The day she’d returned it was high on his list of painful memories. Only after spending time with his brother and sister-in-law and witnessing their devotion to one another had he recognized she’d been right to refuse him.
Megan hadn’t loved him. A truth that didn’t inflict pain like it had before.
“Lucian mentioned that you’d returned. Is this your niece?”
Pulling himself together, he introduced the two and asked after her husband. While he and the New Orleans native weren’t friends, he respected the man.
“He’s out hunting with Patrick, our son.”
Josh had told him that the couple had experienced difficulties having children. Years ago, when the wounds from her rejection were still fresh and his jealousy toward Lucian Beaumont had raged in him, he might’ve experienced a twinge of satisfaction. But no more. He couldn’t rejoice at their troubles. He was glad they’d found a way to have a family.
Megan enfolded Jane in a brief hug. “How are you, sweetie?”
“Perfectly well.”
Jane stood slightly apart from him and Megan, as if she didn’t want to intrude. The siblings exchanged a look he couldn’t interpret. What was going on? And why did Jane look so miserable?
Jane had lied. She was ill. Very ill, indeed.
Her whole body felt as if it wasn’t quite tethered to the ground. Her limbs trembled. And a vise was squeezing her insides until she could hardly breathe.
In that initial moment when Tom saw Megan, his reaction had confirmed her suspicions...he still loved her. There could be no arguing the fact.
As they followed her sister down the long papered hallway to the back porch, Jane was once again confronted with a heartbreaking truth—she was not what he desired in a wife. The epitome of delicate beauty, Megan’s personality was such that people craved her company. She was comfortable reading storybooks to scores of children while their parents looked on. She even dressed like the characters! There wasn’t enough money in the world to induce Jane to do such a thing. No, she preferred solitude to crowds. Peace and quiet to outright attention.
It made sense that Tom would prefer a woman with well-honed social skills. He was open and friendly, able to strike up a conversation with anyone he came in contact with. That was part of why he’d been such a successful barber. He’d treated his customers like dear family members.
There were any number of such single women in Gatlinburg who’d welcome his interest. Best that she start preparing herself for that event. Once he got the farm situated, he’d be on the lookout for a wife. A daytime caretaker was merely a short-term solution for Clara’s needs.
As they exited the house, she stumbled over the doorjamb, and his hand came to rest against her lower back, guiding her over to the grouping of painted metal chairs with cushioned seats. The familiarity of his touch reminded her of old times, the weight and heat registering through her cotton dress and igniting a roaring inferno of longing within her chest. Such an innocuous gesture and yet devastating.
Urging them to sit, Megan waved to her daughters, who were inspecting a butterfly hovering above the patch of bleeding heart flowers. Seventeen-year-old Lillian said something to the small child at her side and, taking her hand, walked her over to the steps. Tom remained standing, his focus on the girls.
She knew what he was thinking. Lillian, with her waist-length blond curls and pale skin, could pass for Megan’s sister. Rose, on the other hand, had dark brown hair and olive skin like Lucian.
As the girls neared, Clara tucked closer into Tom’s side. He gently stroked her curls and murmured encouraging words. Jane winced. This was the reason she couldn’t be Clara’s caretaker. She couldn’t be in their presence every day, couldn’t witness his patience and affection without yearning to be included. To share in the care and nurturing of this sweet, vulnerable child. And, impossibly, to give him more children. Build a family with him.
Please, God, let this visit be brief.
Motherly pride on her face, Megan brought them over. “Girls, I’d like you to meet a dear friend of our family, Mr. Tom Leighton. And this is his niece, Clara.”
Lillian blushed and smiled. “How do you do?”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Tom said warmly.
Rose observed Clara with keen interest.
“Girls, how about you show Clara the gardens?” Megan said.
“Certainly. Rose has some dolls on the table there.” Lillian pointed to the white wrought-iron setting on the garden’s perimeter. “Would you like to come and play?”
Clara looked up at her uncle, silently questioning. He bestowed her with a bright smile. “Go ahead, little bird. I’ll be right here.”
Megan lifted the basket Jane had given her. “I’ll have our treat dished out in a few minutes. I’ll prepare tea for you, sis. Tom, would you care for coffee?”
“I’d love some.” Striding to her side, he relieved her of her burden. “I’ll help you get everything ready.”
Jealousy flushed her skin hot, then cold. Jane hated that she was jealous of her own sister. Forgive me, Lord.
“I’ll stay with Clara,” she scraped out, throat burning. He’d invited her here to smooth things between them. Apparently he didn’t require her presence, as he’d initially thought.
Megan flashed her a look of apology. Tom thanked Jane, already leading the way to the door, holding it open like a proper gentleman.
Clara tugged on her sleeve. “Let’s go, Miss Jane.”
Gazing down into wide, solemn green eyes so much like Tom’s, she realized how immature she was being. This child had endured the loss of her mother. Her father had willingly abandoned her. She was in a new, unfamiliar town far from Kansas, surrounded by people she didn’t know. Jane’s shallow problems were inconsequential compared to Clara’s.
Summoning a smile, she squeezed her hand. “What shall we do first? Play dolls or explore the gardens?”
* * *
Two days later, Tom couldn’t get the image of Jane and Clara out of his head. He and Megan had emerged carrying trays brimming with pie and hot drinks and there, in the midst of the stone path flanked by a profusion of pastel blooms, sat Jane, his niece on her lap, heads bent as they studied a caterpillar in her cupped hands.
A rare smile had graced Clara’s rosebud mouth. She’d been relaxed in Jane’s arms. Content. And when they’d lifted their heads, he’d been struck by the compassion on Jane’s face.
He shouldn’t be surprised at the evidence of his friend’s maternal instinct. Jane was one of the most kindhearted, loving people he’d ever met. That’s why he was here on her doorstep unannounced, ready to get down on his knees and beg if need be.
At his knock, the door swung open and there she
