Karen Kirst - His Mountain Miss

A Battle of Wills

New Orleans aristocrat Lucian Beaumont wants only to sell his estranged grandfather’s property and escape the backwoods of Gatlinburg, Tennessee. But a stipulation in the will brings him head-to-head with a local beauty. Megan O’Malley and the town must have access to the house. For the first time in his life the commanding Lucian finds himself at an impasse.

Clearly the worldly gentleman doesn’t fit in Megan’s quaint Smoky Mountain town. But as she glimpses the man beneath the hardened veneer, she believes Lucian is here for a purpose. To heal his soul. And maybe, with Megan’s help, to heal his heart.

Lucian trusted no one.

If not for his wealth and name, they’d all be gone in a second. He’d learned that the hard way.

What about Megan? The beauty seemed to radiate goodness. He could almost believe she truly cared about helping this town. Was it real? Or a clever act designed to make him lower his guard?

He resented this present circumstance that was beyond his control. As empty as his life in New Orleans had become, it was familiar.

Frustration surged. If not for this young lady, he would’ve already put the house up for sale and be out of this backwoods town.

“Let me make myself clear, Miss O’Malley. I plan to do everything possible to find a way around that stipulation.”

Anger flashed in her eyes. “And let me assure you, Mr. Beaumont, I will do everything I can to fight you.”

He blew out an aggravated breath. He was beginning to wish he’d never heard of Gatlinburg, Tennessee. And Miss Megan O’Malley.

KAREN KIRST

was born and raised in East Tennessee near the Great Smoky Mountains. A lifelong lover of books, it wasn’t until after college that she had the grand idea to write one herself. Now she divides her time between being a wife, homeschooling mom and romance writer. Her favorite pastimes are reading, visiting tearooms and watching romantic comedies.

His Mountain Miss

Karen Kirst

www.millsandboon.co.uk

I will turn their mourning into gladness;

I will give them comfort and joy instead of sorrow.

—Jeremiah 31:13

To my parents-in-law, Pavel and Julie Turon, who have brought such joy into my life.

I’m blessed to know you both. I love you!

A big thank-you to my editor, Emily Rodmell, for all her hard work and dedication.

This series wouldn’t be possible without you!

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Epilogue

Dear Reader

Questions for Discussion

Excerpt

Chapter One

May 1881

Gatlinburg, Tennessee

“Who are you, and what are you doing in my house?”

Jolted out of her concentration, Megan O’Malley dropped the books she was holding, and they thumped to the gleaming wood floor. She twisted around to face the unexpected visitor whose voice she didn’t recognize. Odd, she hadn’t heard the doorbell. Mrs. Calhoun normally announced company.

The stranger standing in the parlor’s wide entryway was definitely not a local. Even dressed in their Sunday best, the men of Gatlinburg couldn’t come close to imitating this man’s elegance. Glossy black Hessian boots encased his feet and calves. Muscular thighs stretched the dove-gray trousers he wore taut, and underneath his black frock coat, the silver-and-black paisley brocade vest hugged a firm chest. The snowy white, expertly arranged cravat at his throat resembled a work of art.

Nothing was out of place. No lint on his coat. Not a single speck of dust dared cling to the mirrorlike surface of his boots...which was why his hair seemed to her untamed. It was glorious hair, really, thick and lustrous and wavy, the dark brown layers kissing his forehead in a manner that must irk him so.

His eyes, she noticed at last, were watching her with marked suspicion. He did not look pleased.

His black gaze raked her from head to toe and back up again, his frown deepening at the sight of the flower circlet adorning her loose curls. Megan experienced a spurt of self-consciousness. In preparation for the children’s story time, she’d dressed the part of a princess, complete with a flowing white gown and fingerless lace gloves.

Unsettled, she clasped her hands behind her back and adopted what she hoped was a casual smile. “Hello, I’m Megan O’Malley. You must be new in town. Is there something I can help you with?”

He didn’t deign to answer. Instead, he surveyed the airy room as he stalked towards her, circumventing the wingbacked chairs arranged in a semicircle about a plush Oriental rug. Fit and athletic, he exuded an air of command. Of authority. He struck her as a man accustomed to giving orders as opposed to taking them.

A wrinkle formed between his brows. Haughty brows, she thought. His was an arrogant beauty, with razor-sharp cheekbones and a harsh jawline. His nose was unremarkable, medium size and straight. The fullness of his mouth and the small dimple in his chin offset the harshness of his features.

When he stopped very near, his sharp-edged gaze cut into her, demanding answers. “Would you be so kind as to tell me what you’re doing in my grandfather’s house?”

A great trembling worked its way up her body. This was Charles’s grandson? It couldn’t be, could it?

“Lucian?” she whispered.

He sketched a bow, his gaze narrowing. “Oui. Lucian Beaumont, at your service. I take it you were well acquainted with my grandfather?”

“Charles was a dear friend of mine.”

Sadness gripped her. How she missed the gentle, insightful older man, their lively conversations about life and love, music and books. Theirs had been an unlikely friendship brought about by a mutual love of literature. To Megan, he’d been a substitute grandfather.

“I see.” And yet, it was perfectly clear that he didn’t. Resentment came and went in his expression. “He passed away nearly three months ago. Why are you here?”

“I could ask the same of you.” She met his gaze squarely, a rush of indignation stiffening her spine. “Why did you wait until now to come? In all these years, why didn’t you visit Charles just once?”

The rift between Charles and his daughter, Lucian’s mother, Lucinda, was common knowledge among the townspeople. He’d been dead-set against Lucinda’s marriage to New Orleans native Gerard Beaumont, had rashly threatened to cut her out of his life if she went against his wishes. A threat he’d lived to regret. After their elopement, Lucinda and Gerard left Tennessee and settled in New Orleans, never to return.

A muscle in his jaw jumped. His already cool manner turned glacial. “That is none of your concern, Miss O’Malley. As to what I’m doing here, I happen to be the new owner of this house. And despite my repeated inquiries, you’ve yet to tell me what you’re doing here.” He gestured to the chairs and the books scattered behind her.

The story time! The hand-painted, gilt clock on the fireplace mantel showed ten minutes to five o’clock. She glanced out the window overlooking the front lawn. The children would start arriving soon.

Turning her back on him, she bent and hurriedly began to gather the books she’d dropped. “Every Friday afternoon, we have story time for the children. They’ll be here any minute.”