The Husband Hunt (Smoky Mountain Matches) Page 4

  Which led to disagreements. And him lecturing her like an overbearing older brother.

  She’s not a little girl anymore, O’Malley. She’s a mature young woman in charge of her own life and capable of making her own decisions. No doubt she doesn’t appreciate your know-it-all behavior.

  Perhaps it was time to step back and give her some space. This friendship of theirs was morphing into something unrecognizable, with strange new facets he wasn’t quite comfortable with.

  * * *

  Sophie didn’t know what to say. Or think. Nathan was an intelligent man. Perceptive, too. A quality that served him well in dealing with his five female cousins. That he’d noticed her need just now—the shakes had set in with a vengeance right about the time she’d begun sorting her tools—and understood that her haste the other day had stemmed from the same issue didn’t surprise her.

  Hasn’t he always watched out for you? Even when he was tempted to throttle you.

  It was true. Nathan’s protective instincts were legendary. Not only had she heard the O’Malley girls complain about his overprotective ways, she herself had been on the receiving end of his lectures countless times—lengthy discourses about safety and the wisdom of taking proper precautions—and, she recalled with a shudder, his ire when he thought she’d acted recklessly. To give him credit, many times she had deserved his set-downs.

  What she couldn’t figure out was why he was acting strangely today. There was a distracted air about him, a confounded light in his eyes that aroused her curiosity.

  As she finished her sandwich, the salty ham and cheese between soft white bread chasing away her hunger pangs, he helped himself to the cake.

  She dabbed her mouth with her napkin before broaching the subject that had been bothering her ever since she’d interrupted the conversation between him and her granddad last evening.

  “What were you and Granddad talking about when I came into his room? The two of you looked awfully serious.”

  Nathan’s bleak expression had troubled her long into the night.

  Now he schooled his features into a careful blandness that scared her. If he was trying to avoid hurting her, then she was right to worry.

  “Nothing special.” His fingers tightened on the jar balanced on his thigh. “I tried to tempt him with Ma’s cooking but he insisted he wasn’t hungry. He doesn’t seem to have much energy.”

  An understatement. “Doc Owens has been tight-lipped, as usual, but I can tell by his manner that he’s concerned.”

  “When is he supposed to come and check on him again?”

  “In a couple of days, unless he gets worse and I need him before then....” Please, Lord, don’t let that be the case. “Are you sure that’s all you talked about? He didn’t say anything strange?”

  Nathan lifted the jar to his mouth. “Like what?”

  “Like asking you to marry me.”

  He choked. Sputtered. “Marry you?” His brows shot to his hairline, and he jammed his thumb into his chest. “Me? And you?”

  Humiliation burned in her cheeks. Shoving to her feet, she glared down at him with clenched fists. “Is the prospect of marrying me so distasteful, then? You think no man in this town would want me?”

  “No! That’s not it!” He quickly stood, his eyes dark and searching. “You just shocked me is all. D-did Tobias suggest it to you?”

  “No.”

  The relief skittering across his face pierced her heart. Sent her confidence tumbling. Unable to look at him, she observed a ladybug clinging to a swaying stalk at her feet. “He did suggest I start thinking of settling down. That I need a man around to take care of me,” she scoffed. “Imagine!”

  She’d been taking care of herself since she was eight. Why did Granddad think she needed help?

  Weren’t you thinking the same thing just last night? an unwelcome voice reminded.

  “He’s your grandfather. Of course he wants to see you settled and happy.” Nathan looked particularly unsettled, a line forming between his brows as he looked past her to the cabin.

  “A husband can’t guarantee me that.” Her own mother’s misery was proof.

  He shifted his gaze back to hers. “Tobias wants to make certain your future is taken care of.”

  “You make it sound as if he’s not going to be around for it,” she accused.

  “Sophie—” He moved to close the distance between them, but the sympathy wreathing his mouth sent her a step back, away from him.

  “Don’t.” She held up a staying hand. She couldn’t handle his compassion right this moment, couldn’t bring herself to face what was happening to her grandfather. Not if she didn’t want the tears welling up to spill over. Losing control of her emotions in front of this man wasn’t something she was willing to do.

  Will’s whistling saved her.

  Nathan twisted around, silent as her brother approached with a proud smile, pail swinging from one hand and his pole in the other. “I caught four rainbow trout,” he told them, lifting the pail for them to inspect.

  “Nice catch,” Nathan admitted, but his somber gaze was on Sophie.

  “I’ll take those inside for you,” she quickly volunteered, taking the pail from his willing hand. Tilting her head to indicate the quilt spread out behind them, she said, “Nathan brought us lunch. Help yourself.”

  Will’s eyes lit up. “Miss Mary’s the best cook around.” Setting his pole out of the way, he plopped down and began rifling through the basket.

  Before Nathan could speak, she rushed ahead. “Thank you for everything today. I should go in and change. I have errands in town this afternoon.”

  He nodded slowly. “I have chores waiting, too. I’ll keep Will company while he eats, then head out.”

  “See you later, then?”

  “Later.”

