Karen Kirst - The Bridal Swap

His fingers dug into her flesh, and she flinched. “Please,” she whimpered, “let me go.”

Somewhere behind her, she heard the click of a gun hammer. “I’d advise you to get your hands off the lady.”

She couldn’t see Mr. O’Malley, but his voice rang with deadly promise.

Uncertainty flickered in the glazed eyes. “My wife is my business.”

“The booze has scrambled your senses, Matthews.” He came closer. “Kate Morgan just arrived today. Look at her fancy clothes. She’s from New York City. A Yankee.”

This man was Tyler Matthews? Charlotte’s son was a dangerous drunk?

“I don’t understand.” His grip loosened, but he didn’t release her. His bloodshot gaze roamed her features. “You aren’t Lily?”

Her mouth suddenly dry, she croaked out a response.

“No.”

His hands dropped abruptly to his sides. Immediately, Mr. O’Malley took her elbow and eased her to his side so as not to draw the other man’s attention. Her knees felt like gelatin. Unsteady, she held on to his arm as if it were a lifeline.

He appeared calm, but Kate sensed the tension humming through his body. His jaw was set in rigid lines. “Why don’t you go back inside and sleep it off?”

Head bent, Matthews rubbed the back of his neck. “I, uh, haven’t been sleepin’ too good lately.”

“Then maybe you should lay off the drink.”

Mr. O’Malley obviously knew this man and his history. What had happened to his wife? And why had he mistaken Kate for her?

“Yeah.” Turning, he went inside without another word.

Her rescuer angled his face down toward hers. “Are you all right?”

His low, easy drawl flowed over her like decadent, sugary caramel.

Kate gulped. She avoided all sweets, in particular caramel. One taste was never enough.

Suddenly conscious of her viselike grip on his arm, she let go and took a quick step back.

“I’m fine,” she said, tugging her snug-fitting jacket down. Her arms smarted from where Matthews had held her prisoner, but she wouldn’t mention that to him. “Thank you for intervening.”

Mr. Crandall rushed forward. “I second that sentiment, Mr. O’Malley. Are you quite certain you’re unharmed, Miss Morgan?”

“Yes.”

The brim of his black hat shading his eyes, Mr. O’Malley slid his weapon back in its holster and nodded to the carriage. “Let’s go before he has a change of heart.”

“Go where?” It suddenly dawned on Kate that she had no place to stay.

“My house.”

This was not the day he’d had planned.

He should’ve been acquainting his intended with her new home. Instead, he was saddled with her sister. Troubled and pale after her ordeal, Kate stared out the carriage window, seemingly a million miles away.

“Where do you suppose Charlotte is?” Her gaze settled on him, seeking answers.

He hitched a shoulder. “I don’t know.”

“I thought everyone knew everyone else’s business in small towns.”

“That’s true to a point. However, I personally don’t keep track of everyone’s comings and goings.” He shifted on the swaying seat. When a worried crease appeared between her brows, he added, “We’ll ask my mother. She’s friendly with Mrs. Matthews, so there’s a good chance she’ll have an idea where she’s gone, if anywhere. For all we know, she could’ve been visiting a friend or picking up necessities.”

Her expression brightened, then dimmed an instant later. “Even if she is nearby, I can’t possibly stay there. Not with her son.” The fingers plucking at the lace edging her sleeves stilled. “Where is Lily Matthews?”

“Dead.”

Her lips parted. “I don’t understand. Then why—”

“You resemble her.” He shoved a hand through his hair. “Matthews used to be a productive member of this town, but he hasn’t been the same since the accident.” He’d heard of the man’s tendency to drink, but he hadn’t realized the severity of the problem. If he had, he wouldn’t have taken Kate out there.

“Does Gatlinburg have a hotel? Or a boardinghouse?”

“No hotel. No boardinghouse. The Copelands occasionally have rooms to let, but their son and his family are visiting from out of town.”

Again, she got that worried look.

“My parents may know of somewhere you can stay,” he tacked on. “Or you could go back to New York.”

She stiffened. “That’s not an option.”

“Why not?”

“I came here to do a job.” At his puzzled expression, she sighed. “The book, remember?”

“Ah, yes. I remember. You’re a photographer.” While he had no issue with working women, he couldn’t picture this elegant, delicate young lady as anything other than a privileged socialite. “Your coming here proved to be very convenient for Francesca, didn’t it? Why not let you deal with the unnecessary groom?”

“Mr. O’Malley, I’m sorry—”

He held up a staying hand as the driver halted the team outside of the livery. “It’s not your place to apologize. Forget I said anything.”

Kate didn’t speak as they exited the carriage. Replacing his hat on his head, he gave instructions to the driver and footman.

“We’ll leave your trunks here until we figure out where you’ll be staying.”

She glanced up and down the busy street. “I thought we were going to your house.”

“We are. It’s not far. I thought you might like to stretch your legs after being cooped up much of the day.”

Surprised that he cared one whit for her comfort, she fell into step beside him.

Passing the last business on the right, Leighton Barbershop, he led her across a quaint, wooden bridge overlooking the river.

The shaded lane enveloped them in a vibrant cocoon, leaves hanging mere inches from their heads. To the right and left stood an endless parade of stately trees reaching for the Heavens, the thick, dark trunks anchored in a sea of gold created by the shorter tulip trees’ golden leaves.

What beauty! How many are your works, O Lord! In wisdom You made them all; the earth is full of Your creatures.

She wished suddenly for a cushioned chair, a steaming cup of Earl Grey and a copy of Scientific American . She’d stay here in this lane for hours if he’d allow it.

Around the bend, the trees opened up to an expansive clearing, the green grass a lush carpet leading to a two-story cabin with a long, narrow front porch and beyond, a weathered barn and several outbuildings. It was just as he’d described, but of course the reality far surpassed her imaginings.

Pigs squealed in the distance. The sizable garden was bursting with jewel-toned vegetables—plump orange pumpkins, glossy eggplant, striped squash of different sizes and shapes, and green peppers.

Temporarily forgetting her dilemma, Kate grinned, ecstatic to see a real farm up close for the first time.

Pointing to impressive rows of trees, she asked, “Are those apple trees?”

He nodded. “McIntosh apples. They’ll be ripe in about a week.”

“That’s a lot of apples.”

“We won’t eat them all fresh. They’ll be used to make cider, vinegar, applesauce and apple butter, not to mention pies and other desserts.”

“You have a beautiful home,” she breathed, a note of wistfulness in her voice.

He glanced over at her. “The good Lord has blessed us.”

As they drew nearer to the house, Kate’s nerves assailed her. How would his parents react to her presence once they learned her awful news? Mouth dry and palms damp inside her buff-colored lace gloves, she slowed her steps.

The front door opened. A man and woman emerged, their faces alight with anticipation. “It’s about time, Joshua!” the woman exclaimed. “We were beginning to think something had happened.” Advancing down the steps, she crossed to meet them, her husband not far behind.