Lanterns and Lace (9 page)

She forced the thoughts from her mind. Grant and Rebecca would be there early to escort her to church, and she needed the rest. A vision of her brown-eyed niece soothed her like a warm, crackling fire on a chilly night. Oh, how she longed for the day when sweet Rebecca would be hers.

Just as she drifted off to sleep, a question from seemingly nowhere floated across her mind. How could she subject a child to her parents’ views and criticisms? Would they truly treat Jessica’s daughter with love and kindness? Or would history repeat itself?

As dawn broke the night’s darkness at Morgan and Casey’s ranch, Grant woke to rumbling thunder and jagged bolts of lightning. Storm clouds rolled and tossed aside any notion of a beautiful day, and he knew few slept in the turmoil. The fury gave way to a summer downpour, pounding the dry earth like a stampede of wild horses. Shortly before sunrise it ended, but persistent leaden clouds threatened to repeat their earlier performance and showered a stream of doubt upon Sunday church attendance in Kahlerville. Although Morgan owned a fashionable surrey, one that could shelter them from the weather, Grant wasn’t so sure riding into town with blowing rain and an angry sky made sense.

“If the storm doesn’t move away in the next hour, we won’t be able to go to church.” Morgan leaned back in a ladder-back chair in the kitchen. “Wet weather is one thing, but it’s foolish to risk the safety of the children.”

“I agree.” Casey refilled his coffee mug, then Grant’s. “They were all awake during the storm and most likely as crabby as grizzlies.”

Morgan laced his fingers behind his head. “I, for one, don’t relish the thought of spending an afternoon cooped up with them at the parsonage. The good Lord might find me guilty of murder.”

Grant noted a dull ache in the back of his head. “And I’d be right there with you.” He took a sip of coffee only to find it much too hot. “Tempers would be flaring hotter than Casey’s coffee.”

Morgan laughed. “Looks like it’s settled then. I’m sure Mama and the reverend won’t be expecting us. Ben and Bonnie live close enough to possibly make it, providing this next approaching storm hits quickly and moves on. As for us, why don’t I pull out the Bible for our own Sunday service?”

“There’s one problem.” Grant studied the gray clouds for hints of the storm’s passing.

“What’s that?” Morgan said.

“I’m supposed to escort Jenny to church and the parsonage.”

Casey’s eyes widened. “Surely she wouldn’t expect you to ride out in this storm.”

Grant reached for his mug. “She doesn’t know Rebecca and I spent the night here. And the weather might get better.”

Morgan glanced out the window. “What direction is it moving?”

Grant peered outside. “Right above our heads and toward town. I don’t like to leave Jenny there waiting for me, especially when I had trouble getting her to go in the first place.”

“I’m sure she’ll understand.” Casey eyed him strangely and tossed a look at Morgan.

Grant refused to question their silent exchange. Most likely, they’d talked about Jenny and had their own opinion of her and the situation. “Did Morgan explain why she came to this part of the country?”

She nodded with a sigh. “Yes, he told me the whole story. She really needs our patience and understanding.”

“While she makes plans to kidnap my daughter?” He combed his fingers through his hair, his emotions for her playing with his mind. “I pity her, then I despise her. I want to help her, and then I want to throw her out of town. I’d like for Rebecca to have a relationship with her, but I want her back in Ohio.”

“Would you like for me to talk to her?” Casey said. “Sounds like she needs a friend.”

“Good luck,” Grant said. “Just when I think I’m making headway, she runs in the opposite direction. And I don’t trust Aubrey Turner either. He claims to have been her traveling partner, but she denies it, and I believe her. Now that he shot and killed Ivan Howe, I’m real nervous about Jenny’s safety.”

“He’s a peculiar fellow,” Morgan said. “At least we’ve established he can’t be Rebecca’s father. What did Ben say?”

“He’s looking into it.”

“Are you sure jealousy isn’t part of the problem with Turner?” Morgan said.

Had his brother lost his mind? “Absolutely not. I’m concerned about the welfare of my daughter and her aunt.” Grant took a labored breath. “I’m sorry. If I don’t lower my voice, our kids will be up. I assure you I have no feelings for Jenny other than wanting to see her gone from my life. Mimi calls her a heathen. Wants to tar and feather her.” Grant forced a nervous laugh. “Most of the time I agree. The best way to end this mess is to be friendly and show Jenny that Rebecca is in good hands. Maybe then she’ll give up her foolish notions and go home.”

“Just checking, little brother.” Morgan grinned.

