Karen Kirst - The Bachelor's Homecoming

Clara stuck out her tongue. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t reach. “My tongue isn’t long enough.”

“Let me try,” he said, swiping some on his own nose.

Clara giggled again at his antics, and Jane couldn’t suppress her mirth. She’d forgotten how good he was at that. Making others laugh. Making them forget their problems, even if just for a little while.

He looked across the room at her and winked. She quickly resumed her task before she could act on the impulse to join them. She wasn’t part of their family.

And she couldn’t allow herself to be a part of their lives, no matter how much the idea appealed. When the surface was at last clean, Tom carried three plates over.

“You’re joining us, right?” He pulled out a chair for her.

Jane hadn’t planned to. She could use the time to wipe off the wall-mounted shelves above the counter or clean out the stove’s firebox. But she didn’t want to disappoint Clara, who was waiting expectantly.

“Sure.” Taking her seat beside him, she scooted the plate closer.

“I haven’t had a chance to purchase a milk cow. We’ll have to make do with water.” He angled his thumb toward the saddlebags in the corner. “Unless you’d prefer coffee. I could wash out the kettle and brew us some.”

“Water’s fine.”

“Do you even drink coffee? You didn’t use to like it.”

“Sometimes. I require lots of milk and sugar when I do.”

He nodded, the bread balanced in his large, work-roughened hand. “I’ll be sure to have those items on hand next time you visit. And this place spick-and-span.”

Jane didn’t mention she wasn’t planning on doing much of that. Quietly taking in the interaction between uncle and niece, her questions mounted. Tom was completely at ease with the child, his manner natural. He loved her. How had such a rapport between them built? How long had he been her sole caretaker?

By the time he’d gotten her settled on her pallet for a nap, Jane couldn’t resist questioning him. Pride be hanged.

They’d gone out onto the porch, the cloying heat hinting at an impending rain shower, and he’d tugged on his buckskin gloves and begun removing the remainder of the vines. Bit by bit, the sagging railing became visible.

She hung back, out of his way. “What happened to Clara’s mother?”

The muscles in his broad back rippling with effort, he ripped away a handful of vines and tossed them in a growing pile near the porch. Pushing his hat farther up his forehead, he met her gaze squarely, rioting emotions near the surface.

“Jenny died a year after I went to live with her and Charles. Pneumonia.”

“I’m so sorry.” Sympathy squeezed her heart. Poor Clara.

“Me, too. She was a fine woman.”

“How old was Clara?”

“Four.”

Lips pressed in a tight line, he attacked the last section. So he and his brother had been left to comfort the small girl. Cook for her. Do the wash. Mend clothes. Hard to fathom how they’d managed it in addition to ranch work.

“Where is Charles?”

Was it her imagination, or did he yank on the stubborn vegetation with greater force? He discarded another bunch before answering.

“I have no clue where my brother is,” he bit out.

Shock carried her forward. “I don’t understand.”

“Me, either.” He snorted. “It’s not a topic I like to dwell on.”

His rigid spine and closed-off expression warned her to abandon the topic. There was a mystery here, one she would’ve liked to unravel. Short of tying him up and forcing it out of him—something her bolder, braver twin wouldn’t have hesitated to try—she’d have to accept his silence on the subject.

Besides, the less she knew about his life, the less involved she’d be. Keeping her distance—emotionally and physically—was the only way to survive his homecoming.

Chapter Four

Jane’s heart and mind were at war. Her heart insisted she stay and attempt to draw him out. Learn what had happened in Kansas. Her oh-so-practical mind, on the other hand, was insisting she leave.

“I’ll go and finish those dishes.”

By now, he’d uncovered the entire porch railing. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll get to them later.”

“I like to finish what I start.” That was the only reason she wasn’t climbing in her wagon right this minute. “I have extra time on my hands since the café is closed on Sundays.”

“That’s kind of you, Jane.” He dropped the last bunch onto the pile. “Least I can do is pitch in.”

Not giving her a chance to decline his offer, he took her elbow and assisted her through the thick vegetation. She was very conscious of the strength of his fingers through the gloves, his gentle hold. He didn’t release her until they’d reached the stream.

Jane remained close to the tree trunk, letting it support her weight. Removing his gloves, he crouched at the water’s edge, dipped his hat’s crown below the surface and tipped the entirety over his head. He laughed when he caught her staring. “Feels amazing.” Finger combing the excess water from the wet strands, he extended the hat with a grin. “Want a turn?”

“No, thank you.”

Trailing his right hand through the water, he approached and flung tiny droplets on her exposed neck. “You sure? Won’t hurt to unwind every now and then.”

Jane shook her head, even though the cool moisture did feel wonderful. Somehow, she’d forgotten Tom’s playful side. All this time she’d remembered him as he’d been after Megan’s refusal. Somber. Disappointed. A man whose life plans had been thwarted.

“Why haven’t you asked about Megan?” she blurted, cheeks burning when his eyebrows hit his hairline.

“No particular reason. I’ve had a lot on my mind, what with Clara and the farm. Yesterday, my mind was too full of your predicament to give anything else much thought.”

Right. Her spectacular non wedding.

“So?” he prompted. “How is she?”

“Happy. Not only are she and Lucian the guardians of two adolescent siblings, but they recently adopted a three-year-old girl from New Orleans.”

“She always talked about having a large family. I’m happy for her.”

Jane studied him closely. He struck her as genuine, his interest in her sister casual. There was nothing to indicate he yet nursed a broken heart.

Propping a hand on the branch above her head, he leaned in, bringing a whiff of his distinctive woodsy scent. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“Not sure exactly. Do you suspect I came home with the intention of making things difficult for your sister?”

Jane gasped. “Of course not.”

“I respected Megan’s decision. I didn’t like it, but I learned to accept it.”

Mouth dry, heart beating frantically at his proximity, Jane desperately wanted to ask if he still loved her. Her lips refused to form the words.

His brow creased, and he pushed off the branch to pace. “If you think me capable of such behavior, other people might, too. Maybe even Megan herself.” He slapped his hat against his thigh. “I have to see her. Make sure she understands I harbor no ill will. No grand illusions about us.”

Jane stepped into his path, forcing him to stop. “I don’t think that. I know you’d never do such a thing. Megan knows it, too.”

He closed his hands over hers. “Even so, it would be best if she and I had our first encounter in private. Will you go with me? Having you there would put her at ease.”

Tom had no idea what he was asking. No idea how difficult it would be for her to witness their reunion. What excuse, then, could she possibly give?

Caught in his imploring gaze, his touch both wonderful and torturous, she pulled free. Sidestepping him, she sank onto the bank, blindly seizing the nearest dish and soap sliver. She should’ve stayed away. Although it wasn’t in her nature to refuse her ma anything, she should’ve invented a chore that needed immediate attention.