day and a half’s ride from Knoxville.”

A worried crease pulled his eyebrows together. “I don’t know why I’m here.”

An air of uncertainty shrouded him. Was there a legitimate reason her earlier questions had gone unanswered?

“Have you hit your head?”

He sank his fingers into the short blond locks. He grimaced as he tentatively probed a place behind his ear. “Something did. There’s a knot here.”

“Can you tell me your name?”

“Of course. It’s...” Uncertainty flashed in his blue, blue eyes. “It’s, ah...” He blanched. “I—I don’t know. I can’t remember. I can’t remember anything.”

Jessica studied him. Either he was a seasoned con man, or the blow had scattered his memories.

* * *

Hands fisting in the mattress ticking, he fought the panic rippling through him.

His head felt as if it had been crushed beneath a loaded wagon wheel. The flesh where he’d been gutted like a fish burned hot, and the redhead’s shifting weight as she stemmed the blood flow only served to inflame it further. The ache in his busted ankle was bearable by comparison.

Shoving all that aside, he tried to sort out the facts of his life. He’d woken facedown in the woods not far from this cabin, with no idea how he’d gotten there. A blank, black void prevented him from remembering. Faces scrolled through his mind, vaguely familiar and yet not. One clear memory replayed itself—a young boy calling to him, beckoning him to come and climb a tree.

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

The ginger candy dissolved on his tongue. His stomach had calmed as she’d said it would.

“Waking up on your property.” Hurt. Disoriented. “Before that, I recall patches of information. People whose identities and how they relate to me I can’t grasp.”

Disbelief shimmered in eyes the color of forest moss. She had expressive eyes, almond-shaped and rimmed with cinnamon-hued lashes and topped with bold, slashing eyebrows. High cheekbones were offset by a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Her expressive mouth twisted in open irritation.

“I don’t blame you for not trusting me,” he said. “I wouldn’t believe me, either.”

Her gaze dropped to his wound for a second before skittering to the window draped with lacy white curtains. Beyond the glass, the cloudless sky was a brilliant blue. He realized he didn’t even know what month it was. Or the year.

The panic pounced, constricting his lungs until he thought he’d suffocate.

Focus on the here and now. Maintain control.

“Your name is Jessica, right?”

Seated close, her chocolate-hued skirts spread over the ticking, she had to lean across him to reach his injury. Her long hair, restrained by a shiny brown ribbon, spilled over her ivory blouse like deep red silk. “Is it just you and your ma living here?”

“Why do you ask?” She visibly bristled.

“No reason.” He gestured to indicate the space decorated in bold hues of red, white and blue. The handmade quilt folded over the footboard had repeating diamond shapes, and a flag design dominated the hooked rug beside the bed. Maps of various sizes had been pinned to the wall. A stack of books joined a dusty jewelry box atop the dresser. “I hope I haven’t taken over your room.”

“This used to be my sister’s. She’s married now.”

Her reticence wasn’t surprising. Why wouldn’t she be concerned for her safety? She couldn’t know his intentions, whether or not he meant her harm.

Unease niggled at the base of his skull. “Have you lived here your whole life?”

“Yes.”

“Suppose that means I’m not a local, seeing as you don’t recognize me.”

“Your accent isn’t Southern.”

“It’s not exactly Northern, either. I could’ve moved here at some point.”

“Perhaps.” She shifted again, her hand digging into his flank. He sucked in a sharp breath. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “Look, I’m not going to hand you an opportunity to take advantage of us, so you might as well cease with the questions. As soon as Doc gets here, he’s going to stitch you up and take you away. I’m certain the sheriff will be interested in discussing your situation.”

His unease grew. What sort of man was he? The law-abiding, church-going sort? Or someone who lived according to his own code of ethics? Not knowing was tougher to handle than any physical discomfort.

“Meeting with the sheriff is a good idea,” he said, exploring the knot beneath his hair again. “I apologize for making you uncomfortable. And for invading your home like this.”

She said nothing, contemplating him with that cool, assessing gaze. “Pretty words. You play a convincing victim. I’m reserving judgment until we see whether or not your likeness matches one of the town’s wanted posters.”

Victim? That label didn’t sit well with him. He wasn’t about to argue with her, though.

“You’re right to be wary of me.” Weariness that went far beyond his physical condition settled over him like the blackest night. He lifted his hand so that it hovered above his leaking wound. “I’ll take over now.”

His unenthusiastic hostess removed herself from the bed and backed toward the door, leaving the faint scent of roses in her wake. A rose with thorns, he thought, soaking in her innocent, vibrant beauty that seemed to be at odds with the prickly, glaring distrust in her eyes.

“You must be thirsty. I’ll bring water.”

“Could I trouble you for a mirror first?”

Inclining her head, she disappeared into the room across the way again, returning with a carved handheld mirror.

“Appreciate it.”

She hovered a moment before quitting the room and giving him the privacy he craved. Heart thundering, he slowly brought the mirror to face level and peered at his reflection. No spark of recognition. No jarred memory. Nothing.

He was staring at the face of a stranger.


Chapter Two (#ulink_292f6417-63d0-51c6-ba77-b8deaa23cda8)

“I’ve completed my examination.”

Gatlinburg’s only doctor—middle-aged, distinguished and a stranger to frivolity—entered the kitchen after being closeted with their visitor for more than an hour.

Jessica gave the vegetable soup a final stir, the aroma of potatoes, carrots and pungent greens causing her stomach to rumble.

“How is he?” Alice poured hot, black coffee into a blue enamel mug and carried it to him.

Depositing his scuffed medical bag on the table they used as a work space, he accepted her offering and sipped the steaming brew. “He’s a fortunate young man. If the cut had been any deeper, I would’ve had to perform surgery. Now, if we can stave off infection, he should heal without complications.”

“Poor man.” Alice twisted the plain wedding band on her fourth finger. Jessica’s pa had been gone for many years, but her mother liked the reminder of him. “We heard his suffering clear out here, didn’t we?”

Jessica clamped her lips together. His pitiful moans still echoed through her mind.

“He refused my offer of laudanum,” Doc said.

“It’s quiet now.” Jessica busied herself slicing up the corn bread, trying not to think of the agony he’d endured. For all she knew, he’d been the one to instigate the violent encounter. He could be a thief. He could’ve ambushed someone, and that person fought back.

“He eventually lost consciousness.” Silver hair gleaming in the midmorning light streaming through the kitchen window, Doc cradled the mug in his bear-paw hands.

Jessica shook her head to dislodge the image of the blond stranger in Jane’s old bed, as weak as a kitten and vulnerable.

“He claims to have lost his memory,” she said. “Do you believe him?”

“While I haven’t personally treated any patients with amnesia, I’ve read about numerous cases. Each one is slightly different. The young man has suffered head trauma, so it’s plausible.”

Her ma’s age-spotted hands rested on the chair back. “Not everyone has a hidden agenda, Jessica.”

Tired of the vague references to Lee and his perfidy, she sighed. “We know nothing about him.” Wiping the crumbs from the knife, she addressed the doctor. “Besides, it’s hardly our problem. You’ll be moving him to your residence right away, I assume.”

He grimaced. “My rooms are occupied with other patients, I’m afraid. If you’re uncomfortable with him here, I can look for another family to take him in.”

“What about his injuries?” Alice asked.

“At this point, moving him would exacerbate them.”

Jessica hugged her middle to calm her churning insides. “Ma, he could be a dangerous criminal. He could have enemies searching for him.”

“Or he could be an upstanding young man who met with an unfortunate accident. Would you turn him out on the slim chance he’s pretending to have amnesia?”

As much as she hated to admit it, her mother had a point. There was no way to know for sure. What if he was one of the good guys, and they turned him away? His further suffering would be her fault.

“Would one of your nephews be willing to spend a few nights here?” Doc shifted his weight. “Having another man around might ease your concerns.”

“They’ve got their own families.”

“Will might do it.” Her cousin Nathan’s young brother-in-law wouldn’t mind. Will Tanner was always up for an adventure, but levelheaded enough that he’d be helpful if danger presented itself.

“Good idea. I’ll go and speak to him after lunch.” Pulling serving bowls from the hutch, Alice addressed the doctor over her shoulder. “Would you care to join us, Doc?”

“Next time, perhaps. My wife’s expecting me.” Draining his mug, he gathered his bag. “I’ll come tomorrow and check on the patient. If you have any problems before then, you know where to find me.”

“Jessica, would you mind seeing Doc out while I deliver soup to our young man?”