  The promise in his deep baritone let her know not only would he be seeing her, but sooner or later they would finish this conversation.

  * * *

  The bell above the mercantile door jingled. Sophie didn’t look up from the two thread spools she was trying to choose between. Because her brother spent much of his time on his knees in the creek, it seemed like every other week there was another tear for her to mend.

  Light footfalls and feminine giggles drifted closer. She frowned. Recognizing the voices, she peered over her shoulder and spotted April Littleton and her two closest friends, sisters Lila and Norma Jean Oglesby. The same age as Sophie, the trio was extremely popular with Gatlinburg’s single male population. And why shouldn’t they be? Besides being beautiful and stylish in their pastel dresses and beribboned curls, they were accomplished flirts, able to monopolize a man’s attention with very little effort.

  Next to them, Sophie felt ordinary. Gauche.

  April caught her staring. Brown eyes narrowing, she made no attempts to hide her disdain.

  “Hello, Sophie.” Her nose pinched as if the air around her suddenly reeked.

  An only child born to her parents late in life, April had been coddled and adored from the moment of her birth, and the results were a spoiled, self-absorbed young woman. Her parents weren’t well-off, just simple farm folk like many of the families in this mountain town, but they scrimped and saved to be able to outfit her as if she was a city debutante.

  “Hi, Sophie.” Lila offered her a tentative smile. The older sister, Norma Jean, remained silent. Both were slender, blonde and blue-eyed with fair skin.

  “Hello.” She quickly replaced one of the spools without making a conscious color choice. No reason to linger for what would prove to be an unpleasant encounter.

  April’s jealousy fueled her dislike of Sophie. Not of her appearance, of course. April didn’t consider her competition. It was Sophie’s friendship with Nathan that she envied. Even if Lila hadn’t let that little
nugget slip, it was obvious the dark beauty wanted him for herself, and it killed her that Sophie shared any sort of connection with him.

  “We were discussing our outfits for the church social tomorrow night,” April said with mock innocence. “What are you going to wear, Sophie?”

  Clutching the thread, she pivoted to face them. Shrugged as if she didn’t care. “I haven’t given it much thought.”

  April raked her from head to toe and shot a knowing glance at Norma Jean. “Of course you haven’t.”

  “Tell her about your new dress,” Lila encouraged her friend, her round face devoid of malice. Sophie sometimes wondered why Lila would waste her time with a girl like April. The seventeen-year-old appeared to have a good heart.

  April’s eyes shone with confidence as she ran her hands over her glossy brown ringlets. “It’s buttercup-yellow...”

  She went on to describe the dress in excruciating detail. Sophie tuned her out, biding her time until she could escape. She had no interest in scalloped hems and pearl buttons.

  The mention of Nathan’s name snapped her out of her reverie.

  “What was that about Nathan?”

  “I’m making Nathan’s favorite for the social. Apple pie.”

  Sophie bit her lip. That wasn’t his favorite—it was rhubarb.

  “What are you bringing?” Norma Jean smirked. “Sausages?”

  The girls’ laughter stirred her temper. For once, Sophie wanted to prove she was as capable as any other girl. “Actually, I’m baking a pie, too,” she blurted.

  The laughter died off as all three stared at her in amazement.

  A delicate wrinkle formed between Lila’s brows. “I didn’t know you baked.”

  “Everyone knows she doesn’t,” Norma Jean muttered in a too-loud aside.

  April, however, grinned in expectant pleasure. “Well, I, for one, am looking forward to tasting your pie. What kind is it?”

  “Rhubarb.”

  “Oh, how...interesting. I’ll look for it tomorrow night. Let’s go, girls. I want to find just the right color hair ribbon to match my dress.”

  Sophie hesitated, watching as they gravitated toward the fabrics whispering feverishly together, before hurrying to the counter to pay for her purchase.

  Outside, walking along Main Street, she was oblivious to the sun’s ruthless heat, the stench of horse manure and the nods of greeting aimed her way.

  What had she gotten herself into?

  She didn’t know how to bake! After her ma passed, Granddad had taught her the basics: how to fry bacon and eggs, how to make flapjacks and corn bread. Stews and soups. Roast chicken. And, of course, beans. That was the extent of her kitchen skills. Not once had she attempted to bake a cake, let alone a pie.

  What had she been thinking? Despite her trepidation, she couldn’t back out. She refused to give April the satisfaction.

  Determination lengthening her steps, she reached the cabin in less than the usual time. Sophie had found a collection of recipes in her ma’s cedar chest a while back. Surely there was something in there she could use.

  As she cut across the yard, her gaze went to the new henhouse. She stopped short. There, strutting around in the dirt, were approximately five new chickens. Dark Brahmas, a hearty breed revered for their gentle disposition. She pushed the door open and entered the dark interior of the cabin.

  “Will?” She set her small package on the table. “Granddad?”

  “In here.”

  “Hey, there.” Sinking gently down on the edge of Tobias’s bed, she held his hand. Propped against a mountain of pillows, his skin had a sallow cast. “Can I get you anything? Would you like for me to open the curtains? It’s a bit stuffy in here.” And dreary, she thought, compared to the bright summer day outside.

