A Kiss in the Morning Mist Read online

  “What new hired hand? What happened to Stanton?”

  Aldrich barked laughter and almost spit his cigar from his mouth. “Stanton? She sacked him, as I suspected she would. Damned fool thought he could hit me up for money when she did. Sent him packing before you even learned of it. And you’re more of a fool. You should have known better than to have him try to work on her farm. Theo isn’t stupid, nor is she tolerant of abuse.”

  “No, she isn’t stupid. Every man I’ve sent there to work for her and spy for me hasn’t worked out.”

  “I told you that idea was worthless.” Aldrich’s chest puffed out with satisfaction as redness crept into AJ’s face and sweat beaded on his forehead.

  “No more worthless than you sending your fancy lawyers to bully her. She ran off the last three with a shotgun.”

  That satisfaction died quickly.

  “Theo requires a more subtle touch.”

  “Then do what needs to be done, AJ. You have six weeks to woo her and get her in front of a preacher. You can start by asking her to that dance up at the church. She’d like that, I’m sure.” He leaned forward and folded his hands on the desktop. “And while you’re asking her, find out who that new man is.”

  “Yes, sir.” AJ finished the bourbon in his glass, rose to his feet, and left the room, his footsteps loud on the marble staircase rising up to the second floor. Aldrich watched him go. Had his late wife lied all those years ago? Had she been telling the truth and AJ truly wasn’t his son? Was he Carter Preston’s?

  Aldrich sighed. He’d never know. Dead women didn’t talk. Neither did dead men.

  Chapter 6

  “Mama Theo, why is Mr. MacDermott so sad?”

  Theo stopped in the midst of braiding Gabby’s hair, the question taking her by surprise, though it shouldn’t have—Gabby was a sensitive child. Theo mentally shook herself, then grabbed a ribbon and tied it around the end of the braid, the bright blue silk making Gabby’s eyes brighter. “I don’t know, buttercup. Perhaps something terribly sad happened to him.”

  “Like me? And Charlotte? And Tommy?”

  She gave a slow nod. “That could be. Perhaps you should ask him. Be kind though. Always kind.” She inspected her handiwork, then caught the child’s gaze in the vanity’s mirror. “And maybe you can help him. Show him how to be happy. Some people just don’t know how. Or they forgot.”

  Gabby turned around on the stool, but she didn’t look up. Instead, she studied her feet, dangling above the floor. “But I’m just little.”

  “Ah, buttercup, that’s all right.” Theo reached out and gently clasped Gabby’s chin between her thumb and forefinger, raising her ward’s face upward so she could see into her baby-blue eyes. “You just haven’t grown tall yet, that’s all. It’s there. One of these days, you’ll sprout up like Granny’s plants, but that isn’t the important thing. You may be little on the outside right now, but your heart is as big as all Colorado.” She released the child’s chin, then stooped to wrap her arms around the girl, hoping this time Gabby wouldn’t hold back.

  The girl hugged her, a quick squeeze that was over much too quickly, before she scrambled off the dressing table’s matching stool. “It’s your turn, Charlotte,” she said as she skipped from the room.

  “Where are you going?” Theo grinned and had a moment of sympathy for Eamon at the same time. She knew exactly where Gabby was heading. Poor man doesn’t know what’s about to hit him.

  Her prediction proved correct as the girl responded, her cheerful little voice trailing down the stairs. “To help Mr. MacDermott be happy.”

  “I know it’s Saturday and you have no school, but we still need to collect eggs.” Theo moved into the hallway and yelled down the stairs. “I’ll meet you at the henhouse in a few minutes.”

  “Okay, Mama Theo!”

  Theo shook her head as she walked back into her room. Gabby Bainbridge was a force to be reckoned with. She did not touch people often and she carried scars from her past, but there was no escaping her persistence or her charm. “I’m so sorry, Eamon.”

  “Why are you sorry, Mama Theo?” Charlotte asked as she sat in the vacated seat, her honey-brown eyes intent upon the mirror.