Our young man? She suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. Her mother’s never-ending well of compassion was admirable most days. Today was different.

“I’ll take it to him.” This was the perfect time to deliver a warning. He’d soon discover she’d do anything to protect her family. Past mistakes had carved lessons onto her heart that she wasn’t about to repeat.

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

Jessica didn’t miss her look of surprised approval. No doubt she thought Doc’s assessment had erased her misgivings.

“What are we supposed to call him?” she asked Doc. “If he’s going to remain here for any length of time, we can’t keep referring to him as the patient.”

He stroked his chin in thoughtful concentration. “I suggest you discuss the matter with him. Let him choose a name.”

Ma’s smile held a world of sympathy. “Hopefully he’ll remember his true name before long.”

Jessica wished she’d inherited a smidgen of her ma’s positive outlook.

While the pair conversed on the porch, Jessica assembled his meal.

He appeared to be asleep when she entered the room. Sliding the tray onto the bedside table, she brought a chair from the dining room and sat, prepared to be patient. She noticed Doc had cleaned up his hands. Pink and raw in places, one knuckle was busted, indicating he’d used them in the scuffle. For fending off an attacker? Or for inflicting damage?

Uncertainty waged war inside her. He didn’t look dangerous. Lying there in her sister’s old bed, he looked forlorn. In need of a helping hand. And if they didn’t help him, who would? They had ample space, food to spare, and, unlike many households in these mountains, there were no children underfoot. He’d have peace and quiet to speed his recovery.

This blond-haired, blue-eyed stranger was someone’s son. Possibly someone’s brother or cousin or even husband. If one of her loved ones was in the same predicament, she’d be begging God to keep him safe. To place him in the path of decent people.

While Jessica wasn’t pleased with her mother’s decision, offering him shelter and meeting his basic needs didn’t mean she had to suspend caution. Even before her life became entangled with Lee Cavanaugh’s, her outlook hadn’t been all sunshine and rainbows. Now it was positively morose. She anticipated the worst. Expected people to fail her. Or deceive her.

God was no doubt displeased with this manner of thinking, but she wasn’t sure how to undo what had been done.

He stirred, the quilt covering his lower body sliding low on his waist. His bloodied shirt had been disposed of, and a long-sleeved white cotton undershirt hugged his shoulders, sculpted chest and flat stomach. Thick padding covered his wound beneath the fabric.

The man would benefit from a bath and a shave. He wore his fair hair short on the sides, with slightly longer strands sweeping over his forehead. The brown cast of his skin indicated he worked outdoors.

“How long have I been out?”

His raspy inquiry snapped her out of her inspection. “Nearly an hour. I’ve brought you soup and some buttered bread. Do you feel up to eating?”

Hefting himself up so that the headboard supported his back, he studied the tray’s contents. “I’ll try the bread first, thanks.”

When he’d finished, she handed him the still-warm bowl. “The soup is rather strong. If it’s not to your liking, I can make a thin broth.”

“No need to go to any extra trouble.” His disconcerting gaze locked on her, he tested it. “It’s very good.”

“Did Doc give you anything for that busted lip?”

The bowl cradled against his chest, he shook his head. “It’ll heal soon enough.”

“Why didn’t you want anything for the pain?” She gestured to the padding beneath his shirt. “Must’ve been horrible.”

“Medicine messes with your head. I figure mine’s messed up enough.” Shadows passed over his face. “Plus, I’m uncomfortable with the idea of not being in control of my actions.”

A stilted silence blanketed them. When he’d polished off half the contents and handed the bowl back to her, he rested his folded hands on his middle.

“I didn’t expect to wake and find you watching over me.”

The muted mischief in his eyes needled her. “That’s not what I was doing,” she huffed.

“Why don’t you tell me the true reason, then? Afraid I might swipe something of your sister’s?”

She arched a brow at him. “It’s been decided that you will remain here until you’ve recuperated.”

“I can tell you’re pleased.” Wry humor touched his mobile mouth.

He would laugh at her, would he? Her movements measured, she made a show of removing the Colt Lightning from her ankle holster. Barrel pointed to the wall, she lazily spun the full chamber. “I have no problem protecting what’s mine.” She smiled tightly. “A benefit from growing up with three competitive, slightly overbearing males.”

Her warning didn’t shock or anger him. If anything, his humor increased, joined by open admiration. “A woman who can take care of herself. I like that. So you have brothers?”

“Cousins. Their family’s property adjoins ours.”

“And you have one sister?”

“Four, actually. I’m the youngest.”

“Are you the only one still living at home?”

The question was innocent enough, yet it unleashed a rock slide of hurt and disappointment. She was the last unwed O’Malley sister. Growing up, Jessica hadn’t obsessed over boys, hadn’t daydreamed about her future husband. She’d wanted a family of her own, of course. Someday. Once she’d reached marriageable age, she’d become friendly with a few interesting men. Nothing serious had developed. She’d been content with her single life until a dashing young man from Virginia moved to town. Suddenly, love and marriage became a priority. She’d wanted it all.

She replaced her weapon. “My life’s details aren’t important. Yours are. Doc thinks you should think up a name for yourself.”

His expression altered, and she almost felt sorry she’d introduced the subject.

“Right. I suppose I do need one.” His exhale was shaky. “Nothing comes to mind.”

“You could choose something classic, like John or James. Or you could go with a decidedly Biblical name, like Hezekiah. Or Malachi.”

The softening of his mouth gave Jessica a strange feeling...something akin to satisfaction that she’d lightened his burden.

“Any more suggestions?” he said.

She strove for something unexpected. “Wiley? Fentress?”

“This is too bizarre.”

“If I were you, I’d settle on something simple. You don’t want to get too attached.”

“On the other hand, I might be saddled with this name for the rest of my life.” He absently rubbed the knot behind his ear.

“You remind me of a boy I went to school with. His name was Grant Harper.”

That startled him out of his melancholy. “I do?”

“He had the same fair coloring as you.” And the same roguish streak cloaked in innocence.

“What happened to him?” His eyes narrowed.

“Nothing dramatic. His family moved away about five years ago to be closer to his grandparents.”

He stared up at the rafters, quiet for long minutes. “Grant, huh?”

“What do you think? Can you live with it?”

“It’ll do. Just don’t expect me to answer to it right away.”

“Understood.” She rose to leave.

“Jessica?” His expression turned earnest. “You have nothing to fear from me. I won’t harm you or your mother.”

She didn’t answer. Nodding, she left him, all too aware of how convincing a person could be when the stakes were high.

* * *

He stared at the doorway his intriguing hostess had vacated rather abruptly. He wondered what or who was responsible for the guardedness in her eyes. His arrival on her doorstep couldn’t be the sole cause.

Nevertheless, she didn’t want him here.

He’d rather be anywhere but here, at the mercy of strangers, an unwelcome guest with no past and an uncertain future. His sole possessions were the clothes on his back. He had nothing with which to repay their kindness. No matter what type of man he’d been before, it galled him now to be a recipient of charity.

So he was to be called Grant. He had no strong feelings about those particular five letters. It was nice and ordinary. A simple name, Jessica had said. But it likely wasn’t the one he’d been born with.

What am I supposed to do, Lord Jesus?

His heart rate doubled. That had been a spontaneous prayer. He must be a man of faith. Wasn’t difficult to believe in a divine Creator. All a man had to do was look around and see the evidence... Someone hung the stars in the sky, molded the mountains, carved the riverbeds, imagined the vast varieties of animals into being.

He squeezed his eyes shut and offered up a plea. Heavenly Father, I’m in desperate need of Your guidance. The doctor’s not sure if I’ll ever recover my memories. I’m lost. Alone.

“Grant?”

Mrs. O’Malley approached his bedside, her eyes kind behind the spectacles.

“I hope it’s all right that I call you Grant. Jessica told me you’d settled on it.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

There was little resemblance between her and her youngest daughter. Short and plump, the woman had liberal amounts of gray streaked through the brown hair she wore pinned into a thick bun. She was dressed conservatively in a serviceable blouse and black skirt, a ruffled apron with pockets covering the entire front. She possessed a maternal air he’d missed growing up.

Hold on a minute. How had he known that?

“Is your head paining you, son?”

He realized he’d been gripping his head. “I—I think I’ve remembered something.”

“Oh? That’s wonderful.”

Alice didn’t press him. “Nothing specific. It was just an impression.”

“Any progress, no matter how big or small, is a positive thing.” Smiling, she eased into the chair. “Doc said to tell you he’ll bring a cane when he checks on you tomorrow. You’re not to put weight on that ankle.”

