A Kiss in the Morning Mist Page 12

  So Henry Danforth wasn’t perfect. The knowledge made him feel a little lighter. Hell, if he wasn’t anchored to the ground by gravity, he’d be floating on air with the realization that Henry had not been a paragon among men . . . he’d been human, like the rest of the mortals who inhabited this earth. Like himself.

  “He let it get out of hand, Eamon. I’ve never told anyone this. Not even Granny knows, but he gave away so much money, there wasn’t enough for us, and before I knew it, he ended up borrowing. Small amounts from people we knew. Friends and so forth. Bigger loans from less savory persons.” She took a deep breath. Eamon glanced over the top of Circe’s back and caught a glimpse of her brushing her fingers beneath her eyes to wipe away the wetness there.

  “Not only were we in debt, but that first year after Henry passed, I sold only one horse and I think Hart bought Thalia out of pity. He’d been Henry’s friend since they were born. None of the other breeders came. I thought I was going to lose the farm. Oh, we make money on the sale of milk, eggs, and butter, but it’s not enough.” She smiled a little. “Sometimes, it’s not even enough to keep the children in shoes and clothing, they grow so fast.”

  She grew silent and again, Eamon’s gaze sought her out over Circe’s back. She stopped brushing the mare and moved to the open window at the end of the stall, where she just stared at the horses in the pasture outside, her face in profile.

  “Last year was a little better. I was able to sell three of Pumpkin’s progeny, and several breeders came. I think Hart bullied them into it. I managed to pay off every single debt we had but there is still a mortgage on the farm. Not a very big one. I make my payments in person every month to Mr. Schilling at the bank and I’m never late—never—even though some months are a little harder than others, but if the bank called in my note at this moment, I’d have to sell all the colts and fillies, all the broodmares . . . if I could find buyers. I couldn’t sell to just anyone.” She folded her arms across her chest and leaned against the window frame, her focus going back and forth between him and the horses outside. “I don’t think Mr. Schilling would allow such a thing, but it doesn’t mean that someone couldn’t buy my mortgage and demand full payment. It’s been known to happen. Especially if a certain someone wants it to happen.”

  “What does that mean?”

  She didn’t turn around and face him, nor did she move away from the window. Keeping him at a distance? “I’ve heard of a few mortgages being bought and called in because Aldrich Pearce wanted a particular business. Giselle at the White Palace nearly lost her hotel because he suddenly wanted it. Fortunately, she was able to come up with everything she owed.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I could take Aldrich up on his offer and sell to him before he decides to buy out my mortgage.” She shook her head vehemently. “No. I don’t think I could do that—just sign everything over to him because I . . . I . . . ” She blinked several times, but her gaze remained on the corrals beyond the window. “No, Henry and I worked too hard for me to give up without a fight. I won’t lose the dream we had. I can’t.”

  “Did AJ threaten you?”

  She shook her head. “No, not in so many words, and this isn’t the first time AJ made an offer on his father’s behalf. I’m just surprised Pearce is being so patient. He’s asking. Not taking, which is normally what he does. Actually, I’m amazed he hasn’t come out himself. So far he’s only sent his lawyers or his son to remind me how difficult it can be for a widow to manage a farm like this.”

  “What else?” The lawman in him came to the fore, and the urge to protect this woman and the farm she loved nearly overwhelmed him. Perhaps a visit to Aldrich Pearce was in order. They could speak man to man—although Pearce was more of a snake—but he’d make it clear Morning Mist was not for sale nor would it ever be. He could speak to AJ as well and warn him away from trying to court Theo.

  All that could wait. Right now, he wanted to comfort her, but she didn’t seem to want reassurance.

  She still hadn’t moved away from the window or glanced his way. Instead, she stood perfectly still, her face in profile, jaw clenched so hard he thought her teeth might shatter, her eyes focused on the horses in the fields. She blinked several times as if she’d been about to cry but through sheer force of will, stopped herself, then took several deep breaths. Finally, she asked, “What do you mean ‘what else’?”

