Karen Kirst - His Mountain Miss

With a smile at Rachel and Cole, she returned Abby to their arms. “I guess I should go, as well. I’m keeping you from your lunch.”

“No, you’re not—” Rachel smiled as she spoke “—but I can see a certain gentleman is intent on snagging your attention. Whenever you need to talk, our door is always open. Come over anytime.”

“Thanks, I appreciate that.”

Megan watched the couple stroll to their wagon, Cole holding Rachel close to his side, his smile bright enough to rival the sun. She was thrilled to see her friends happy at long last. Cole and Rachel had very nearly lost each other, but God had brought them back together in their darkest hour.

“Megan, I’m glad I caught you.”

“Hello, Tom.” She smiled at the tall and lean barbershop owner, genuinely happy to see him. His easygoing personality made it easy to relax in his presence. “How are you, today?”

“Better now that I’m talking to you.” He grinned, dimples flashing. “Josh invited me to join you for lunch at his parents’ house. Care to walk with me?” He held out his arm.

She felt a flash of momentary irritation. Her cousin Josh insisted on pushing his best friend and her together, and she didn’t like it one bit. While Tom was an extremely nice man, she wasn’t interested in more than friendship. There was no spark, only casual affection.

Growing up, she’d envisioned a dashing hero, her own personal knight in shining armor sweeping into her life and fulfilling all her childhood dreams. Older and, she hoped, wiser at twenty years of age, she realized the impossibility of those expectations. No man could be everything she needed and desired. God alone could be her all in all. Still, the romantic, idealistic side of her hoped for a man who would challenge her, thrill her, cherish her.

So far, that man had yet to materialize. She was beginning to fear he never would.

Suppressing a shudder, she met Tom’s hopeful gaze. “I’d love to, but I’m going home for lunch.”

“Are you sure I can’t change your mind?” His smile held a tinge of disappointment.

“Not this time.” She wasn’t in the mood for a crowd today, even if it was family. Her mind was too full of Lucian Beaumont.

“All right, but at least let me walk with you part of the way.” He lifted his hat and fluffed his brown hair, a habit that left him looking like a ruffled little boy. An adorable one, at that. How could she refuse him?

Placing her hand in the crook of his arm, she smiled her thanks. His conversation managed to distract her, at least until they passed the turnoff for Charles’s house. What was Lucian doing right this minute? Had he decided how he was going to handle the stipulation?

Friday would be upon them before they knew it. If he was not planning on honoring Charles’s wishes, she needed to know sooner rather than later. The children deserved to be told ahead of time, as did the people preparing for the poetry recital coming up. She would visit him first thing in the morning, she decided. No reason to delay what would surely be an unpleasant confrontation.

If Lucian Beaumont thought he could run roughshod over her and this town, she would soon prove him wrong.

Chapter Three

Rounding the curve in the tree-lined lane leading to Charles’s house, Megan was presented with an unobstructed view of the gardens spreading out behind it. Against the backdrop of gray skies, the lush grasses seemed greener than usual, the vibrant flower patches more vivid. Tree branches swayed in the rain-scented breeze.

And there, in the midst of everything, sat the lord of the manor. Eating his breakfast and perusing a newspaper as if he hadn’t a care in the world. And looking entirely too at home, she thought peevishly. He was a worldly-wise gentleman, wealthy beyond belief and accustomed to the conveniences of city life. He didn’t belong in her quaint mountain town.

Determination spurred her across the lawn.

When he noticed her approach, he set aside the paper and stood up, his expression carefully neutral. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit, Miss O’Malley?”

His voice, like sweet tea and molasses rolled into one, shouldn’t please her, but it did. His accent was deeper than hers, almost like a song with its French undertones. She wondered what it would sound like if he was actually happy.

She stopped a distance away, the round, white metal table between them. “We don’t stand on formality here. Why don’t you call me Megan?”

“As you wish, Megan. Please, call me Lucian.” His eyes seemed to impossibly darken. He gestured at the food spread out on the table. “Have you eaten? You’re welcome to join me.”

His invitation was born out of politeness, no doubt ingrained from birth. It was clear he didn’t really wish to dine with her.

“No, thank you. I’ve already had breakfast.” If you could call a cup of coffee breakfast. She couldn’t eat when she was nervous.

“Some tea, then?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Coming around to her side, he scooted out the chair for her and poured her tea, stirring in cream and two spoons of sugar.

“You remembered,” she blurted.

“Yes” was all he said as he placed it in front of her.

When he was seated, he rested one arm on the table, the other fisted on his hip in a relaxed position, waiting for her to explain the reason for her visit. His black gaze was too direct, sharp, for her to be at ease. His masculine appeal didn’t help matters.

Smoothing her skirts, she took a calming breath. “I came this morning because I’d like to know what you’ve decided about the house.”

“I haven’t yet.”

“Until you do, are you going to allow the story times to continue?”

“Do I have a choice?” he responded evenly, one dark brow arched.

Megan truly didn’t want to goad him, to argue, so she said nothing. Sipped her tea.

“Tell me, mon chou, why is this so important to you? Reading to other people’s children?” His gaze swept her curls, which she’d again restrained with a single ribbon. “Dressing like a princess?”

“What did you call me?”

Lucian looked startled, as if he’d made a slip. He waved it aside. “Later. For now, I’d like to hear your answer.”

Perhaps Kate knew French and could tell her what he’d said. An heiress from New York City, she must’ve learned other languages.

“Living off the land is hard work. As early as four or five years of age, children begin helping with chores. Depending on each family’s situation, there can be little time for a child to relax and just be a child. In addition to this, many families can’t afford books. Since Charles has a vast collection and ample space, he and I decided the children would benefit from a weekly story time. Not only would it be fun for them, but also educational.” She leaned forward, warming to her topic. “Books expand horizons. They entertain, inspire and enrich lives. I enjoy reading to them. Dressing the part merely adds to the experience.”

“And the strawberry tarts and lemonade? What purpose do they serve?”

She smiled then. “Incentive for them to sit still and listen. Treats are reserved for those children who behave.”

“I see.”

That phrase again. She wanted to shake him.

He was studying her, obviously trying to decide if he believed her. No one had ever doubted her sincerity before. It was not a pleasant feeling.

A raindrop splashed on her arm. Then another. She glanced up at the rain-swollen clouds overhead. “I think we’re in for a shower.”

The drops began to fall harder and faster.

Lucian surged to his feet and, circling the table, took hold of her hand. “Let’s make a run for it!”

“The dishes—”