“There are no sparks between Jenny and me except the ones igniting our tempers. But I still have to stay in her good graces. I prefer to look like a responsible man who keeps his word, not one who leaves her stranded at the boardinghouse. Guess I can drop by there later and explain the situation.”

“Have you established rules for her visits?” Morgan said.

“I told her she was welcome to visit Rebecca, but she could not take my daughter from the house without Mimi or me accompanying them. And she was furious.”

“What’s wrong with that? You have every legal and moral right to dictate who takes Rebecca from your home. You’re her father. I wonder about you, little brother. Get tough with this woman.”

“Calm down, Morgan. I agree, and I have no intentions of backing down. But the more times I make her angry, the more times I wonder how desperate she may become in her scheme to have Rebecca.”

Casey touched Morgan’s arm. “Honey sweetens better than vinegar.”

He gave his wife a quick kiss. “You might be right there.”

Grant ignored them. They still carried on like newlyweds. Disgusting. “I also believe there’s more to Jenny wanting Rebecca than simply keeping Jessica’s memory alive with the grandparents. I want to help her—”

“You want to help everybody,” Morgan said. “Don’t be foolish. You can’t save every unfortunate soul.”

Grant sensed a ruffling of his own feathers, but Morgan was simply being the big brother—protecting those he loved. “But I must try.”

“Or die trying,” Morgan added. “Turner is not a man to tangle with.”

Grant smiled. “You and I have tangled with a few bad guys in the past.”

“The far past,” Casey said. “And I prefer you leave it there.” She focused her attention on Grant. “Jenny isn’t a Christian, is she?”

“No. She told me her father didn’t permit church attendance.”

Morgan shook his head. “How did you manage to get yourself into such a mess?”

“I ask God that very same question . . . often.”

“All right, here is some free legal advice. You can’t throw Jenny out of town, even though you want to. Although if I were in your shoes, I’d probably lose my temper and tie her to the train tracks.” He took a sip of coffee. “And you can’t ignore her. So simply proceed as you’ve planned. Keep inviting her to church and dinner. Allow her to see Rebecca and whatever else you can come up with. I suggest you stay away from pressuring her about the plans to take Rebecca.”

Grant reflected a moment on the advice. “I’ll see what I can do.”

The sound of wrestling boys caused Morgan to moan. “Let me see what I can do to settle our band of outlaws.” He tugged on a strand of Casey’s auburn hair.

She frowned. “They are children.”

A crash caused her to jump.

“I’d better go with you,” Grant said. “My little darlin’ is probably the hardest outlaw up there.”

“And I’ll get started on biscuits and sausage,” Casey said. “Don’t be too hard on the children. Look at their fathers.”

By late morning, Grant had made preparations to start back home. Bright sunshine and humid temperatures replaced nature’s fury from earlier in the day, but the storm had snatched away a little girl’s need for sleep. Rebecca hadn’t rested well during the night. Neither would she give into a nap the day before. The excitement of branding cows and playing with her cousins had kept her busy and awake.

He smoothed a clean saddle blanket and an old quilt onto the back of the wagon for a makeshift bed. Rebecca climbed in without a single protest, and within a few moments, she slept.

The sound of the horses pulling against the reins and the creaking wagon wheels lulled him back to contemplate Morgan’s words concerning Jenny and his own reaction to them—and her.

Being a man given to precise thoughts, actions, and plans, Grant rankled at his brother’s hint of an attraction to Jenny. But it also caused him alarm. In the back of his Bible, just before the map section, lay a neatly folded slip of paper stating the attributes of a godly wife. He’d compiled the list years ago after conceding his love for Casey in favor of Morgan, and he rarely looked at it now. When he wrote it, he was nursing a broken heart. He simply didn’t have time for a woman. Without looking or calling all of those qualities to mind, Grant knew for certain that Jenny possessed few of those desirable traits.

The more he mulled over Morgan’s implication, the angrier he became. Jenny was self-centered, proud, far too independent, and—

Whoa, he’d set himself up as a judge again. Concentrating on her good points, he tried again. She had a soft heart for children. She displayed grief for her sister. She was an attractive woman.

The image of her large brown eyes danced across Grant’s mind and seemed to haunt him during the day and keep him awake at night. He attributed it to her striking similarity to Rebecca, except his daughter’s eyes always sparkled as though God had set a matching pair of stars in them. Jenny’s, on the other hand, reminded him of an incident years ago . . .