  “Is that what he was talking to you about today? Holding your hand to ease the devastating news that Pearce is thinking about buying and calling in your mortgage?”

  “Actually, no. He invited me to a dance being held by our church.”

  A dance? An opportunity for AJ to hold her in his arms? Jealousy, that new and completely irrational emotion, surged once again. “You’re not going, are you?”

  There must have been something in his voice or the way he asked the question because she bristled, her body stiffening as she moved away from the window. Had he gone too far and stuck his nose into affairs that weren’t any of his business? Had she actually considered going with AJ?

  “That’s really none of your concern. I’m a grown woman. I can see whom I please when I please, and I don’t need permission from you or Granny or anyone else.” She laid the currycomb on the railing between stalls and unlatched the gate. She hesitated for a moment, her hand resting on the wooden railing, before she pushed the gate open and grabbed her hat from the post where she had placed it earlier. She was about to say something more. Her mouth opened and closed several times as she studied the ground, that stubborn hank of whiskey-colored hair once more in her face. After a moment, she glanced up at him, her eyes filled with sadness. “I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that. I . . . I just . . . ” She didn’t finish her thought. She didn’t ask him to accept her apology, either. In fact, she didn’t say anything more about it. “Please don’t mention the mortgage to the children. They don’t need to know, and it would only upset them.”

  He nodded, letting her know he would keep silent, but he couldn’t help wondering why she had snapped at him. Was it because she thought he was trying to tell her what to do with her life? How many others had done the same? She was a widow, trying to make a success of the horse farm she and her late husband had built. He could just imagine how many said she would fail. And how many said she shouldn’t even try. Or that she needed a husband to help her. They didn’t know about the streak of stubbornness that ran through Theo.

  He watched her as she headed toward the door, then stop before she passed through. There was more on her mind—he could tell—but she didn’t say anything. Instead, she placed her hat on her head and strode into the bright sunshine, leaving him in the stable with Circe, his face much, much too warm.

  He was a fool. What had he been thinking? “Well, Circe, that didn’t quite work out how I planned.”

  The horse snorted as if to agree with him.

  • • •

  It was cozy in the kitchen, the air still redolent with the aroma of the freshly baked bread they’d had with dinner, the residual warmth of the oven just right to take the chill off the evening. Several lamps spread their golden glow throughout the room as Theo spread a thick towel over Thomas’s shoulders and pinned the ends together just beneath his chin. The boy sat in one of the kitchen chairs she had pulled to the middle of the room, several pillows beneath him so he’d be high enough. “Now don’t move, Tommy.”

  “I won’t,” he replied even as his foot swung back and forth and he tried to see what was happening in the other room where everyone else had gathered. He was the last one to have his hair cut, having pulled the highest number from the hat.

  Theo wielded the comb and scissors she pulled from her apron pocket, but her mind wasn’t on trimming the boy’s hair nor was it on the chatter coming from the parlor. It was on him.

  How could she not?

  He had kissed her.

  The moment his lips touched hers, the well-ordered and safe world she had created and clung to ceased to
exist. Excitement filled her, raced through her veins, leaving her hot and cold at the same time—not just when his mouth had taken possession of hers, but even now. Her stomach quivered with anticipation day and night but nighttime was the worst. When she should have been sleeping, she thought of him. Perhaps that was why she had snapped at him in the stable. It wasn’t so much his question about accompanying AJ Pearce to the dance, which had been innocent enough, it was because confusion filled her. She doubted not only her sanity but her loyalty. She had considered going to the dance, except not with AJ. She had wanted Eamon to accompany her, but the thought had made her feel as if she was betraying Henry’s memory. How could she want someone else when she still loved him?

  Of course, Henry wouldn’t want her to live without someone special in her life. He would want her to be happy, to be loved, of that she had no doubt.