“I can’t thank you enough for allowing me to stay, Mrs. O’Malley. I regret putting you out like this.”

“Call me Alice, please. You’re not a burden. The good Lord has blessed us, and we’re eager to pass those blessings on to others. We’re happy to aid you in any way we can.”

Her daughter didn’t share in that particular sentiment. “As soon as I’m able, I’ll work off my debt.” He’d show Miss Jessica O’Malley that he wasn’t a lazy, no-good excuse of a man who preyed on women’s generosity.

“Don’t worry about that. Concentrate on getting well.” Cocking her head to one side, she lifted a finger to stop her spectacles’ downward slide. “How has Jessica been treating you?”

“She’s been very attentive.”

While she hadn’t tried to hide her dislike, she’d taken pains to see to his comfort. There’d been compassion in her expression when he’d embarrassed himself by almost being sick in front of her.

Alice twisted her hands. “Jessica isn’t one to hide her feelings. She’s always been my most outspoken offspring. If she does come across as somewhat difficult, bear in mind that she’s been through a terrible ordeal and hasn’t allowed herself to heal.”

He kept his silence. Inside, his thoughts whirled out of control. To what was she referring to?

“I probably shouldn’t have mentioned it.” Glancing toward the hallway, she sighed. “A mother never stops worrying about her children.” Pushing out of the chair, she said, “I’ve got an errand to run. Try to get some rest.”

When she’d gone, he turned his attention to the view beyond the window glass, not really seeing the trees arrayed in brilliant crimson, orange and gold framed by majestic mountain ridges. Curiosity ate at him. The alluring, feisty redhead was as much a mystery as his past. The only difference being that, with time, persistence and a little finesse, he could unravel hers.


Chapter Three (#ulink_46eefb6f-f5ae-52eb-a92f-35780cff95c6)

Of all the farms in these mountains, he just had to go and wind up on theirs.

Jessica didn’t need another complication. She had enough to deal with without adding an aggravating male to the mix. Chopping the mound of raisins into tiny slivers, she tried to rein in her frustration.

Why did You lead him here, Lord? Why did You choose us to be his caretakers?

Of course, there wasn’t an answer. There never was. She’d been asking God why for a long time. She’d come to despise the silence.

Laying down the knife, she turned to check the almonds bubbling atop the stove. The heat from the firebox wrapped around her, and she was considering opening the rear door to let in fresh air when she heard the slide of stocking feet across the floorboards.

“What are you doing out of bed?” she exclaimed.

“The walls were closing in.” His lips contorted into a half grin, half grimace.

Looking scary-pale and about a second from collapsing, their patient—Grant, she must remember—reached for the closest sturdy object, which happened to be a ladder-back chair at the table. She rushed to his side. Without thinking, she wrapped an arm about his waist and took some of his weight as he slumped into the seat. Hovering there for a moment, she waited to make sure he wasn’t going to lose consciousness.

“You could’ve ripped the stitches open.” Her fingers digging into her waist, she felt the sting of temper flare in her cheeks. “And Ma said you weren’t supposed to walk on that ankle.”

“It’s sweet how concerned you are for my well-being,” he panted, an outrageous twinkle in his eye.

“You keep mistaking my intentions,” she said through gritted teeth. “The fact of the matter is, the faster you heal, the sooner you leave.”

“Ah. Well, I promise to be a good boy and return to my room before Miss Alice comes back.”

Jessica rolled her eyes. She refused to give in to his charm.

Satisfied he wasn’t going to slide to the floor, she retrieved the kettle and set about fixing him tea, uncomfortably aware of his steady regard. It had been ages since she’d spent one-on-one time with any man outside her family. Perhaps she wouldn’t be so bothered by his presence if he were older and had warts on his nose.

“Smells like Christmas in here. What are you making?”

“A cake.”

“What’s the special occasion?”

Crossing to the hutch, she removed a delicate blue-and-white teacup and saucer. “Mrs. Ledbetter is turning fifty on Sunday. She commissioned me to make her birthday cake.”

“You must be a talented baker.”

She shrugged. “I know my way around a kitchen.”

For years now, she and Jane had earned income by providing desserts to the Plum Café. Every day save for Sunday, they’d baked pies, cakes and assorted treats for delivery before the evening meal. When the café switched owners in August, the sisters hadn’t anticipated the new one wouldn’t require their services. The canceled agreement had come as a shock, and the extra money she’d grown accustomed to had all but dried up.

These personal orders helped but weren’t consistent.

Grant sat with one arm tucked against his ribs, his busted hand resting protectively over his wound. “Have you ever thought about opening your own shop?”

Jessica inhaled sharply. Lee had asked that exact question right there on their front porch. At the time, she and Jane had been comfortable with their arrangement with Mrs. Greene, the former owner. The notion had struck them as far-fetched. In recent weeks, dogged by a restlessness she couldn’t pin down, she’d revisited the idea.

“I mean, I haven’t sampled your food,” he went on, “so I couldn’t say if folks would pay money for it. For all I know, this Mrs. Ledbetter hired you because she feels sorry for you.”

She set the cup carelessly on the work surface, and it rattled in its saucer. “I’ll have you know, folks around here clamor for my baked goods. My sister and I have a reputation as the finest bakers this side of the Tennessee River.”

Soft laughter rumbled through his chest. Jessica stood immobile, affected by his grin, the flash of straight, white teeth, the way his entire face lit up like a vivid autumn day. Between those sparkling bright eyes and the boyish smile, this man was downright lethal to a woman’s good sense.

“You are infuriating, you know that?”

“And you, Jessica O’Malley, are easy to rile.”

Attempting to stifle her growing irritation, she proceeded to ignore him as she readied his tea. She didn’t say a word when she placed the cup and honey jar in front of him.

She gasped the instant his fingers encircled her wrist and prevented her from moving away. His skin was hot, rough in places, the bones underneath strong. Working man’s hands.

His face tilted up in appeal. Up close, in this sunny, cheerful kitchen, she could see the large bruise on his cheekbone, the split in the middle of his lower lip, threads of navy interwoven with cerulean blue in his irises. There was a jagged scratch on his neck she hadn’t noticed before.

Despite the fact his presence was like a splinter beneath her skin, this man had endured a lot of pain. Nothing in his current situation was familiar. Her heart thawed another degree, and it frightened her.

“Apparently I’m a tease.” His soft voice cloaked her. “Maybe I grew up with a passel of sisters.”

“It’s also possible you have a fiancée or wife somewhere out there who’s willing to put up with you.”

Dismay creased his brow, and he released her. “Maybe.”

Feeling as if she’d kicked an injured dog, she went and removed the almonds from the stove and transferred the heavy sack of flour to the counter. How would she feel if her entire life had been wiped clean like a slate? Her loved ones, her home, forgotten?

It hurt to imagine.

Measuring out the flour, she risked a glance at Grant, who was quietly sipping his tea, lost in thought.

“Would you like for me to wash your hair? After I finish with this?”

At his startled reaction, she bit the inside of her cheek. Where had that come from? Her guilty conscience?

He lowered his cup, touched a hand to his nape. “That would be wonderful. If you’re sure you don’t mind.”

“You wouldn’t make it to the stream in your condition,” she quipped, striving for an offhanded tone. “This is the next best option.”

He lumbered to his feet. “And I’m sure you’d appreciate it if I didn’t smell like yesterday’s hog slop.”

Jessica almost admitted that was not the case. She’d been in close contact with him twice now and hadn’t been offended. He smelled of earth and leaves, leather and spruce. He smelled like the forest.

“That’s right,” she replied instead. “I’d much rather you smell like my favorite rose-scented soap.”

“Roses. Now, that’s masculine.” His attempt at lightheartedness was unsuccessful. “Thanks for the tea.” There was a stiffness to his manner that hadn’t been there before. “I’ll leave you to your work.”

Returning her spoon to the bowl, she wiped her hands on her apron and trailed him to the dining space that housed a larger, more formal table. Between the busted ankle and tender side, his progress was incredibly slow.

He stopped her with an upheld hand. “No need to follow me. I can make it on my own steam. May take a while, but I’ll get there.”

She started to argue—her wish to be rid of him not the only reason for her concern—before thinking better of it. She may have grown up in an all-female household, but having Josh, Nathan and Caleb for neighbors and playmates had taught her much about the male ego. Grant was already beholden to them, dependent on their whims. He wouldn’t appreciate any further coddling.

Returning to the kitchen, her attempts to push him out of her thoughts failed spectacularly.

