The Longing
Authors: Wendy Lindstrom
4-1/2 Stars - TOP PICK!
- Romantic Times
Book Club
"Readers who enjoy deeply emotional reads
will find THE LONGING impossible to put down. The dark and brooding
nature of the hero and the horrible pain Amelia carries are very
real, but it is the surprising plot twist that makes this a fresh
and innovative read. It delineates Lindstrom as one of romance's
finest Americana writers."
—Reviewed by Kathe Robin for
Romantic Times Book Club.
~
“Ms. Lindstrom's fantastic characters are a
treat, as is her rare ability to immediately develop conflict while
at the same time introducing characters with enough depth and
dimension to instantly captivate the reader in their dilemma. Her
plots are expertly rendered, forging a relationship that compels
urgent, can't-put-down page turning. With The Longing, the author
has proven her writing skills, and as such, this reader knows Ms.
Lindstrom will never disappoint."
—Denise M. Clark, BookLore
Review
The Longing
Recipient of Romance Writers of America’s RITA Award
and a Romantic Times Reviewers’ Choice Award nominee.
by Wendy Lindstrom
Smashwords Edition
Copyright © 2003 Wendy Lindstrom. All rights
reserved. With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book
may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means
whatsoever without written permission from the author.
Originally published by St. Martin's Press 2003
Note: This novel is entirely a work of fiction.
Though it contains incidental references to actual people and
places, these references are merely to lend the fiction a realistic
setting. All other names, places, and incidents are the products of
the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living
or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Chapter One, Lips That Touch Mine
Fredonia, New
York, May 1871
Cold spring rain pounded across Kyle
Grayson’s broad back and he hunched his shoulders as lightning
sliced a jagged white line across the sky. The desire to find cover
for his skittish gelding warred with Kyle’s need to reach Tom
Drake’s sawmill and discover why the man was betraying him.
Tom Drake had been friends with Kyle’s father
for years. Despite being competitors all their life, the men had
respected each other, and when Kyle’s father died five years ago,
Tom had shown Kyle how to manage his father’s sawmill business.
Although Tom was twice Kyle’s age and still a competitor, they had
formed a deep, respectful friendship with each other. Now, for some
unknown reason, Tom was changing and Kyle’s instincts warned him to
beware.
A violent crash of thunder shook the earth
and Kyle’s gelding pranced sideways. Kyle cursed the storm and
guided his nervous horse beneath a small lean-to beside the
Pemberton Inn at the top of West Hill.
As soon as he’d settled his horse, Kyle
entered the tavern. A rank smell filled his sinuses and he wondered
why the hell
anyone
would want such a business, especially
a place that stank of stale smoke, yeasty ale, and sweat. But just
as Kyle had expected, his youngest brother Boyd was sitting on a
barstool as if he already owned the place.
“I thought you were going home,” Kyle said,
tossing his soaked hat onto the bar beside his brother.
Boyd glanced up. “This
is
home.”
“Well, it shouldn’t be. Owning a tavern is a
bad idea.”
“For you, it would be. You don’t have the
personality for this kind of business.”
The truth of Boyd’s statement didn’t bother
Kyle at all. He was proud of his reputation as an ambitious but
respected sawmill owner. He didn’t have time for leaning on a bar
having inane conversations with inebriates over which girls would
lift their skirts or whose wife was the biggest nag. He had money
to collect from Tom Drake, a new top rig sawmill on its way from
Ohio, and an upcoming shipment of railroad ties to get ready. He
didn’t have time to indulge Boyd’s ridiculous fantasy of owning a
tavern. And neither did his wild ass of a brother.
Another violent flash of lightning
illuminated the windows and Kyle resigned himself to waiting out
the storm. He sat on a stool and propped his elbows on the thick
oak bar. He nodded to Patrick Lyons, the current tavern owner, to
bring him an ale, then turned back to Boyd. “You’ll drink away your
profits in the first month.”
“Maybe, but I’m tired of working the depot,”
he said, using the nickname they’d given their family-owned sawmill
to eliminate confusion when talking with other mill owners. Though
Grayson Lumber and Timber Works was the largest mill within twenty
square miles, Tom Drake had a sizable mill of his own, and there
were several one-man mills that dotted the countryside. It got
damned confusing when referring to a sawmill unless you tied it to
a last name. With fathers and sons in the same business, that
didn’t always determine whose mill you were talking about either,
so a few months past Kyle and his brothers started referring to
their mill as the depot.
“Maybe you just need a short trip somewhere,”
Kyle said.
“What I need is to do something more exciting
than sawing wood.” Boyd looked Kyle in the eye. “I want out.”
Kyle and his three brothers owned the depot
together and kept the bulk of their money in one joint account to
cover operating expenses and to fund future investments. If Boyd
withdrew his money, it would lessen Kyle’s ability to continue
expanding their business. It would also force Kyle to shoulder the
burden of running their family sawmill alone because Kyle’s eldest
brother, Radford, was now too busy with his livery business, and
Duke’s new position as sheriff had left him with even less time for
the sawmill than Radford. It was inconceivable that Boyd wanted to
walk away from something he’d sweated over for years.