  His dry, cracked lips shifted into a grimace as he shook his head.

  “I noticed some unfamiliar chickens outside. Do you know anything about that?”

  “Nathan,” he wheezed. “He brought us two dozen eggs, too.”

  To replace the ones they’d lost. She squeezed her eyes tight, deeply touched by the gesture.

  “You all right?”

  She inhaled a fortifying breath and eased off the bed. “How does a cup of chamomile tea sound?”

  “No need to trouble yourself—”

  “It’s no trouble at all. I’ll make some for both of us. We’ll sit together and drink our tea and visit.” The endless farm demands could wait a little while longer.

  In the kitchen, she filled the scuffed tin teakettle with water from the bucket and set it on the stovetop, then added kindling to the firebox. As she readied two mugs, her mind refused to budge from Nathan.

  Why did he have to go out of his way to be thoughtful? It would make things easier if he were hateful. Or selfish. Maybe then she wouldn’t yearn for his high regard. Maybe then she wouldn’t entertain foolish, impossible dreams. Maybe, just maybe, she would see him as no one special, an ordinary guy who didn’t matter to her at all.

  Chapter Five

  At one end of the dairy barn lit by kerosene lamps hanging from post hooks, Nathan stood in front of the waist-high wooden shelves replacing lids on the crocks of milk he’d just filled. In the stalls stretching out behind him on either side of the center aisle, his cows were happily munching hay.

  In the corner where they kept a bin of clean water, he washed and dried his hands, the familiar scents of cowhide, hay and fresh milk filling his lungs. Satisfaction pulsed through him. He relished his work, the straightforward nature of it and the solitude. He liked that he could plant a seed of corn and watch it grow tall, witness a calf enter this world and help it thrive. Farming was in his blood, passed down from his father and grandfather and great-grandfather. If he could do this for the rest of his life, he’d be a happy man. No need for a wife or kids. Well, kids might be nice. A wife he wasn’t so sure about.

  Mentally rehashing that awful turn in his and Sophie’s conversation yesterday, he grimaced. He hadn’t meant to hurt her feelings. It was just that the notion of a union between the two of them was so absurd as to be laughable. He and Sophie were like oil and water, dry forest and lightning. They just didn’t mix. Not romantically, anyway.

  The barn door creaked and he turned, expecting to see his pa. But there, framed in the predawn darkness, stood Sophie, a cloth-covered bucket in her arms.

  “Hey. Is everything all right?” Laying the cloth on the shelf, he went to her, hoping against hope this early morning visit and the shadows beneath her eyes didn’t mean what he thought it might.

  One slender shoulder lifted. “I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I might as well bring over the sausages I promised you.”

  Nathan exhaled. He accepted the bucket she held out, tucking it against his middle while he did a careful study of her. Aside from the troubled light in her eyes, she looked much the same as usual. Her long hair had been freshly brushed and plaited, the sleek, honeyed strands pulled back from her face, emphasizing her cheekbones and the gentle curve of her jaw.

  “Thanks for these.” He cocked his head. “Walk with me to the springhouse?”

  “Yeah.” Noticing the crocks, she walked over and slipped her hands around one. “How many are you storing?”

  “Just two this time. I’m taking one to Ma and the rest will go to Clawson’s. That’s heavy,” he said when she started to lift it. “Why don’t you take the sausages and I’ll get the milk?”

  Before Tobias got sick, a suggestion like that would’ve gotten him an earful. Sophie didn’t take kindly to insinuations that she was weak or incapable. The fact that she didn’t protest was proof of her preoccupation.

  Using the moon’s light to guide them, they walked the dirt path to the stream and the stone springhouse that housed perishables. Trickling water intruded
upon the hushed stillness of the fields and forest. Beside him, Sophie was silent.

  I don’t know what to say to ease her anxiety, God. I don’t like seeing her like this. Please show me how to help her. How to reassure her.

  Stooping beneath the low doorframe, he carefully placed the containers inside and pulled the door closed, letting the latch fall into place. When he straightened, he noticed her staring at the moonlight-kissed stones scattered in the streambed. Her lost expression tugged at his heart and made him want to wrap his arms around her and shelter her from heartache.

  She’d been dealt too many blows in her life. If Tobias didn’t make it, would she break? The idea terrified him. Sophie was one of the strongest people he knew. He couldn’t imagine her any other way.

  He stood close but didn’t hug her. Instead he reached out to graze the back of her hand and somehow found his fingers threading through hers. Her head came up, blue eyes flashing to his, dark and questioning. She didn’t pull away, though, and he decided it would be awkward to disengage now. Besides, her skin was cold, the bones fragile. Let his heat warm her.

  Friends could hold hands and not have it mean anything, couldn’t they?

  “What you did yesterday...” she said, her voice muted. “The henhouse, the chickens and eggs... It means a lot to me. To all of us. Thank you.”

  “I did it because I wanted to, not because I felt I had to,” he pointed out. “I like helping you.”

  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.