* * *

He woke with aching muscles and a head full of cotton.

Contemplating the yellow-hazed dusk blanketing the mountain view, he took a full minute to remember where he was. The soft click of metal alerted him to the fact he wasn’t alone. Adjusting the pillow beneath his cheek, he studied his self-appointed sentinel in the glow of lantern light, admiring the way her hair shimmered like liquid fire rippling over her shoulder.

The light smattering of freckles added an air of playfulness to her otherwise elegant features. False advertisement, in his opinion. He’d yet to glimpse any upbeat emotion in her. He wondered how she’d look without the sour attitude, found it tough to imagine her laughing, her eyes brimming with warmth and good humor.

What had stolen her joy?

A furrow pulled her fine eyebrows together, and her mouth was again pressed into a frown. Her focus was centered on the half-finished project in her lap. Various-colored yarns filled the basket at her feet.

“What are you working on?”

She lifted her molten gaze, her expression frustratingly blank. “A new rug for the rear entrance.”

“You shoot, bake and create works of art out of yarn and burlap. You’re a woman of many talents.”

“No more than any other woman in these mountains.”

“I’ve been out awhile, haven’t I? Did you put something in my tea?”

Abandoning her task, she folded her hands together in a show of exaggerated patience. One flame-hued brow arched. “Yes. I doctored it so that you’d sleep the remainder of your recovery away. Guess I didn’t put enough in there.”

Grant laughed, then winced when his stitches pulled and pain radiated toward his hip.

“You were asleep when I came in to wash your hair,” she said. “I didn’t want to disturb you.”

He noticed the quilt had been adjusted, pulled up to chest level and tucked around him. Weak and trembling from his ill-advised journey through the cabin, he hadn’t bothered with it when he’d lain down earlier. She must’ve thought he was chilled. While the thought of Jessica watching him sleep was unnerving, being the recipient of her nurturing instinct filled him with strange fluttery sensations. Especially considering her antipathy toward him.

“Instead of waking you, I went exploring in the general area around the smokehouse. I found something.”

He carefully maneuvered into a sitting position, his stomach going sideways. “What is it?”

Putting her things in the basket, she rose and, crossing to the corner, retrieved an alligator-skin travel bag.

His heart threatened to burst from his chest as she placed it on his lap. He ran his fingertips across the bumpy surface. “Doesn’t look familiar.”

“I almost missed it. It was half-hidden beneath a shrub, some of the contents strewn over the ground.”

His fingers fumbled on the clasp. One by one, he lifted out items that proved ambiguous. Two changes of clothes, sturdy trousers with well-worn hems and solid-color shirts, didn’t spark recognition. Socks. A black handkerchief that looked new. A razor and shaving soap. Basic traveling necessities that could belong to anyone.

Then he saw the Bible lying in the bottom. His gaze shot to Jessica’s. Her expression was unreadable as she stood, hands folded behind her back.

He balanced the heavy tome in his hands. His heartbeat thundered in his ears. There, on the filmy, delicate first page, a name had been scrawled in blocky letters. “I can’t make out the first name,” he murmured. “Parker is the surname.”

“Does it trigger any memories?”

“No.” Defeat marred his tone. He rubbed the coffee-colored stain obscuring much of the first name. “This looks like an uppercase G.”

“Your name could be Gabriel.” Something flickered in her eyes. He sensed she wanted to trust this wasn’t an act.

“Or Gilbert.”

Leaning over, she studied the entry. “I can’t decipher it.”

“Why can’t I remember my own name?” Frustration built inside him. Closing his eyes, he pinched the bridge of his nose. “We can’t know for sure if this is truly mine.”

He would not give in to the panic. Keep it together. She already thinks you’re suspect. Falling to pieces won’t help your case.

She unfolded a shirt and held it out in front of her. “Looks like it would fit you.”

Regulating his breathing, he forced his gaze to hers. “I know you have theories about me. I’d like to hear them.”

Jessica lowered the shirt, her surprise evident. “I doubt that.”

“I can’t say for certain, but I have a feeling I’m a practical kind of guy. No use avoiding the unpleasantness of life. Just delays the inevitable.”

“All right.” Sinking into the chair once more, she finger-combed her mane with long, meditative strokes. “Most obvious theory? You’re an outlaw on the run from authorities or rival criminals.”

“Am I a notorious outlaw or a basic, run-of-the-mill criminal?”

“You’re a man who’s conflicted about your misdeeds.”

“That’s good to know,” he said wryly. “Next theory.”

“You stole another man’s wife.”

He shook his head, such a thing unfathomable. “I stole another man’s horse.”

She tapped her chin. “You swindled someone in a business deal.”

This game of pretend wasn’t helping his dark mood. “Let’s move on to the theories where I’m the good guy, shall we?”

A slim gold ring with a ruby setting flashed on her right hand. “Okay. You were traveling through the area, minding your own business, when you were ambushed by ruffians.”

“Sounds plausible.” And much more palatable than anything else she’d thrown at him. “There’s no money in this bag or on my person. I wouldn’t have traveled without funds.”

She nodded. “You could’ve stored the money in your saddlebags, which they took along with your horse.”

He rested a hand atop the Bible. “Could I be a circuit-riding preacher?”

She looked dubious. “We don’t really have those in these parts. Are there notes on the pages? A preacher would probably have written down thoughts and ideas, underlined important verses.”

While the pages appeared well-worn, and a couple of passages in Psalms had been underlined, he didn’t see any handwriting. “I could’ve recorded my thoughts and sermons in a separate journal.”

“The Bible could mean one of two things—either you treasure it so much you couldn’t bear to travel without it, or you treasure the person who gave it to you. A parent or grandparent would be the most likely candidate.”

“I uttered a prayer earlier. It wasn’t something I actively thought about.”

“That’s good.” Clasping her hands together, she said, “Jane is better at this than I am. She’s more inventive.”

He seized on the rare revelation of personal information. He was done discussing himself. “Does she live nearby?”

“A couple of miles away. She’s married to a wonderful man, Tom Leighton. They’re raising his young niece, Clara, together.”

The wistfulness in her voice wasn’t lost on him. Did she long for a husband and children? What were his own opinions about love and marriage?

“Do your other sisters live in Gatlinburg, as well?”

“All but one. Juliana makes her home in Cades Cove.”

He pressed into the headboard, the wood digging into his shoulder blades. “Cades Cove. That name means something.”

She scooted to the seat’s edge. “What? Did you live there? Could you have family there?”

He had no answers for her. “Is it about two days’ ride from here?”

“Yes.”

“I’m not sure how I know that.” He raked his hands through his hair, tugging a little at the ends. “Could you write to your sister? Ask her to check with her neighbors and the town leaders? Perhaps someone would recognize my description.”

Hands twisting together, she pondered his request. “I’ll write immediately after supper and post it tomorrow.” Standing, she adjusted her blouse and, flipping her ponytail over her shoulder, made to leave.

“Jessica?”

“Yes?” The one word carried a world of strain. Indecision.

“What will it take for you to believe me?”

Her inner struggle was reflected on her face. “Doc believes you. My mother believes you. I value both their opinions.”

“I’m more concerned with what you think.”

“My first instinct is to believe you.”

The triumph swirling inside was tempered by a heavy dose of restraint. “But?”

“My instincts have been wrong before.” The raw grief he glimpsed in her jolted him. “My sister almost died because of me. I can’t afford to be wrong about you.”

She left him with more questions than answers, the desire to reassure her, to make things good for her again completely unexpected and decidedly irrational.

He couldn’t fix his own problems. What made him think he could fix hers?


Chapter Four (#ulink_4045fa19-92a4-534b-ab27-e776aad04f6e)

“You’re so lucky.” Teeth flashing in the gathering shadows, Will carried a water bucket in each hand. “Nothing exciting ever happens to me.”

Walking beside him through the tranquil woods, Jessica shook her head. Because of his towering height and sturdy frame, the fifteen-year-old had the appearance of a man. And while he was mature in some ways, times like these reminded her he had plenty of growing up yet to do. Despite the absence of his parents—he’d been raised by an infirm grandfather and his older sister, Sophie—he’d turned out fine.

“Count your blessings, Will. Trust me. Excitement isn’t always a positive thing.”

“Easy for you to say. Your life isn’t all about chores and schoolwork.”

Jessica recalled the time when her biggest irritant was having to write a history report or prepare a speech to deliver in front of the other students. Such innocence seemed like a hazy dream.