  “Because Mr. MacDermott is about to get blown over by Hurricane Gabby. You know what a chatterbox she can be. And you know how determined she is.”

  The little girl sighed and nodded in agreement. “I know.” She sighed again as her fingers plucked at the hem of the shirt she wore over her trousers. “Not sure how it happened, but she ended up with all my peppermint sticks.”

  “She did?” Theo picked up the brush and drew the bristles through Charlotte’s light brown hair, making the thick strands curl and gleam in the light coming in through the window. “Braid or pig tails?”

  “Pig tails.” Her fingers continued to pick at her shirt, pulling at a loose thread. “Mr. MacDermott is very quiet.”

  Theo nodded as she chose several ribbons—two each of red, green, and yellow—from the little ceramic box on the dressing table and held them up. “No, he doesn’t say very much, does he?”

  Charlotte shook her head, and a blush rose to her cheeks as she chose the green ribbons. “But he’s not like me. He’s not . . . shy.”

  “No, he’s not shy, rosebud. He’s just . . . sad for whatever reason.” She rested her hand on Charlotte’s shoulder and gave a light squeeze. “But you can help him, too.”

  The little girl’s face brightened, although doubt flickered in her eyes. “Me?”

  “Of course. Why not you? You’re a sweet girl, and you have a big heart, too. Be kind to him and he’ll be kind back, and maybe, between all of us, he won’t be sad anymore.” She drew the brush through Charlotte’s hair, then parted it down the middle, and separated the sides. A few more quick strokes and she tied the green ribbons, creating two perfect pigtails, the ends curling like a true pig’s tail.

  The ribbons would be lost or stuffed into a pocket and her hair would be tangled and knotted after a day of hard play, but it didn’t matter. Not in the least. This time Theo spent with the girls was not so much about doing their hair, but more about talking and listening and loving. Over time, it had become a ritual, one that she enjoyed. “You’re done.”

  Charlotte slipped off the stool and threw her arms around Theo, hugging her tight. “Thank you, Mama Theo.”

  “My pleasure, rosebud. Now scoot with you. I’ll be down in a minute, and we’ll collect those eggs.”

  As Gabby had done, Charlotte skipped from the room, then ran down the stairs, her sock-clad feet light on the risers.

  Theo listened, a smile on her face, then pulled the brush through her own hair, tying the heavy mass into a ponytail at the back of her head. Her thoughts flew to Eamon, and her smile grew. The man didn’t stand a chance at remaining sad, not with two very persistent little girls showing him how to be happy. She smirked at her reflection in the mirror, then sat on the stool the girls had utilized earlier, and pulled on her thick wool socks and boots. A moment later, she left her room and went downstairs to find the kitchen empty.

  No Marianne, no Granny, no children. She glanced out to the porch, but only saw Charlotte pulling on her boots. Closer to the barn, she saw Gabby, one of the rag dolls she loved dangling from her fingertips with its stuffed feet dragging through the dirt and the small cigar box where she kept what she called “medico supplies” tucked under her arm.

  Again, a smile crossed her lips. The little girl was going to see Eamon right now and begin her battle to make him happy, starting with “fixing” her doll.

  “Was I right?”

  The voice came from behind her, and though Theo recognized it, she still jumped, startled, her hand flying to her chest as she sucked in her breath. She turned to see Granny shuffle into the kitchen from the butler’s pantry, folded napkins in her hand, still dressed in her nightclothes, her robe tied securely around her waist.

  “Granny! You frightened ten years off my life!”

  “
Sorry, Theo, didn’t mean to startle you.” She moved around the table in a slow, halting gait, placing the napkins beside their plates, then adding fork, spoon, and knife with her twisted fingers.

  “Why are you setting the table? Isn’t it Thomas’s turn this morning?”

  “I sent the boy out to the barn to help with the milking.” The older woman shrugged as she finished the process and each place setting had a full complement of silver, napkin, plate, and glass or cup.

  “Where is Marianne?”

  “Sent her out to the springhouse for more butter.” The woman inhaled deeply and released the air from her lungs through her pursed lips, an action Theo had seen more than once and generally meant Granny was in pain, her joints stiffer than usual. It also meant there would be rain before the day was over. Her arthritic hands and knees never lied.