  So, why not? Why shouldn’t she take a lover? Widows sometimes did. Giselle at the White Palace Hotel had not only taken one lover, she’d taken three, though not at the same time. And she was still with Sebastian Milner, the wealthy rancher she’d taken to her bed more than five years ago.

  They were happy. Why couldn’t she have that same happiness?

  Watching Eamon work with the horses had become not only a guilty pleasure but a mild form of torture. The horses loved him, following him as they followed her, watching him with adoration in their big, brown eyes. They sensed his innate gentleness, and the goodness he carried inside. His touch was always calming, and every time he laid his hand on one of them, she wished it was she he caressed.

  Startled by the path her thoughts had taken—again—Theo made herself pay attention to what she was doing. She smiled down at the crown of Thomas’s head as she drew the comb through his dark blond hair. The boy didn’t speak as she snipped at the curls his hair had a tendency to take when too much time passed between haircuts. He hated the curls, claiming they made him look like a girl.

  Theo smiled as she snipped another curl, the strands falling to the towel around Thomas’s neck. That was another thing. Since Eamon had stepped onto Morning Mist, her usual routines had gone by the wayside. Haircuts were late, laundry took longer, and sometimes, she left the clothes on the clothesline overnight, which was highly unusual. She’d rather listen to the sound of his voice, which was deep and rich, with a slight Irish accent that sometimes snuck into his speech when he spoke to the horses, rather than fold those clothes.

  He sang, too. She’d heard him several times, and his voice sent ripples of desire—yes, desire, something she didn’t think she’d ever feel again—rumbling through her. Different from what she’d experienced with Henry but definitely blossoming, growing in strength seemingly day by day. The intensity made her drag in her breath, made her blood zing along her veins, but still, she couldn’t bring herself to act upon any of her feelings or the longing that seemed to have taken up permanent residence within her. She wasn’t nearly as bold as she used to be. Actually, she wasn’t bold at all. She . . . was a coward.

  Just because she felt like this didn’t mean he did.

  Except that he had kissed her—just that one time, but oh, what a kiss. Her toes curled just thinking about it. And yesterday, he’d shown a streak of jealousy, which she had seen quite clearly despite his using Circe as a ruse to get her away from AJ, though she was grateful he’d done so. If he could be jealous, then perhaps he cared. He’d certainly seemed interested when she blurted out her confession about Henry and the debts he’d owed when he passed, which was another thing she’d never thought she’d do—tell that secret. No one had known except the parties involved until yesterday.

  Eamon MacDermott was turning her world inside out and upside down. And she liked it. And him. And it was all fine and good that he could become jealous and that he cared enough to listen to her, but none of that knowledge told her how she should go about making it happen. Should she just go to him, wrap her arms around his neck, and kiss him until neither one of them could breathe and let nature take its course? Or make it a business deal with rules and obligations? In writing?

  Was that how taking a lover was done?

  The scissors in her hand stilled as visions of Eamon’s broad back, muscular arms, and perfect backside invaded her mind. How she longed to glide her hands over those muscles and squeeze that sweet behind as his slim hips settled between her thighs.

  “Are you d-d-done, Mama Theo? Can I go?”

  Startled by the young voice invading her daydream, Theo shook herself free of the images and realized both comb and scissors hovered in midair above Thomas’s head. “What? Oh, no, almost though.”

  She took a deep breath and forced herself to finish the task she’d started, and she made a bit of progress . . . until her heart, already beating much too quickly because she thought of him, picked up its erratic pace even more. There was no sound to alert her, but she knew without looking he stood in the doorway between the kitchen and back porch. His presence seemed to fill the entire room, even though he hadn’t entered it yet. A surge of excitement rippled through her as a flush rose up to warm her face and she turned her head slightly to the side to see him.

  “You’re just in time, Eamon.” She slipped the comb and scissors into her pocket, then removed the towel from around Thomas’s neck. Grabbing a small whisk brush from the table, she swept the clippings from his shoulders. “And you, young man, are done.”