They emerged from the trees close to where Grant had hours earlier. The outbuildings were mere outlines, the details obscured by encroaching darkness. The great, hulking barn was impossible to ignore. Her memory conjured up smoke belching out the wide entrance, and she could almost taste the acrid stench of burning wood and hay.

Coming even with the structure, her gaze strayed to the patchy grass and the spot where Tom had dragged Lee’s lifeless body before returning inside and putting out the fire. Moisture smarted. She blinked rapidly, appalled that she still hadn’t mastered the grief and regret. If only it hadn’t happened here. If only she didn’t have to face the lingering images each and every day.

Will reached the porch steps before noticing she hadn’t followed. “You coming?”

“I’ll be along in a minute.”

The door slapped shut behind him. Setting her own full pail on the ground, a little of the water splashing out, she trudged through the grass and stopped directly on the spot where Lee had lain. Heart expanding near to bursting, she knelt and pressed her palm flat against the hard, warm earth. Blades of grass tickled her skin.

“Why can’t I forget, Lord?”

She’d crouched over him in shock, his unmoving hand locked between hers, lost in sorrow to the point she hadn’t given a thought to Jane’s gunshot wound. Tom had had to walk over to her in order to get her attention and convince her to assist her sister.

At the repetitive drum of an approaching rider, she shot to her feet. Jessica squinted at the lane, less than thrilled when she recognized the mount and its owner, Sheriff Shane Timmons. His low instructions carried in the still air, his horse slowing and eventually coming to a halt yards from where she waited.

Shane touched his brim. “Evenin’, Jessica.”

She clasped her hands at her waist. “Hello, Sheriff.”

He dismounted and crossed to her in three easy strides. She held his sharp azure gaze with difficulty. He treated her with nothing but kindness and respect, and yet she couldn’t help thinking he saw her as weak and naive. After all, what intelligent female involved herself with a criminal?

“I hear you got yourself a visitor.”

“That’s right.”

Swiping off his hat, he tunneled his fingers through his light hair. Perusing her face, he opened his mouth to speak, but she held him off.

“I’ll take you to him.”

His concern plain, he acted the gentleman and didn’t remark on her avoidance. Dipping his head, he extended his arm to indicate she precede him. Her progress across the yard was accomplished quickly. She would take him to Grant and escape into her room. Or rather upstairs to Nicole’s old room, now dedicated as a storage area for their sewing supplies.

Her mother and Will greeted Shane with friendly enthusiasm, a far cry from her own stilted welcome. Unlike her, they didn’t have cause to be uncomfortable in his presence.

“He’s taken over Jane’s old room,” she said over her shoulder, ushering him past the grouping of sofas and chairs and into the hall. Stopping just past the entrance, she waved him in. “I’ll leave you to it.”

He paused. “I’d like you to stay for the interview.”

Peeking inside, she saw Grant propped against the pillows, assessing them with undisguised wariness. “I don’t see how I can be of assistance.”

Patience smoothed Shane’s rugged features. “You were the one who found him. And you’ll know if there are changes in his story.”

“Fine.” She sighed.

Inside, she introduced the two men. The room’s size struck her as inadequate all of a sudden. Too confining for the competent, bent-on-justice sheriff and Grant, who, despite his weakened state, exuded quiet strength.

Shane stood at the foot of the bed, one suntanned hand gripping his Stetson and the other resting atop his Smith and Wesson. Jessica sat in the only chair, wishing she could start the day over, wishing it was an ordinary, boring day like all the rest.

“Doc tells me you’ve lost your memory.”

Grant grimaced, the hand closest to her curling into the bedding as he nodded. His turmoil troubled her, evoked sympathy she’d rather not deal with. She stared at his busted knuckles and experienced the strange urge to link hands with him, a small gesture to soothe his anxiety.

How do you know he deserves your sympathy? There could be innocent people out there...victims of his cruelty.

She forced her attention to the rectangular rug covering this section of floorboards and studied the fading flag’s stars and stripes. Deep in her heart, a voice protested that Grant wasn’t a cruel man. A thief or swindler, perhaps, but not cruel.

She listened as he recounted his brief knowledge of the day’s events. Shane’s lingering silence brought her head up. Both men were regarding her with unsettling intensity.

“Care to add anything, Jessica?” Shane said.

Grant’s mouth was set in a grim line, his neck and shoulder muscles stiff with tension. A thin vein was visible at his temple.

“No. Nothing.”

The sheriff riffled through the Bible she’d found, squinting at the pages. “Can you think of anyone else this might belong to?”

“We haven’t had company in months.” She pointed to the bag tucked against the wall. “The bag looks relatively free of debris and dirt. I figure it hasn’t been out there long.”

He slid the book onto the dresser behind him. “What are you expecting to be called?”

“I’ve decided to go by Grant for now.”

“You could adopt the surname Parker, if you’re of a mind to. Good chance this stuff is yours.”

“Grant Parker. Doesn’t sound horrible.”

Shane tapped his weapon handle. “I’ll search my wanted posters tonight. Tomorrow, I’ll post letters to the lawmen in nearby towns.”

“I understand.”

“The O’Malleys are good friends of mine. Don’t make them regret giving you shelter, or you’ll have to answer to me.” The warning in his tone mirrored his expression.

“You have nothing to worry about on that front.” Grant’s chin jutted. “I wouldn’t do anything to harm Mrs. O’Malley or her daughter. Besides,” he drawled with a sideways glance at her, “I’m convinced Miss O’Malley is capable of fending for herself.”

Shane made a noncommittal noise and moved toward the hallway. “Walk me out, Jessica?”

With one final look at their patient, she followed the other man out and onto the porch. Night had fallen and so had the temperatures. The air was cool and crisp, with the faint twang of moist earth and chrysanthemums. Rubbing her arms, she leaned against the railing, thankful for the cover of darkness. Like Grant, she’d been the focus of Shane’s professional interest once upon a time, and it hadn’t been a pleasant experience.

He put his hat on. “I can send my deputy over to keep an eye on things tonight if you need.”

She fixed her attention on the sliver of moon in the velvet expanse. “We’ll be fine.”

“I can’t guarantee he’s harmless.”

“He’s hardly in the shape to ambush us.” She surprised herself by defending him. “I’m armed and so is Will.”

At his huff, Jessica crossed her arms. “Will may be young and obnoxious, but he’s a right good shot. I know you’ve heard of his rifle skills.”

“That is a full-grown man in there, not a skittish deer.”

Light spilled from the windows. In the space between them hung the unspoken remembrance of her stupidity and willfulness. Last year, when Jane had first spoken of her suspicions that Lee was involved in the illegal production and sale of moonshine, Jessica had rejected them outright. She had been in love with the man. She thought she would’ve known if he was involved in unlawful activity. She’d been blind. And so, so wrong.

He studied her a beat longer. “Your cousins aren’t going to be happy about this.”

Josh, Nathan and Caleb would indeed be furious. “As it wasn’t my decision to keep him, they’ll have to take their complaints to my mother.”

“Be on your guard. And come to me at the first hint of trouble.”

Unlike last time, his expression intimated.

“Good night, Sheriff.”

Spinning on her heel, she crossed to the door. Her hand was on the latch when he called after her.

“I’ll come back tonight if I find anything matching his description.”

With a nod, she retreated inside, anticipating a long, uneasy night.

* * *

The bottle of laudanum called to him.

Grant shifted again, unable to find relief. He could take the doctor’s prescribed amount. Wouldn’t mean he was weak. The dose would allow him to sleep and find temporary release from the incessant hammering inside his skull, the radiating pain in his side and the dull throb in his ankle. Not only that, it would make the questions stop.

What was he doing in these mountains? Where had he come from? What had been his destination? Was he a danger to the occupants of this cabin?

On the other side of the window, pricks of light pierced the black sky. He could easily identify the patterns they made. Who had taught him the constellations?

His gaze shifted to the rafters overhead. Too low, he thought. The walls too close.

He yearned for open spaces and fresh air. The fact that he couldn’t get outside without assistance was depressing.

Muffled snores filtered in from the living room, where the O’Malleys’ young relation slept on the sofa. Will Tanner didn’t strike him as a worthy protector. Jessica had introduced her cousin’s brother-in-law when he’d first arrived with Alice, and the young man had studied him with barely concealed awe. As if Grant was an infamous outlaw like Jesse James or in league with Sam Archer and his gang. Problem was, he couldn’t rule that out. No theory—no matter how unpleasant or disturbing—could be dismissed.

Grant massaged his temples in a vain attempt to drive away the headache.