  “She was looking at me like you’re looking at me,” Granny grumbled. “Stop it right now.”

  “You shouldn’t be doing this. It’s the children’s chore.” Theo was careful not to mention the real reason for her concern.

  “And don’t you be tellin’ this old woman what to do.” Even as she said the words, Granny winced, the pain pinching the woman’s mouth until her wrinkles deepened, nearly swallowing her eyes in the creases. “I need to be moving around this morning.”

  Sympathy rushed through Theo, but it would be useless to argue with the woman. She knew from experience when it came to stubbornness, Granny held all the cards. Despite her discomfort, there would be no resting, no coddling herself. Granny’s attitude didn’t promote pampering.

  “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be as right as rain soon as these old bones get the idea I ain’t ready to lie down just yet.” She drew in her breath and rested her hands on the back of a chair. Gnarled with arthritis, they seemed more swollen today. “And we’re not talking about me. Answer my question.”

  “What question?”

  The look Granny gave her was pure Lavinia Stark—fierce, yet loving.

  “Was I right about him?” she asked again.

  “Oh.” Theo placed her hands on her hips and returned her unflinching stare. “I’ll answer your question if you’ll sit down and let me make you a cup of your special tea.”

  “I told you not to bother with me. I’ll be fine. And you have eggs to collect.”

  Theo crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head. “The eggs can wait. So can everything else. Sit. Don’t argue.” She moved to the stove and grabbed the tea kettle, filled it with water from the pump at the sink, then placed it back on the stove as Granny eased herself into her chair. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

  Breakfast would be late, but that didn’t matter. Granny was much more important. She discussed her concerns about Granny with Quincy and Marianne, both of whom she’d found just outside the barn, talking in hushed tones. After consulting with them, she rushed back into the house in time to hear the water in the kettle boiling merrily and see Granny already struggling to get up from the chair where she’d finally rested, her hands flat on the table, though that pained her as well.

  “Oh no, you stay right where you are,” Theo ordered as she rushed to the woman’s side, realizing Granny’s discomfort was worse than she’d first thought.

  “I told ya I don’t want no fussin’.”

  Theo let out a long sigh as she grasped her elbow in a firm, yet gentle grip with one hand and rested her other hand against her shoulder blade. “Don’t argue with me, Granny. For once, let me take care of you. Just sit. Fifteen minutes. Long enough to drink your tea. That’s all I ask. Will you do that for me?”

  Finally, with as much dignity as she could muster, Granny acquiesced and allowed Theo to help her into her chair again, though her expression conveyed her unhappiness with the situation . . . and her own physical limitations.

  Theo sprinkled Granny’s combination of tea and healing herbs into a tea ball, closed it securely, and then dropped it into the cup and poured boiling water over it. When it had steeped, she added a dash of cool water so Granny could drink it, then carefully brought the malodorous concoction to the table. She had no idea what plants Granny used to mix into the loose tea or what made it smell so horrible, but it always seemed to help.

  Granny pulled the cup closer to her and wrapped her twisted fingers around the fine china, her body visibly relaxing just a bit as the warmth settled into her swollen hands. She raised the cup to her lips, blew on the liquid, and then took a careful sip. Her intent gaze never left Theo, though. As she placed the cup in the saucer, she said, “Well, girl. You got your way. I’m sitting. I’m drinking this foul tea—”

  Theo ignored the sarcastic bent to Granny’s words. Instead, she poured herself a cup of coffee from the pot Marianne made before the sun rose that morning and brought it to the table. She slid into the chair beside Granny. “The tea always helps you, even though you don’t like—”

  “Hmmm. You’re avoiding the question.”

  “What question?”

  “Theodosia Danforth, you’re a smart girl.” She sipped her tea and made a face. “But I’m just a bit smarter. I know when you’re stalling. Was I right?”