When Grant had been barely twelve years old, Morgan had asked him to go deer hunting. This was the first time his older brother had ever invited him along, and Grant wanted desperately to impress him. He’d crouched low in thick brush for hours waiting for a deer to pass by. Then a twig snapped, and before him stood a young doe. Morgan mouthed the words for him to take the shot, and Grant lifted his rifle. His finger brushed against the trigger just as his father and Morgan had instructed.

Expectation ground at his nerves. He longed to squeeze it gently, expertly. The doe lifted her head. Huge brown eyes locked onto his gaze—enormous, pleading pools, silently begging him to spare her. In the next moment, she tossed her head as though flirtation and feeble confidence would save her.

He didn’t take down a deer that day, and those brown eyes seemed to repeat themselves in the form of Jenny Martin.

Only a man who had no sense fell in love with a woman because she appeared needy or pretty. And he had more important things to do than get involved with a woman who didn’t know the Lord. He’d seen too many folks saddle themselves with an unbeliever. The Bible warned against it, and he had no desire to go against God’s Word.

He shook his head and tried to rid his thoughts of her lovely face and the sound of her musical laughter. Admittedly, Jenny Martin had a peculiar habit of causing him to think about kissing her. Once when Mimi wasn’t angry with Jenny, she compared her to a porcelain doll, and Grant had to agree. He liked the way her dark tresses stubbornly slipped from her perfectly styled hair and the way her lips curved up when she smiled. Her tiny features made him feel protective, except when he made her angry. Then he needed protection.

He lifted the reins and quickened the pace of his horse. The sooner he made it to town and apologized to Jenny, the sooner he could tend to more important matters—such as finding out more about Aubrey Turner.

Once home, Grant carried Rebecca up to her bedroom and left her in Mimi’s care. Impulsively, he snatched up a red rose from a vine that climbed a fence post in the rear of his house. In his rush, he pricked his finger on a thorn. She’d better be worth this. He stepped around mud puddles and overflowing wagon ruts en route to the boardinghouse and rehearsed his apology for not escorting her to church. Providing Jenny talked to him, he’d like to ask her for a stroll to the parsonage. Maybe his mother or the reverend could get through to her.

Every dog in town seemed to be prowling around the streets, lapping the water in the mud puddles and scrapping with each other like naughty children. A mangy hound dog growled at his heels, but the moment Grant turned, the dog raced away. At least he was in control of something.

He wanted a pleasant afternoon to talk and establish a friendship with Jenny, certainly vital if he was ever going to understand her. Apprehension gathered about him as he neared the two-story lodging. Jenny could very well refuse to come downstairs, or she might be in the company of Aubrey Turner. Memory of the Thursday night shooting alarmed him. Jenny needed to be warned.

Harold Snyder greeted Grant with a list of grievances. “The cook’s not here today.” He peered down the end of his long nose. “Last night’s storm damaged their roof, and she’s helping her husband repair it.”

“Sorry to hear that. Anything serious?”

Harold shook his head. “Naw. Only thing serious is Cleo Ann trying to cook for the guests here.” He leaned in closer to Grant. “She can’t cook. Never could.”

“Well, I’m here to see Miss Martin. No need to worry about me getting sick.”

Harold took an anxious look into the empty dining room. Normally, little vases of fresh flowers sat on each table. “Good. After folks eat Cleo Ann’s cooking, they may need you.”

The owner shook his balding head with genuine frustration, and Grant swallowed a laugh. “Did Miss Martin join you for lunch?”

He thought for a moment. “I don’t believe I’ve seen her since breakfast.”

“Would you mind letting her know I’m here?”

Harold disappeared up the stairs, and Grant waited, hat in hand. The rose in his other hand looked like a pathetic peace offering, and he felt as awkward as a gangly schoolboy. Maybe he should have brought Rebecca with him. That worked the last time, but he couldn’t very well inform Jenny about Turner’s actions with his daughter listening to every word.

The sound of boot steps on the stairway seized his attention. “She’ll be right down,” Harold said.

Shortly afterward, Jenny descended the stairway with the grandeur of a fine lady. Did she have suitors in Cleveland? Did she attend elegant plays and dine in fine restaurants? Of course she did. Every inch of her whispered of refinement. Grant sensed a weakening in the knees. This had to stop. He had to remind himself that he barely tolerated her. He held out the rose.

She said nothing but grasped the flower daintily with two fingers, being careful not to touch the thorns, and drank in its sweet fragrance. Her gaze lifted to his, and in that moment, no recollection of her exquisite features compared to the wide-eyed splendor before him. Never before had he noticed her flawless, creamy skin, or her pert little nose, or how her chestnut hair framed her oval face. If Rebecca grew up looking like this, he was in for real trouble.