Karen Kirst - Wed By Necessity

“Would you care to dance?” He spoke in a rolling brogue that identified him as a foreigner.

The other girls had fallen silent and were watching him in awed stupor.

“Are you speaking to me, Irishman?” Caroline raised her brows.

He flashed a lopsided grin. “I’m no Irishman. I hail from Aberdeen, Scotland. And yes, I’m wantin’ to know if you’d like to dance.”

The way he pronounced his o’s teased her ears. Interest stirred to life, and she considered accepting his invitation. Then reason prevailed. As a member of one of Gatlinburg’s most prominent families, she couldn’t allow her reputation to become tarnished. In the Turner family, missteps were frowned upon.

“I don’t associate with drifters.”

“I take it your answer is no then?”

Regret sharpened her tone. “I believe I made myself clear.”

His gaze turned mocking as he sketched a bow. “Forgive me for intruding upon your time, fair lass.”

“I’ll dance with you,” Vivian Lowe practically purred.

Caroline and the others gaped at her.

“Will ya now? I’m a fortunate man.”

Then, to Caroline’s chagrin, he shucked the large pack from his back and thrust it at her. “Watch this for me, will ya?”

She struggled beneath its unwieldy weight, glaring as he led Vivian in a routine with the form and grace of an accomplished dancer.

“Caroline Grace Turner, what are you doing standing here dillydallying?” Her mother marched to her side. “You’re supposed to be overseeing the stations. Ida has run out of potato salad and the Jackson sisters spilled a gallon jar of tea on Mr. Williams.” Louise’s upper lip curled. “What is that?”

“Nothing, Mother.” Letting the pack thunk to the dry grass, she shot one last disgruntled glance in the direction of the dancers and trailed behind her mother like the dutiful daughter she was supposed to be.

* * *

Duncan McKenna should’ve known better than to ask the cool blonde to dance, but full of relief that his long journey was at an end, he’d given in to a spurt of optimism. He should’ve guessed that the alluring mystery in her navy-hued eyes and the sweet curve of her mouth were too good to be true. He watched her dump his belongings, her haughty features registering distaste, and march off with the silver-haired matron.

Lanterns suspended from stakes throughout the fields emitted soft light. As she passed one, the diamonds draped around her neck and wrists glittered and the silken, pearl-like fabric of her billowing skirts shimmered. The elegant dress displayed her statuesque, pleasing figure to perfection. A shame her attitude didn’t match her outward beauty.

“Was Caroline right? Are you just passing through?”

Duncan switched his attention to the coy brunette in his arms. “Your friend was mistaken. I’m plannin’ on stickin’ around for a bit.”

Her face brightened. “That’s wonderful news. I’m Vivian Lowe, by the way.”

“Duncan McKenna.”

The music came to an end, and she made no effort to hide her disappointment. “I’m free for the next dance.” Her shining hazel eyes implored him to extend their time together.

“If I hadn’t ridden fifteen miles today, I would be honored to be your partner again.” He smiled to soften the blow.

Her gloved hand latching on to his forearm, she leaned closer than good manners dictated. “Let me purchase you a lemonade then. You must be parched after so long a journey.”

“Maybe another time.”

Vivian accepted his excuse with a barely concealed pout. “I look forward to seeing you again, Duncan McKenna.”

Bidding her goodnight, Duncan went to reclaim his belongings. He’d met forward young ladies in almost every town he’d sojourned in and had avoided them like the plague. The woman he desired for a wife and helpmeet wouldn’t be so desperate for male company that she latched onto random strangers.

A young lawman waited beside Duncan’s pack, boots planted wide and arms crossed beneath a glinting silver star, no doubt bent on interrogating him. Caroline’s assessment wasn’t far-fetched. Small towns tended to be suspicious of strangers.

“Good evenin’ to ya.” He held out his hand. “Duncan McKenna’s the name.”

“Ben MacGregor.” With hair more deeply red than his own, and green eyes that seemed inclined to mischief, the man could’ve hailed from the same bonny isle as Duncan. His accent bore an easy Southern cadence, however. “I don’t recall seeing you around these parts before. Family in the area?”

Resettling his pack on his shoulders, he shook his head. “I’m here for work. Albert Turner hired me to care for his horses.”

“You’re the new stable manager? I heard he found someone to replace old George. Welcome to Gatlinburg.” His smile turned rueful. “I see you’ve already met Albert’s daughter.”

Duncan surveyed the milling crowd. “Who? Vivian?”

“Ah, no. Caroline Turner.” Ben jerked his chin in the direction of the refreshment tables. The blonde was there in what appeared to be a supervisory role. The girls enduring her instructions clustered together, their expressions reminiscent of those in the presence of royalty.

The exhaustion he’d been keeping at bay poured through him. His body begged for a dark room and a soft mattress where he could stretch out and sleep without having to listen for wild animals on the prowl or two-legged creatures up to no good. The anticipation over his new employment waned. He would have to cross paths with the snooty socialite on a regular basis.

“Does Mr. Turner have any more daughters I should be aware of?”

Ben tucked his thumbs in his pockets. “No, and we should count ourselves fortunate on that score.” At Duncan’s continued scowl, he chuckled. “Caroline’s not so bad once you get to know her.”

Before leaving Boston and his family behind, he’d known scores of women exactly like her. He had no wish to associate with more.

“Come with me,” Ben said. “I’ll help you locate Albert.”

They wove their way through the throng of youngsters and adults. As they neared the table Caroline was stationed behind, her almond-shaped eyes lit on his and with a disapproving frown, she turned away. Duncan could well imagine her reaction when she learned the news of his employment and hoped he was around to witness it.

* * *

Caroline descended the stairs much later than usual the next morning. Disturbing dreams had troubled her sleep. Lack of rest wasn’t the only reason she’d lingered in bed. Today she would make yet another trip to the bank, enduring the clerk’s censorious stare as she made up another false story about an expensive bauble she wished to purchase. Then she’d ride out to the north side of the property, where she’d leave the demanded amount. She wondered how long this would continue. Eventually she’d run out of money, and then what?

As she neared the dining room, the rich aroma of hot coffee mixed with chicory wrapped around her. Her father had gone to New Orleans last month and purchased multiple tins. Her anticipation vanished the moment she crossed the threshold. The hulking Scotsman from last night’s festivities was seated at her table. A china plate piled high with Cook’s usual breakfast offerings was in front of him.

“You.”

He appeared marginally tamer this morning, with the charcoal-gray shirt molded to the impressive breadth of his shoulders looking clean and pressed. In the light streaming through the windows, his hair had the rich sheen of mahogany. Once again, he’d restrained it with a strip of leather. He looked like a man who spent much of his time apart from society, nothing like the distinguished Charleston businessmen who usually used her home for a mountain retreat.