  Theo didn’t have to ask what Granny was talking about. And though she hated to admit it, the woman had been right. She always was. She’d warned Theo not to hire Burl Stanton. Two days after he started, the man had gone after Circe with a whip. The unforgivable sin had Stanton packing and on his way within five minutes of the incident. She’d witnessed no such actions from Eamon nor did he need any reminders to be kind.

  “He seems to be a good man from what I can see,” Theo admitted with a helpless shrug. “Patient. Tolerant. Doesn’t talk very much. But he’s been here less than a week. Time will tell.”

  The older woman raised an eyebrow as she drank more of the foul concoction. She said nothing, but the twinkle in her eye was something Theo recognized. And almost feared. Granny was not above playing matchmaker. After Henry passed away and a respectable mourning period had come and gone, Granny had arranged for Theo to meet several eligible men, sons and nephews and so forth of her many acquaintances in town—she had even recruited Dr. Foster—but none of them had interested her.

  Oh, they had been nice enough, not to mention attractive, but perhaps Theo hadn’t been ready to be courted—though she liked the men Granny introduced her to, there’d been no spark. No sudden rush of longing. No desire like she’d experienced with Henry, right from the very beginning. She still didn’t feel anything romantic in nature for those men, although all four remained treasured friends. She hadn’t been sure she’d ever feel passion and yearning again, but then Eamon MacDermott had walked onto Morning Mist. And everything seemed to have changed.

  Did mature, respectable thirty-three-year-old widows feel the same things as a fifteen-year-old girl? Most definitely not. And she didn’t expect to. She had changed. Grown up. Experienced life, the good and the bad, but when all was said and done, she couldn’t deny there was definitely . . . something there with Eamon. More than something, if she could admit the truth, and so much different from what she’d experienced with Henry.

  A subtle flicker of warmth if Eamon should touch her as they worked with the horses, however unintentionally, or a delicate tingle that rushed through her and set her heart to beating more quickly when he looked at her a certain way. And there were many occasions when he did just that . . . looked at her with an expression she couldn’t define, his eyes darkening from the light gray of smoke to the dark slate gray of a storm cloud on the horizon. That look always gave her a breathless feeling, like she’d run too far too fast.

  She’d been able to ignore these new and confusing feelings—mostly—but since she was being honest, he did cut a fine figure of a man. Long and lean, with a backside so firm she wanted to glide her hand over it—repeatedly. He possessed a handsome face, too, and a smile—when he smiled—that could jolt her world, especially when it reached his eyes and made the skin at the corners crinkle. She
often wondered what his lips would taste like, feel like, beneath her own, and if his mustache would tickle.

  Startled by the turn her thoughts had taken, her face warming with embarrassment that matched the heat settling low in her belly, Theo studied the woman in front of her with a critical eye. Granny returned her direct stare with an expression of innocence. Theo didn’t believe that look for an instant. “Old woman, I am not interested in you playing matchmaker, nor am I interested in getting married again. I’m still . . . I still love Henry.”

  Granny placed her nearly empty teacup in its matching saucer, rested her hands, one on top of the other, on the tabletop, and studied Theo before she asked, “Who said anything about marriage? And even if I was, he’s a damned sight better than AJ Pearce. Coming ’round here, talkin’ all pretty, lookin’ and smellin’ like he’s never done a day’s work. Hmph! As if we all don’t know what he’s really after.”

  Theo chose to ignore the reference to AJ. She, too, knew what he—and his father— wanted. Morning Mist Farms. Although AJ seemed to want her just as much if his attempts to kiss her were any indication. “If not marriage, then what?”

  The woman said nothing for a long time, then finally shrugged, her dark eyes gleaming with mischief. “He’s a handsome, powerfully built young man. You’re a healthy young woman.”

  Theo inhaled, surprised, though she shouldn’t have been. “Are you suggesting what I think you are? That I should . . . ”

  Granny shook her head, then finished the tea in her cup, and dabbed at her mouth with a napkin before she rose from her seat, her movements a little less stiff as she shuffled to the sink and placed her teacup into the basin. “I’m not suggesting a thing,” she said over her shoulder as she left the room, but Theo swore she heard laughter in the woman’s voice.