  The boy ran his hands over his new haircut, then scooted from the chair, taking the pillows with him. Whether he thanked her or not, she couldn’t say—the hum in her ears seemed to drown out every other sound.

  Eamon hadn’t moved, just stood in the doorway, his fingers worrying the brim of his hat. His gaze darted from her face to the chair, then back to her face. “In time?”

  “For a haircut, of course.” She hoped he couldn’t see the frantic beat of her heart through the blouse she wore.

  Eamon shook his head and gestured to the coffeepot on the stove. “I just came in for a cup of coffee.”

  She grinned at him then. She couldn’t help it. If he only knew the thoughts going through her mind, he might run. Like Pollux, the four-year-old colt out of Athena, he was a bit skittish—anytime someone got a little too close, he excused himself rather quickly and flew off as if he had wings like Icarus. He could ask questions of others, but he never talked much about himself—just the tiniest pieces of information in response to a question—so his past was his own, but one couldn’t help wondering. And she did. Perhaps a bit too much.

  “It’ll only take a minute. I’m already set up.” She pulled comb and scissors from her pocket and gestured to the chair Thomas had just vacated.

  Her smile remained in place as she watched him shift his weight from one foot to the other. If reluctance had a name, it would be Eamon MacDermott. Finally, he gave a slight nod as he hung his hat on one of the hooks outside the back door, then entered the kitchen, his movements slow and unsure, so different from his normal confident stride. A sheepish grin lifted the corners of his mouth as he hooked his thumbs into the sides of his pockets. Theo watched him come closer, his eyes conveying a rare vulnerability. A thought she’d had earlier made another foray through her mind, and the urge to kiss him and keep kissing him until his confidence came back took root and refused to let go.

  She took a step back, instead of moving forward into his arms like she wanted, and gestured to the chair once more. It creaked a little as he settled himself into it and folded his hands in his lap. To hide his nervousness? What about her own nervousness as she draped the towel around his shoulders, then pinned it closed beneath his chin? Her gaze went from the lump of his Adam’s apple to his kissable mouth beneath his thick black mustache and finally to his eyes, which were the most amazing shade of gray, like smoke rising from a fire.

  She could kiss him right now, but didn’t. Couldn’t. Oh, but she wanted to as she moved to stand behind him.

  Why oh why had she started this? Her fantasies had been hard e
nough to deal with when he wasn’t in the room, but now? It was a wonder she could stand with knees suddenly turned to pudding. This had never happened to her before, this overwhelming desire to live for the moment and forget everything else, to throw herself into his arms and take from him what she wanted.

  No, not take. Never take. Share. Their bodies. Their warmth. Yes, even their loneliness, for she had no doubt he was as lonely as she. It was there in his eyes, though he did try to hide it.

  Theo took a deep breath and tried to concentrate on the task at hand, but that seemed just a bit beyond impossible. His hair, thick and luxurious, curled over the collar of his blue-and-white-checked shirt and was slightly damp, like he had washed it a very short time ago. She noticed hints of burnished red reflecting the lamplight as she first ran her fingers through the soft strands, then used the comb to follow the furrows she’d made.

  He didn’t speak, which was probably just as well—her tongue was tied anyway, and she probably couldn’t utter an intelligent word if she tried.

  After a few strokes of the comb, the tension left his shoulders and his head moved forward just a bit. He still didn’t speak, but at least he seemed somewhat relaxed.

  Too bad she couldn’t say the same for herself. She bit her lip as she wielded the scissors, tension strumming through her, making her insides quiver. Standing behind him as she was, she could easily caress his broad shoulders or kiss the back of his neck. She could wrap her arms around him and just hold him.

  This is ridiculous! You’re a coward. Just kiss him already!

  All too soon, his haircut was over, though how she managed, she’d never know. Theo removed the towel protecting his shoulders, then, unable to resist a moment longer, she smoothed her fingers across the back of his neck to brush away the clippings.