Karen Kirst - The Bachelor's Homecoming

She closed her eyes, and Tom Leighton’s face loomed in her consciousness. Though he’d been gone two years, his image was still crisp and clear. Like a photograph inscribed on her mind.

Dear Lord, give me the strength to follow through with this. Marrying Roy is the only way to purge Tom from my heart and soul.

“Jane?” Roy leaned in, his whisper threaded with anxiety. “You’re not gonna swoon, are you?”

The church doors crashed open. Jane jumped. Everyone twisted in the pews, craning to see who dared interrupt the ceremony. Roy dropped her hands as a petite brunette hurtled down the aisle, thunderclouds scrunching her features.

“I object!” The unfamiliar young woman jabbed a finger in Roy’s direction.

The groom audibly gasped as the color drained from his face. “Laura?”

Seated on the first pew, Jane’s identical twin sister, Jessica, mouthed something she couldn’t make out. Their mother fanned herself furiously. Her overprotective cousins exchanged looks of foreboding.

The reverend leveled a stern stare at the intruder. “What is the nature of your objection, Miss...”

“It’s missus.” Smirking at Jane, she planted her hands on her hips. “I’m Mrs. Laura Crowley. Roy’s wife .”

Chaos erupted. Several of Jane’s family members, including her cousins Caleb and Nathan, shot to their feet, forbidding features radiating anger. Her newest brother-in-law, Quinn, restrained them both and appeared to be urging them to stay calm. Her sisters shared matching expressions of dismay.

The reverend attempted to restore order. “Is this true, young man?”

“Y-yes. We were married at one time, but she deserted the marriage.” He threw up his hands. “I thought you had it annulled, Laura.”

“I didn’t draw up any such papers.”

“Why not?” he growled. A vein bulged in his neck. The telltale sign of rage in the otherwise even-tempered Roy gave Jane yet another shock. “You abandoned me. The least you could’ve done was set me free.”

“You drove me to leave.”

“That’s a lie.”

The reverend cleared his throat. “Ah, perhaps we should take this discussion to a more private setting.”

“What’s there to discuss?” Laura said. “Roy and I are husband and wife, which means there will be no wedding today.”

Jane must’ve made a noise, because Roy turned to her, entreaty and a slight edge of panic in his eyes. “Hear me out, Jane. Please—”

“No.”

By now, the truth was sinking in that she’d nearly taken part in a crime. Unknowingly, of course, but the damage would’ve been done regardless. If she’d gone through with it, she would’ve been living with him without the protection of a valid marriage license. And if she’d had children with him...

The room tilted dizzily. Perspiration dotted her brow.

Looking out over the rows, she realized every single person in attendance was staring straight at her. Some with pity. Some with suspicion. And some with anticipation, as if taking pleasure in this spectacle.

“I can’t do this,” she said, more to herself than anyone else.

Scooping up her voluminous skirts, she fled.

Through the narrow door of Reverend Monroe’s office she ducked, slamming it behind her. Raised voices reverberated through the barrier. She banged her hip against the desk corner in a desperate bid for escape. Rubbing the sore spot, she tumbled through the door that opened into the graveyard. The heat and humidity of a cloudless spring day closed in on her, suffocating and relentless.

She couldn’t face anyone just yet, not even her twin. She needed solitude. Privacy. A moment’s peace to process the destruction of her hopes. Not the hopes one would expect a prospective bride to have, nor the ones the attendees likely thought the arrival of Laura Crowley had crushed.

The loss of Roy wasn’t the cause of her devastation.

It was the loss of what marriage to Roy might’ve finally accomplished...rooting Tom out of her heart once and for all.

* * *

Tom Leighton was almost home. After nothing but rolling plains and endless wheat fields these past years, the verdant, forested mountains were a feast for the eyes. Patches of brilliant purple phlox peeked out between soaring sugar maples, yellow buckeyes, white ash and basswood trees. Like an open-air cathedral, the thick canopy high above was a bird-filled roof, allowing only slivers of sunlight in. Cool air scented with moist earth and magnolia blossoms evoked lifelong memories and an overwhelming sense of relief.

They’d made it.

Glancing over his shoulder at the slumbering child curled up between crates in the tightly packed wagon bed, he offered up a prayer of thanksgiving. Traveling alone with a five-year-old girl across four states had presented a myriad of dilemmas. By the grace of God, he’d dealt with each challenge and was now a couple of miles from the Leighton farm and the cabin he’d grown up in.

Coming home to Gatlinburg hadn’t been the easiest decision. Folks would not have forgotten the reason he’d impulsively sold his barbershop and skipped town. Still, moving back here among friends that were like family had made the most sense now that he was officially Clara’s guardian.

The familiar disappointment and anger knotting in his chest, thoughts of the difficult past year crowding in, he almost didn’t see the woman weaving through the dense trees to his right. A vision in pure white, waist-length hair flowing free, she walked with her head bent, oblivious to her surroundings.

Guiding his team to a halt on the edge of the lane, Tom set the brake and simply watched her. Who was she? Why was she alone? Unwilling to leave without offering his assistance, he disembarked. He checked to make sure Clara hadn’t stirred before rounding the wagon and, not wanting to spook the stranger, took halting steps into the forest.

The sun’s rays slanted through the leaves, and her hair came alive, a deep, glistening red. The air left his lungs. He knew of only two women in this town with hair that color. He’d been particularly fond of one of them.

Intrigued and a little hopeful, Tom moved to intercept her. “Hello there.”

Startled, she pulled up short, one hand flying up to clutch her throat. Her sweet countenance was the same and yet different. More mature. Womanly. Her cheekbones were more pronounced, her rosy mouth fuller. Her moss-green eyes reflected wisdom that hadn’t been present when he’d left.

“Jane O’Malley.”

Grinning, he closed the distance between them. She’d grown several inches, the top of her head coming even with his nose, and her gangly form had blossomed into that of a young woman—tall and graceful in her elegant, beaded white dress.

Hold on...was that a 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.