Karen Kirst - The Husband Hunt

As long as he was able, he’d eagerly meet any and all of the Tanners’ needs. Growing up, he’d witnessed his parents’ generosity toward others, giving selflessly of their time, energy and possessions. It was a lesson he’d taken to heart.

“I know.”

She surprised him by laying a hand against his chest. Her touch seared through the material, scorching his skin. His heart jerked.

“You’re a good man, Nathan. The best.” Then, as if deciding she’d said too much, she pulled free of his hold. “I should go.”

“Wait.” Sophie didn’t often dole out praise, so it meant a lot coming from her. He just couldn’t figure out why she’d sounded so resigned. So solemn. “Are you going to the social tonight?”

She grimaced. “I am. Mrs. Beecham cornered me last week and insisted on sitting with Granddad so that Will and I could go. There’s no arguing with that woman.”

“It’ll be good for you to get out and socialize.”

She looked dubious. “If you say so.”

“Think of all the delicious food you’ll have to choose from.”

Her mouth lifted in a pretty, albeit fleeting, smile. “Since I don’t dance, the food is the biggest draw for me, you know. And speaking of food, I have to get back before Granddad or Will wake to find me gone. They’ll be wanting their breakfast. I need to get to it.”

“See you later, then.”

Nodding, she gave a little wave and walked away, head bent and long braid bouncing against her back. He watched until the trees swallowed her up, thinking it might not be a bad idea to find himself a date for tonight. Nothing serious. Just harmless fun.

Because whatever it was sensitizing him to Sophie—loneliness, although he didn’t exactly feel lonely, the unrecognized need for female companionship, perhaps—had to be snuffed out before he did something stupid.

* * *

“You don’t expect me to eat a slice of that pie, do you?” Will bounced on his toes, eager to make his escape.

Sophie slid it onto the dessert table in between a towering stack cake and a buttermilk pie. “It doesn’t look half bad.” She eyed her creation critically.

While the crust wasn’t perfectly round and smooth, it did have an appealing golden hue like the other pies on the table. And the rhubarb filling had filled the cabin with a sweet, pleasant aroma. She’d followed her ma’s recipe carefully. Surely it would be edible. Maybe even good.

“I don’t understand why you decided to make one, anyway,” Will said doubtfully. “You don’t bake.”

She couldn’t understand it, either. Oh, yeah. April and her insults. And a desire to prove to those girls—and Nathan, too—that they were wrong about her. That she was more than just a rough-around-the-edges, act-before-she-thought-it-through tomboy.

“There’s a first time for everything,” she told him with false confidence.

“Hey, Will.” Redheaded, freckled Charlie Layton halted midstride and motioned him over. “We’re gettin’ ready to race. Want to join us?”

“Sure thing!” With a muttered farewell, he ran to join Charlie. The two friends jogged off in the direction of the trees edging the church property where a group of about twenty boys their age had gathered.

The social was already in full swing, many of the men clustered alongside the white clapboard church, no doubt comparing farming techniques or debating quicker, more improved trade routes with the larger towns of Maryville and Sevierville, while the women relaxed on quilts, chatting and laughing and tending to fussy infants. Children darted in and out of the mix, chasing each other in friendly games of tag. Courting couples strolled arm in arm in the distance, keen on a little privacy.

At six o’clock, the heat of the day lingered despite the puffed cotton clouds suspended in the cerulean sky. Not even a hint of a breeze stirred the air. Sophie’s neck was damp beneath her braid, and she pictured her ma’s honey-blond hair arranged in a sleek, efficient bun, a throwback to her childhood in a strict Knoxville orphanage. If Jeanine had lived, would she have taught Sophie how to arrange her hair the same way? She’d tried her hand at it, of course, but with disastrous results.

“Sophie?”

Kenny Thacker weaved through the tables to reach her.

“Hi, Kenny.” She smiled at the skinny, pleasant young man who, because of their last names and the teacher’s penchant for alphabetical seating, had occupied the seat beside her throughout school.

“The guys are arm wrestling out at the old stump.” He gestured behind the church. “They sent me to ask if you’re up to joining us.”

She really shouldn’t. However, she did get a kick out of showing up guys like her pa who thought girls were weaker and dumber than them.

“I think Preston wants a rematch. He can’t accept that he was beaten by a girl.” He grinned broadly.

Sophie debated. She sure wouldn’t mind besting that arrogant Preston Williams a second time.

“Well, I—”

“Oh, hey, Nathan.” Kenny nodded in greeting.

Turning her head, her wide gaze landed on her too-handsome-for-words neighbor. Wearing a charcoal-gray shirt that molded to his corded shoulders and broad chest, the deep color made his silver eyes glow and shorn hair gleam a richer brown. Black trousers emphasized his long, lean legs, and he wore a sharp-looking pair of black leather lace-up boots. Quiet confidence radiated from his stance, his square shoulders and straight spine, his determined jaw and the unspoken message in his expression that he could handle any challenge that came his way.

Nathan wasn’t the showy type. Nor was he a man who liked to be the center of attention. His appeal was his complete unawareness of his attractiveness, his obliviousness to the single young ladies’ admiring glances.

Sophie hadn’t heard his approach, but apparently he’d been there long enough to hear Kenny’s question because his cool gaze was watching her closely, waiting for her response.

What will it be? his eyes seemed to challenge. Will you do the proper thing, or will you give in to impulse and act the hoyden?

Because she knew that no matter what she did she could not ultimately win his approval, Sophie was tempted to do it simply to irk him.

“I’m ready now, Nathan.” Pauline Johnson approached with a goofy grin and a buoyant light in her eyes. The tall, curvaceous blonde, stunning in teal, sidled close to Nathan. “Oh, hello, Sophie. Kenny.”

Sophie opened her mouth but couldn’t find her voice. Her heart beat out a dull tattoo. They were clearly here together. On a date. When was the last time Nathan had squired a girl around? He wasn’t interested in pursuing a relationship. Wasn’t that what he always said whenever his brothers gave him a hard time about being single?

Seeing Pauline curl her hand around his forearm, Sophie felt physically ill.

“Just a minute.” He barely allowed the blonde a glance, still obviously intent on Sophie’s response to Kenny’s summons.

Sophie glanced once more at the pie. It mocked her now. The foolish piece of her heart that refused to listen to reason, that still clung to the hope that one day he’d see her as an accomplished and attractive young woman worthy of his regard, withered and died.

Jerking her chin up, she determined he would never guess how deeply he’d wounded her. “Hello, Pauline,” she said, forcing a brightness to her voice. Please let it ring true. “You’re looking lovely this evening.”

Her grin widened, cobalt eyes shining with humble gratitude. “You’re kind to say so.” She gestured over her shoulder to where the O’Malleys were gathering. “Will you be joining us?”

Us. As in Pauline and Nathan and his family.

“I’m afraid not.” Not now, anyway. Her throat thickened with despair. Admit it, you’re jealous. Ugh! The kicker was that she actually liked Pauline. The same age as Nathan, Pauline was not only beautiful but considerate, friendly, and one of the best sopranos in Gatlinburg. Folks loved it when she sang specials at church.