The ornate clock he’d glimpsed on their mantel chimed the hour. One o’clock in the morning. The hours until dawn stretched out before him. Morning wasn’t going to be much better. Nothing would be better until his mind decided to function again.

Grant suppressed a groan of frustration. Here he was, a grown man, feeling sorry for himself. He had his life, didn’t he? He hadn’t died out there in the forest. Alone. Nameless.

He fluffed the pillow again, stilling when he heard a soft cry. Jessica’s door wasn’t visible from his vantage point, but he’d seen her rush past this room soon after the sheriff left, and she hadn’t emerged since.

Pushing aside the covers, he moved like an old man, fighting exhaustion as he hobbled to his door. He hesitated. Gripping the frame, he steadied himself. His frown deepened. She was definitely crying. Her anguish leached through the walls, drawing him closer, concern blocking out self-preservation. If they caught him wandering about in the middle of the night, they’d assume the worst. Sheriff Timmons would have him locked in a cell before dawn.

He moved as quietly as he could. The ropes of her bed creaked, and her weeping became muted. He lifted his hand to knock. Instead, he laid it flat against the wooden surface and debated what to do. She didn’t know him. Certainly didn’t trust him. What made him think she’d willingly share her private pain?

He dropped his head. She wouldn’t. Not with a suspicious stranger with a questionable past.


Chapter Five (#ulink_ed7e1241-3249-501d-8ce1-a087021dc5e3)

“Grant.”

Lids shut against the subdued light, a quilt cocooning his sore body, he struggled to recognize the melodious voice. His life was decidedly female-free.

“Your food is gonna get cold if you don’t wake up.”

A woman had prepared him breakfast? Couldn’t be.

When a slender hand wrapped around his wrist and tugged, his eyes shot open. A familiar redhead stood staring down at him, impatience lining her perpetual frown. Yesterday’s events flooded his mind.

“Jessica.” His voice was rusty from sleep, yet his relief was audible.

A small part of him had worried he’d forget what few memories he’d retained.

He eyed the tray on the bedside table, the scents of peppery sausage, eggs and sweet molasses wafting toward him. The stack of fluffy flapjacks glistened with melted butter. Steam rose from the blue enamel mug.

“If you’ll sit up, you can have your breakfast in bed. Ma and I have a full day of chores.” Flipping her ponytail behind her shoulder, she picked up the tray. “I don’t have time to chaperone you.”

“That’s a shame.” Grant pushed himself up so that he rested against the headboard. “I was hoping you’d stay and hold my hand. Perhaps read me a storybook. I think one about a prince and a vexing princess would suit me.”

Jessica set the tray on his lap with enough force to make the dishes rattle. The coffee came dangerously close to sloshing over the rim.

“I’ll be back in fifteen minutes to retrieve it.”

In the seconds before she straightened, her face hovered about six inches from his, and he noticed that her eyes were puffy, the surrounding skin ravaged by grief. His late-night trek to her room fresh in his mind, he wondered how long she had lain there and suffered alone. How come he wished he was in the position to offer her comfort?

Before he could form a coherent sentence, she swept out of the room, her nut-brown dress swishing and boots clacking against the boards. The main door slammed. He heard movement coming from the kitchen area. Probably Alice cleaning up the breakfast mess.

Grant picked up a fork and scooped a mound of scrambled eggs. The delicious taste registered, and he felt certain he wasn’t accustomed to being waited on. He didn’t have proof. It was strictly a gut feeling.

Jessica returned as promised a quarter of an hour later, as fresh and vibrant as an autumn flower, her cheeks flushed from exertion.

Examining his almost-empty plate, she stopped short. “You need more time?”

“No. As delicious as it was, my appetite hasn’t returned to normal.”

Nodding, she avoided eye contact and reached for the tray. “No worries. Our hogs will enjoy the leftovers.”

“Would you mind sending Will in?”

Cinnamon-hued brows rumpling, she balanced her burden against her hip. “He left before breakfast. He has responsibilities at home. What did you want with him?”

Grant attempted to frame his needs in a delicate manner. “I need to go outside, yet I was ordered not to put weight on my ankle, and Doc hasn’t delivered my cane.”

In addition to the pressing urge to answer the call of nature, he was desperate for fresh air and a view other than these four walls.

An exaggerated sigh escaped her lips. Depositing the dirty dishes on the bedside table, she retrieved his boots and crouched beside the bed.

“What are you doing?”

“Helping you.”

Pushing the covers aside, he carefully swung his feet to the floor, his wound protesting. He cradled his middle.

She noticed, of course, but merely waved for him to lift his good foot.

“I can put my own boots on,” he muttered through his embarrassment.

“Not with that stab wound, you can’t.”

Her fingers were gentle atop his sock as she guided his dusty boot on. He stared at the crown of her head. Restrained by a slightly askew ribbon, her hair was clean and shiny, like a luminous red flame.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“The food.” He waved a hand to where she knelt on the rug. “This.”

“It’s my goal to see you recovered and on your way as quickly as possible.”

On his way to where? “I may not be going far. How’s the Gatlinburg jail for creature comforts?”

Holding his other boot between her hands, her dark green gaze flashed to his. “Shane said if he didn’t come back last night, we’d know he didn’t find anything. I should’ve mentioned it sooner.”

If his heart had been encased with rocks, this news released a couple of them. “So now I wait for reports from the surrounding towns.”

“I suppose so.” Lips thinning, she contemplated his swollen ankle and set the boot aside. “Let me see if we have something to wrap this foot.”

He waited in that corner room, trying to distract himself from his predicament and failing. Trying to remember anything beyond waking up in the forest and failing.

Jessica reappeared just as his anxiety reached its peak, threatening to make his chest implode.

“I was unsuccessful. I’m afraid you’ll have to go out sans shoe.”

“It’s fine.” Tugging down his pant legs, he pushed to his feet and began to hobble toward the door.

She stepped directly into his path, hands on her hips. “Trying to do it on your own will only hinder your healing.”

“Your concern is touching, Miss O’Malley.” He smirked, and his torn lip smarted.

Her ire sparked. “Will you accept my help or not, Mr. Parker?”

“I don’t have a chance against your stubbornness, do I?”

Rolling her eyes, she moved close to his side and anchored her arm around his waist. Grant curved his arm about her shoulders, her softness and warmth a shock to his equanimity. Their progression proved awkward. Her head knocked into his chin several times. He was trying not to lean on her too much, which served to pull at his stitches. It was a relief to reach the yard.

The main cabin, barn and outbuildings inhabited a small clearing in what amounted to a massive mountainous forest. The tips of the mountains, arrayed in vibrant autumn attire, were visible above the treetops. To their left, a rutted dirt lane merged with a wider one in the distance. A sizable vegetable garden boasted fat orange pumpkins and yellow squash, broccoli and cabbages. Chickens strutted near their coop. A rural paradise.

Removing his arm, he said, “Can I ask you something?”

Jessica retreated a safe distance away. “You can ask. I may not answer.”

“Were you and Sheriff Timmons a couple?”

She gave a huff of disbelieving laughter. “What? No! He’s at least a decade older than me. He’s not the type of man I’d be interested in. What gave you that idea?”

“I got the impression you weren’t comfortable having him around. I thought maybe you and he...”

Her jaw snapped shut, and the shadows returned. “That’s not the case.”

“What’s wrong with the sheriff, then?”

“We are not discussing my preferences.”

He didn’t heed the warning in her expression. Scraping his fingers along the itchy stubble lining his cheek, he admitted, “I heard you crying last night.”

Consternation flushed her cheeks a bright apple red. Shame and raw anguish passed over her features.

“Your mother mentioned—”

Jessica gasped. Splotches of hot color crept up her neck. “She talked to you about me? What did she say?”

Wrong move. Wrong words. Should’ve kept his big mouth shut.

He held his palms up. “Nothing specific. She said you’d experienced some difficulties. That’s all.”

Her thick auburn lashes swept down, shutting him out. “That was not her place.” Mortification laced her tone. “What could she have been thinking? You’re a stranger.”

“True. And I have no past experiences to draw on that would help you whatsoever. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“Stranger or not, amnesia or not, you can’t help me. No one can. I got myself into a mess, all right? The ramifications are mine to deal with alone.”

“You sure it has to be that way?”

“I appreciate your concern, Grant. I do. But you’re not gonna be here long enough to matter.”

* * *

Jessica watched him limp across the yard and disappear around the corner of the cabin. No wonder he’d flat out dismissed her offer of assistance. She’d been rude.

