The Bachelor's Homecoming. Karen Kirst
wedding dress?
“T-Tom?”
Her cheeks, he noticed belatedly, were wet with tears, and her already pale countenance went whiter still. She swayed on her feet.
He caught her against his chest, hands instinctively curving about her waist. Too late to worry about his gloves soiling the pristine material.
The faint scent of lilac hit him. “Jane? What’s wrong? Are you ill?”
Clutching his biceps, she blinked up at him. “I must be dreaming.”
* * *
The smooth voice like rich, warm cream belonged to Tom. And those vivid green eyes shining like stars against tanned skin? Tom’s.
But it couldn’t be him. There was nothing left for him here. He’d sold his barbershop. His mother was dead. And the woman he’d adored—her older sister, Megan—was happily married to another man.
“What’s happened?” He brought his face closer, a frown pulling his brows together.
She studied that face, muscles locking up as she struggled to absorb the truth of what she was seeing—Tom Leighton...not a figment of her imagination...real flesh and bone.
His pleasant, boyish features had thinned out, grown leaner, tougher, the angles of his face more pronounced and cheeks hollowed. His wavy, rich brown hair spilled onto his forehead and curled over his shirt collar. Longer and messier than before.
Reaching up, she explored the scruff on his jaw with her fingertips. “You’re really here. I’d thought...”
His Adam’s apple bobbed. “What are you doing out here all by yourself? Does your family know where you are?”
Disappointment set in, followed by outrage. This was how he greeted her after all this time? No I’m sorry for worrying you, Jane. No you’re all grown-up and I can’t believe I ever left without saying goodbye.
She pushed out of his arms.
“I’m not a little girl anymore. I don’t need a keeper.”
He frowned. “That’s not what I meant.”
“You’ve been gone two years, Tom. Two years without a word. No letters. No telegrams. Would it have killed you to tell me you were leaving?”
A sigh gusted out of him. “I’m sorry about that.”
“Didn’t they have paper and pencils where you were?”
“I should’ve written. I see that now—”
“You have no idea how many unfortunate scenarios I’ve entertained. Not knowing whether you were alive or dead...”
An active imagination was both a blessing and a curse. Oftentimes the endless scenarios playing out in her head didn’t have happy endings. Countless nights she’d tossed in her bed, unable to sleep for worrying about him.
Turning away, she swiped at the moisture on her cheeks and fought a fresh onslaught of emotion. She pulled at the dress’s itchy collar. Had her sister Nicole not known how uncomfortable this confection would be when she’d designed it? One last remaining purple blossom fell from her hair. She crushed the fragile petals beneath her heel. His inadequate words did nothing to ease her deep-seated hurt.
For so long, she’d struggled to accept that she’d likely never see him again, never hear his warm laughter or gaze into those shining eyes. Tom represented all the heroes she’d ever read about. And while she knew he hadn’t viewed her as anything more than a little sister, she’d missed his friendship in the most dreadful way.
His casual apology was more of an insult than anything.
Tom touched the spot between her shoulder blades. Gentle. Imploring. “I truly regret causing you worry, Jane. I was in a bad place when I left.”
He didn’t have to remind her. Her older sister Megan had rejected his proposal and chosen to marry Lucian Beaumont, a wealthy aristocrat from New Orleans who’d come to town for a brief visit and wound up falling for her. Megan’s choice had effectively ended her and Tom’s long-standing friendship.
In their small mountain town, there’d been no escaping the gossip. His dreams had been crushed, his pride wounded. Crazily enough, Jane had hurt for him. She’d hurt because she knew how it felt to care and have no hope of those feelings being returned.
“I suppose the main reason I didn’t contact anyone was because it was easier to sever all ties. I realize now how selfish that was.”
When she didn’t comment, he audibly exhaled. “Have you come from a party?”
“A wedding, actually.”
Silence. Then a stunned, “You’re married?”
“Ah, no,” she murmured. “Turns out my intended groom already has a wife.”
“What?” Tom encircled her wrist and turned her to face him, manner unyielding. “You’d better start at the beginning.”
Amid the birds’ intermittent chirping came a soft cry. She tensed. “What was that?”
Releasing her, Tom strode in the direction of the lane. Jane picked up her skirts and tripped after him, dense carpet of ferns catching on the delicate lace. “Sounded like a child. Do you think someone’s lost?”
Intensely focused on the wagon that came into view, he went directly to the rear and held out his arms. Jane’s steps slowed when she caught sight of a blur of pink calico and bouncing brown curls rushing into his hug.
“It’s okay, Clara. I’m right here.”
Planting a quick kiss on the little girl’s head, he eased away and jerked his chin in Jane’s direction. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”
Her frock wrinkled and creases from her blanket lining one cheek, the girl lifted a shy gaze to Jane. Her green eyes matched Tom’s exactly.
Jane pressed a trembling hand to her middle. He had a child? Mind racing, she tried to calculate the girl’s age. Four, maybe five years old? It didn’t add up. Unless, like Roy, he’d been harboring a terrible secret before he left.
No, she couldn’t let Roy’s perfidy influence her outlook. Tom had been desperately in love with her sister. Besides, he was an honorable man who patterned his life after the Bible’s teachings.
“Who is she, Tom?”
Countenance solemn, he said, “In the eyes of the law, you might say she’s my daughter.”
This second, mountain-size shock robbed her limbs of strength. Jane sank onto the ground, skirts puffing around her like a giant, satiny cloud.
His face a mask of concern, Tom swung Clara down and quickly approached, crouching to her level. Open at the collar, showing the column of his throat, the gray-and-white-striped shirt hugged his broad, sturdy shoulders and defined chest. She recalled the leashed strength in his arms as he’d propped her up.
There was one question answered. Wherever he’d gone, he hadn’t been working in a barbershop. That kind of indoor profession didn’t add bulk to a man’s frame.
“I’ve never known you to swoon, Janie girl, but you look seconds away from it right about now. I’ve got a canteen in the wagon. Water’s not cold, but it might help. Want me to get it?”
“No, thank you.”
Behind him, Clara edged closer, eyes wide with wonder. Such a pretty, delicate child, with a round, inquisitive face and a pert nose.
“Clara, this is my friend Jane O’Malley.”
Friend. An innocent word that sounded hateful