The tavern door swung open and the noise of
the storm spilled into the room as a man stomped inside. He shook
the rain from his coat and wiped his feet, dispelling any sense of
recognition Kyle had felt. The men that Kyle knew would have
tromped right to the bar in mud-covered boots. Kyle turned back to
Boyd. “We’re making a decent profit. Once we set up our new saw our
output will double. That’s reason enough to stay. If not, let your
nose convince you. Pine and fresh air smell a hell of a lot better
than this place does.”
Boyd sniffed as if he’d just inhaled the
sweet scent of a good cigar. “Smoke and ale...the smell of a man’s
world.”
Kyle snorted with disbelief. “It smells like
a piss-sodden, sweat-drenched pair of trousers in here.”
Patrick Lyons smirked and thumped two mugs of
ale in front of Kyle and Boyd. “That comment will double the cost
of your drinks.”
A gusty laugh came from the rain-soaked
stranger as he crossed the room. “You haven’t changed a bit, Kyle.”
He tossed his wet coat over the neighboring bar stool then lifted
his hat and swept his blond hair back with wet fingers.
At the sight of Richard Cameron, Kyle’s mouth
dropped open. It astounded Kyle to see his oldest, dearest friend
standing in a stench-filled bar in upstate New York on a stormy
evening instead of sitting in his plush lawyer’s office in
Philadelphia. “What the hell are you doing here?” he asked,
grabbing Richard’s hand in a firm, welcoming clasp as he stood up
and looked his friend in the eye.
Richard returned the handshake. “I’m looking
for someone to share a mug or two with.” A grin split his handsome
face and he slapped Kyle on both shoulders. “Damn! It’s good to see
you.”
Kyle assessed his friend, whom he hadn’t seen
in four years. Richard still sported his good looks and cocksure
attitude. A charming, rakish man, Richard was a blond, fair-skinned
version of Boyd, but rather than irritating Kyle at every turn as
Boyd did, Richard had always made Kyle laugh.
Richard eyed Kyle’s thick, hard biceps. “How
did a mean-looking cuss like you ever finagle Evelyn Tucker into
marriage?”
“I didn’t. Evelyn took the trip down the
aisle with my older brother a few months past and is now the lovely
Mrs.
Radford
Grayson.”
Richard’s expression flattened and the
teasing glint in his eyes disappeared. “Damn, Kyle, I hadn’t heard.
I’m sorry.”
Kyle shrugged and feigned indifference.
Though he’d forgiven his brother and fiancée for falling in love
with each other, Kyle’s wound was still tender and he had no wish
to share the painful circumstances with anyone.
As if seeking a graceful exit, Richard turned
to Boyd and renewed their acquaintance with a handshake. “Are you
going to become the new owner here?”
“He’s not buying a damn tavern,” Kyle
insisted, then met Boyd’s arched black eyebrow with his own look of
challenge. Kyle had no illusions about the dismal earning potential
of a tavern and he refused to watch his brother risk everything
he’d worked for on a business that would only feed Boyd’s
self-destructive habits. “It’s a stupid investment and you know it.
You need to start managing your life like a business instead of a
party.”
Boyd snorted. “I’d rather blow my head
off.”
“He’s got a point, Kyle,” Richard said. “If
life was all work, I’d be looking for my gun, too. That’s why I
gave up my law practice to go into the banking business with my
uncles.”
Kyle stared dumbfounded. He remembered how
excited he and Richard had been when they’d decided to head for law
school together. Unfortunately, Richard had ended up going alone
because Kyle’s father had died and Kyle needed to stay home to
support his mother and two younger brothers, Duke and Boyd. It had
taken Kyle months to get over the searing disappointment and
resolve himself to his obligations, but he had. Then two years ago,
when he received the bittersweet news that Richard had opened his
own law office in Philadelphia, Kyle knew he’d fallen too far
behind to ever catch up.
Unsure whether to congratulate Richard or
offer his sympathy, Kyle avoided commenting altogether. “Where are
you staying?”
“At my father’s house with Catherine.”
Kyle barely managed to keep from raising his
eyebrows. Though Catherine had been married to Richard’s father,
and was now the man’s widow, she was only seven years older than
Kyle and Richard, and far from the typical image of a stepmother.
She was voluptuous, sensuous, and kindhearted, a combination that
would turn any man’s head.
She’d certainly caught Kyle’s attention the
first time he’d stopped by her house to fill her wood bin.
Richard’s father had just suffered a fatal fall, and after the
funeral, Richard had returned to law school, leaving his
stepmother’s welfare in the hands of his two uncles who owned the
bank. Knowing Richard’s uncles hadn’t approved of their brother’s
young wife, and that they wouldn’t bother themselves overmuch on
Catherine’s behalf, Kyle did what any good friend would do. He made
sure Richard’s stepmother had wood for her stove, a carpenter to
finish installing the second-story floor that her husband had
fallen from, and a shoulder to cry on when she’d needed one. Kyle
had never suspected she would want more than that.