Humiliation had spurred the hasty words. That and outrage. Knowing her mother and Grant had discussed her spectacular mistakes made her burn with embarrassment. That she hadn’t divulged specifics didn’t matter. Grant hadn’t earned their trust. He was a stranger in their home.

A handsome stranger whose presence made her evaluate her current circumstances and the sad fact that she was alone. Helping him outside in what had amounted to an awkward side embrace, she’d been overwhelmed by his latent strength, the power coiled in those honed muscles. His heat and earthy scent had taunted her, reminding her of what she might never have—someone special who meant more to her than everyone else on earth, someone worthy of her trust and admiration.

The longing for love and romance scared her. Under absolutely no circumstances could she be attracted to this man. He was the worst possible person to reawaken long-buried dreams. If she ever decided to reenter the world of courting and suitors, she would take the safe route. A pity the reverend was triple her age and happily married.

Several riders entered the lane behind her. Swinging around, she registered her cousins’ approach with mixed feelings. Josh, Nathan and Caleb were more like brothers than cousins. Having grown up on neighboring farms, they’d shared meals and holidays, gotten into mischief together, stuck up for one another. And while she loved them dearly, she didn’t appreciate it when they stuck their collective noses into her business.

Josh was the first to dismount and approach. The oldest brother, he wore his wheat-colored hair short. A trim mustache and goatee framed his mouth. The quiet, intelligent type, he looked to be on a slow simmer.

“We heard about your visitor,” he said, grip on his waistband tightening.

Nathan joined him, his silver eyes stormy beneath his hat’s brim. “What were you thinking, Jess? Will came home this morning spinning wild tales. Are they true?”

Raven-haired Caleb stalked over, the angry scar around his eye more pinched than usual. He didn’t have to say a word. All it took was one imperious glare for her to guess his thoughts.

Jessica squared off against the trio. “First of all, he isn’t my visitor. So all this protective outrage is wasted on me.” She made a circling motion in the air. “Grant is Ma’s project. Take your complaints up with her. Second, he’s suffering from several wounds, not to mention memory loss, so leave him alone.”

Caleb’s mouth twisted into a cynical slash. “You believe his story?”

“I haven’t made my mind up yet.”

Grant’s sincerity seemed awfully authentic, and she found herself leaning toward belief. But resistance lingered. Look at how Lee had convinced her he was a run-of-the-mill farmer, when right under her nose he’d been cooking up moonshine to distribute across the state and beyond.

Their expressions turned frosty. Looking over her shoulder, she saw Grant register their animosity and come to a halt. Caleb made to move past her. Slapping her hand again his chest, she inserted steel into her voice. “He’s injured.”

“So?”

“So take it easy.”

“Relax, cuz. I’m just gonna talk to the man.”

Trailing behind them, praying for a peaceful outcome, she studied Grant’s busted-up face. Wariness was notable in his stiff shoulders and stance, but the determined set of his jaw said he wasn’t going to back down. The cabin wall behind him providing support, he didn’t waver beneath Caleb and Josh’s onslaught of questions. The righteous defiance in his clear gaze shifted her perception of him, eradicating many of her doubts. There wasn’t a hint of discomfort in him. No telltale signs he was protecting a lie.

If she were to accept his account of events, it wouldn’t be a case of her judgment opposing everyone else’s, as in Lee’s case. Her own mother and the respected town doctor trusted Grant.

Not speaking, Nathan listened, content to let his brothers do the interrogating.

The longer it went on, the more Grant’s physical weakness began to show.

Pushing past Nathan, she walked between the brothers to stand beside Grant. He glanced at her in surprise.

“Who’s interested in blackberry cobbler? And coffee? I’m sure Ma’s wondering what’s keeping us.”

Caleb and Josh exchanged matching looks of displeasure. Too bad. She wasn’t about to stand by while they ambushed him.

Nathan lifted his hat and fluffed his dark hair. “I’ve just had breakfast, but I won’t pass up your cobbler.”

“Then it’s settled.” Linking arms with Caleb, she urged him in the direction of the porch steps. “So how are Rebecca and the kids?”

“In between feeding and changing the baby, Becca’s teaching Noah how to paint faces on pumpkins and gourds.”

She smiled at the image his words spawned. Caleb’s wife was a gifted painter. In fact, one of Becca’s paintings hung on the wall across from Jessica’s bed. Young Noah was a sweetheart, and he loved being a big brother to three-month-old Isaac.

He angled his face so that his mouth met her ear. “Tread carefully with this one, cuz. While I suspect he’s telling the truth, there’s no way of knowing his history and whether or not it’s a violent one.”

Her smile vanished. Of course he was alluding to her past. Her discernment would forever forward be called into question. Teeth clenched, she merely nodded, quickly disengaging her arm once they entered the house.

He was right. Grant Parker was a puzzle. One no one might ever be able to solve.


Chapter Six (#ulink_14a5ebd8-7af7-5af0-b4e2-a3746bc80afe)

For a while there, Grant thought he might get stabbed a second time. Or shot. Or, at the very least, punched.

Jessica’s relatives were not pleased she and her mother had taken him in. The scarred one especially looked as if roughing Grant up a bit would make him feel better. Alice O’Malley’s presence dictated they be polite. Still, the unspoken strain in the crowded living room was palpable.

Although he tried not to appear fixated on his perplexing young hostess, his gaze insisted on sliding in her direction against his will. Seated on a low cushioned stool beside the unlit fireplace, Jessica held a delicate china teacup in her hands, the saucer on the stool beside her. She’d served up the cobbler for everyone except herself and him. His excuse? He’d probably cast up his accounts if he attempted to eat anything more. As for hers, he wondered if she was too nervous to eat, concerned about maintaining her waistline or the kind of person who enjoyed the act of cooking more than actually sampling the fare. He found himself wondering a lot of things. Such as why she’d come to his rescue outside when he’d obviously messed up by mentioning her private grief.

The brief excursion outside his bedroom had winded him. While he longed to recline in his borrowed bed, doing so would impart the notion he was either weak or hiding something. Instead, he’d sunk into the closest wingback chair, the soft, worn cushions like a gentle hug. Focusing on the conversation flowing around him took his mind off his body’s state of perpetual soreness.

There was talk of extended family members, both young and old, as well as the state of Josh’s furniture business in town. Sophie, who they’d explained was Will’s sister, was expecting twins. From the way Nathan’s expression lit up, Grant surmised the proud father-to-be wasn’t daunted by the prospect of caring for two infants at once.

Ensconced in the chair nearest his, Alice beamed. “Grant, Sophie practically raised Will, what with her pa off roaming the country and her ma dead. Her grandfather helped as much as he could. I miss that gentle soul.”

On the other side of the coffee table, the three O’Malley brothers sat side by side on the sofa. Their collective focus shifted to him.

He gripped the mug’s handle tighter. “Congratulations.”

Nathan considered him. “Thank you.”

Caleb leaned over and set his empty bowl on the walnut table with a clatter. “What about you, Parker? You remember having any children?”

Jessica gasped. The silence that followed could’ve suffocated him. Or was that the panic that refused to leave him entirely, crouching in the shadows and waiting for a chance to pounce?

To cover his anxiety, he lifted his mug and sipped the aromatic brew.

“Caleb, I don’t believe that’s appropriate.” Dabbing her mouth with a napkin, Alice frowned at her nephew.

“I’m simply curious.”

“No, you’re trying to evoke a reaction,” Jessica retorted, her eyes full of fire. “It’s rude.” Shooting to her feet, she started collecting the discarded dishes. “Now that you’ve all met Grant, it’s time for you to go. Ma and I have ten bushels of apples to turn into apple butter by day’s end.”

To his surprise, Alice didn’t refute her daughter. “Yes, we do have a busy day ahead of us.”

Grant nestled the mug against his thigh. “I don’t mind answering the question.”

Everyone in the room stared at him.

“I don’t know if I have children. Or a wife. For all I know, I could have a family out there waiting for me to come home.” The words sounded like a foreign language to his ears. He rubbed his thumb over his left ring finger. It was bare. There wasn’t an indentation or sun line indicating he’d ever worn a ring. He couldn’t fathom having a wife, let alone children. “I may not have my memories, but I have a sound mind and enough good sense to know that these ladies are well-loved in this community and by your family. I wouldn’t dare repay their generosity with ill-treatment.”

Josh slapped on his hat and stood. “Let’s hope you’re telling the truth, because we won’t tolerate anything less than gentlemanly behavior. Not only do we know every square mile of these mountains, we’ve had plenty of practice hunting down criminals. It’d be in your best interest not to cross us.”

His brothers stood as well, their expressions no less cautionary.

“Understood.”

Alice ushered them to the door like a mother hen with her chicks. The affection the older widow harbored for them was written in her lined countenance. Made him lonely for something he wasn’t sure he’d ever had.

Drawing on all his strength, Grant leveraged himself out of the comfy chair and relieved Jessica of the bowls. She didn’t protest. In the warm, sunlit kitchen, she emptied the mugs’ leftover contents into a scrap pail one by one. He leaned his hip against the wooden counter. The tangy scent of ripe apples teased his nose. Baskets brimming with the bright red and green fruit lined three walls.

“I’m sorry about that.”

“They’re your family,” he said. “They care about you.”

“I care about them, too,” she said drily. “Doesn’t mean they aren’t annoying sometimes.”

“Be thankful you have someone to annoy you.”

Her luminous gaze sought his as she lowered the last cup into the dry sink. “You may not have been married, but you do have a mother and father. Possibly even siblings.”

He studied the cheery yellow curtains, the pie safe shelves crowded with baked goods, the burlap rug at the door boasting a rooster pattern. He hadn’t been hatched in a coop. He’d been born to parents and raised in a home. What sort of parents he’d had and what sort of home life he’d experienced were questions he could add to the growing list of unknowns.

“The family tree page in the Bible was left blank. I could be an orphan.”

She toyed with one of her ear bobs. “Or...your folks couldn’t read or write.”

Impatience dogged him. Edging around her, he went to the basket beneath the window and, choosing an apple, brought it to his nose and inhaled deeply. He wasn’t sure which foods he favored and which he avoided.

“What variety are these?”

“Macintosh.”

“How does one go about making apple butter?”

Jessica explained the process. Once all the apples were quartered, they’d start three fires out in the yard. One to boil down cider, another to heat the quartered apples and a third to turn cider into a sugar-like substance. Once that first batch of cider was half its original amount, they’d add the apples and sugar, along with cinnamon and nutmeg. This process would take the entire day.

He glanced at the dirty dishes piled in the dry sink, the bowl of bread dough rising on the stove. His presence was adding to their already considerable load of chores.

“I’ll help you.”

“You look as if one flick of my finger could knock you over.” Her expression was dubious. “You should be in bed resting.”

Pointing to the table, he said, “I can sit there and peel apples while I rest.”

“You’ll regret pushing yourself too hard.”

Her concern appeared to center around his health this time and not on how his arrival had disrupted her life.

“Before I leave, I’m going to find a way to repay my debt. I don’t have any money.” The tips of his ears burned. “What I can offer you is physical labor. I can do chores. Tend the animals. Fix whatever needs fixing around the farm.”

A wave of light-headedness washed over him, and his hand shot to the window ledge. Jessica’s washcloth slipped to the floor unheeded. Striding over, she dipped beneath his arm and sidled close against his side.

“Let’s get you to your room before you fall flat on your face.” Her palm was warm on his lower back.

“I’ll go crazy staring at those four walls.” He switched course and headed for the table. “I just need to sit down for a few minutes.”

She accommodated him without a word. When he was seated, she perched on the table corner and crossed her arms. “I can’t help but wonder what sort of skills you have.”

Taken aback, he raised his brows in question.

One delicate shoulder lifted. “You offered to tend the animals, but how do we know you have experience with them? You might’ve grown up in a crowded city.”

Grant searched hard for a silver lining. “I might’ve been a newspaperman. Or a wealthy shipping magnate.”

The tiniest of smiles played about her mouth. “You were so wealthy you resided in a seaside mansion with dozens of servants and indoor plumbing.”

“I like the sound of that.” Stroking his light beard, he said, “On the other hand, I could’ve been a poor but happy traveling circus performer.”

Her eyes widened. Her lips curved into a full-on smile that dazzled him. When a husky chuckle bubbled up her throat, Grant couldn’t help but share in her amusement.

“Perhaps you’d like to juggle a few of those apples to test that theory.”

Smiling, he shook his head. “Maybe when I’m in top form.”

They continued the silly game for several minutes, each of them proposing more and more outlandish professions. By the time Alice joined them, Jessica had been transformed. Her eyes sparkled with good humor. Her teeth flashed white with each spurt of laughter. The glimpse of tiny dimples charmed him.

Splaying a hand against her middle, she panted, “My stomach hurts from laughing.”

Her mother stopped beside the pie safe looking both pleased and confounded. “It’s good to hear you laugh again, dear.”

Pushing off the table, Jessica moved to retrieve the towel from the floor. “Yes, well, Grant has quite the imagination. He’s convinced he was either a stage actor or a patent medicine salesman.”

Alice’s jowls quivered with laughter. “There are endless possibilities, to be sure. Now, young man, it’s time to change out that bandage. I’m sure you’d appreciate a shave, as well.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

As he shuffled into the living room, leaving Jessica to her work, Grant wished the lighthearted moments didn’t have to end.

* * *

Jessica heard movement in Grant’s room and sat up. She’d come to bed over an hour ago, weary to the bone yet unable to sleep. Her shoulders and the muscles of her upper back ached from the constant stirring required to ensure the apple butter didn’t scorch. Her hair and skin smelled like a mixture of cloves and cinnamon.

His door latch clicked. Seconds later, the floor creaked. What was he up to?

Wide-awake, she pushed the thick quilt off her legs and, after lighting the lamp on her bedside table, shrugged on the housecoat that covered her from chin to toes and went in search of him. No light came from the kitchen. Will’s obnoxious snoring sliced through the darkness. Jessica jiggled his feet hanging off the end cushion, and he shifted onto his side, thankfully cutting off the noise.

The scrape of wood across floorboards drew her to the nearest window. She could make out Grant’s shadowy form in the rocking chair. Taking care to be quiet, she slipped outside.

His head snapped up. The lamp’s muted glow fell on his face, highlighting his freshly shaven jaw and glinting in his clean locks.

He’s handsome. So what? Gatlinburg has dozens of attractive men.

“Did I wake you?” His husky voice cut through the frogs’ song echoing through the woods. Soon it would become too cold for the creatures.

“I’d have to be asleep for you to do that.” Choosing the rocker on the other side of the door, she set the lamp near her feet and folded her hands in her lap. “Have you ever pushed through exhaustion until you’re not sleepy anymore?”

“I’m not sure.” Wearing a rueful grin, he pushed the chair into motion with his foot. “I have an excuse to be awake. I had a long nap after lunch. You, on the other hand, didn’t stop moving the entire day. I expected you to be snoring right about now.”

“Will was doing enough of that for the both of us.”

His laugh was soft, affectionate. “I heard.”

Jessica reached for her ponytail out of habit, only to remember she’d left her hair unbound. Grant caught the movement. His gaze sharpened. In the dimness, she couldn’t decipher his expression. Uncharacteristic self-consciousness seized her.

“You have beautiful hair.” His voice deepened. “Like a flame. Or a sunset.” Scraping a hand over his face, he grimaced. “That sounded better in my head.”

She couldn’t help smiling. Funny, she’d done more of that in the past twelve hours than in the past twelve months. “I believe we can rule out poet.”

“I believe so.” Turning his attention to the sky visible beyond the overhang, he said, “Did you know the constellations are different in summer and winter?”

“I didn’t. Where did you learn that?”

“In a book maybe. Sailors need to be familiar with the stars’ patterns, right?” His mood seemed to shift. “Enough guessing for one day. Tell me about Gatlinburg. Tell me about yourself. Your family.”

Jessica complied. While living in a small town had its disadvantages—there was no hiding one’s mistakes, no secrets—she loved the mountains, the lush forests and sparkling streams, the diverse wildlife. She described the heart of town and the businesses established there, two of which were owned by her family members. Her sister Nicole had married the mercantile owner. And Josh and Kate operated a combination furniture store and photography studio. Grant asked questions from time to time. He possessed a keen intelligence, and she tempered her admiration with the reminder that not all criminals were dumb. Some were geniuses. Some were adept at deceiving those closest to them...

Stop it. You can’t live the rest of your life thinking the worst of people.

A small shadow emerged from the barn and trotted across the yard. As the black cat neared, the lamplight glinted off its golden eyes. Cinders hopped onto the porch and, bypassing Jessica, went over and sniffed Grant’s socks and pant legs.

“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 (#ulink_b1215560-d6c7-55ac-84d2-6364fd02f637)

The 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?





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