The Bachelor's Homecoming

“We’re here, Clara.” His throat grew thick, and he had to blink away the gathering moisture.

Gripping the side, she observed her surroundings with solemn curiosity.

Tom hadn’t expected his family farm to be in good condition—his ma had been gone a long time—but the disintegration of his former home gutted him. Set against the magnificent backdrop of the Smoky Mountains, his land used to be lush and vibrant, the yard around the one-story cabin kept neat and his ma’s roses flanking the narrow porch. Now vegetation consumed the buildings. The cabin’s shingled roof was barely visible beneath bands of ivy, the porch running the length of the building completely obscured. To the left and slightly behind it were the barn and toolshed, the smokehouse and corncrib looking like stacks of weathered wood amid a profusion of man-size weeds. The handful of apple and peach trees were in desperate need of pruning. The snake-rail fence separating the yard and fields beyond had completely fallen apart in some spots.

He was in for a massive job. Chest tight, he wondered how he’d manage to set things to rights before the first frost in six months’ time. Unearthing the vegetable garden and readying the ground for seed alone was going to take days of hard labor.

And what to do about his niece? She couldn’t very well accompany him to the fields every day.

Leaving her in the wagon, Tom used a hatchet to carve a path through the waist-high weeds and hack out an opening in the ivy. Stepping through onto the porch, he passed the single window with its dusty, cracked glass and had to shoulder the door open.

He stopped short on the threshold. If not for the layer of grime coating the cast-iron stove and the cobwebs in the corners, he’d have thought his ma had gone to the mercantile for the day’s necessities. His gaze landed on the gray knitted shawl she’d favored, draped over the rocking chair beside the fireplace, and he picked it up, catching a whiff of her floral scent beneath the overwhelming odor of dank air and dust.

The unreality of her death coalesced into a truth he could grasp. She wasn’t at the mercantile. She wasn’t in the henhouse gathering eggs with her gnarled, age-spotted hands. She wouldn’t be welcoming him home.

She wouldn’t learn that her firstborn had descended into debauchery to the point Tom hardly recognized him. And that her youngest was now charged with the care and raising of a vulnerable five-year-old child.

Oh, Charles. What have you done?

* * *

“You should try to eat something.”

Gripping the pot, Jane scrubbed harder at the stuck-on bits. “I’m not hungry.”

Jessica shared a worried look with their mother, Alice, who was bustling about the kitchen packing for her extended trip to Cades Cove, a day and a half’s ride from Gatlinburg. Their eldest sister, Juliana, lived there with her husband and two boys, and Mama had been counting down the days until she could see them again.

Abandoning a loaf of sourdough bread on the worktop, Alice came and put her arm around Jane. “I’ll postpone this trip if you need me to, honey. I can send a telegram to Juliana. She’ll understand.”

“That’s not necessary. I’ll be fine.”

“You’re sure?”

Her ma’s troubled look mirrored the one from yesterday when Jane had finally stumbled home, the same one from this morning when Jane had announced she wasn’t attending church services.

“I’m positive.”

Jessica carried her dinner plate over. “With the amount of desserts the café requires, we’ll be so busy she won’t have time to spare a single thought for that snake Roy.”

The café owner, Mrs. Greene, had been stricken with a lingering illness this past January. Unable to continue running the café without assistance, she’d approached the twins with a job offer. Getting paid for doing something they enjoyed and excelled at made sense. Their afternoon hours were used to bake and decorate pies, cakes and cookies, which they delivered before the supper rush. The additional income helped with all sorts of things, from extra fabric and hair ribbons to replenishing their chicken flock and luxuries such as store-bought chocolates.

Alice’s lined face pinched. “I wish you could’ve been spared all this.”

“You couldn’t have known,” Jane rushed in. “Roy’s a relative newcomer to the area. No one was aware of his history.”

“He could’ve mentioned having a wife before he proposed.” Her twin rolled her eyes. “While I hate that you had to suffer public humiliation, I’m glad you didn’t wind up with him.”

Jane fell silent. Her sister had made her feelings plain from the moment of their engagement. While Jessica had been all for her getting over Tom, she hadn’t approved of Jane’s choice. That her instincts had been right didn’t help Jane’s flagging self-confidence and made her question herself. What was it about her that had prompted Roy to keep his past hidden? Was she not the type to inspire confidences? Trust?

“Speaking of being busy, I have a favor to ask.” Alice retrieved a second basket from the shelf. “As you are both aware, the Leighton farm is in a terrible state. Tom will have his hands full the coming weeks trying to clean it up and won’t have time to see to meals. I’ve baked some bread and gathered jars of apple butter, jam and vegetables. There’s a wheel of cheese, as well. Would you mind delivering it for me?”

Jane lent extra attention to drying the pot, tummy doing a somersault at the prospect of seeing Tom again. She’d made up her mind to steer clear. Resuming their friendship wasn’t sensible or safe.

“I’m meeting Lee for an afternoon ride in an hour. I’d be happy to accompany Jane over, though.”

Missing the glare Jane shot her twin, Alice patted her shoulder. “Thank you, dear. If I’m going to leave at dawn, I must finish this packing.”

When Jane had gathered her satchel and the journal she kept on hand—one never knew when inspiration might strike—she met Jessica at the wagon. Several crates lined the bed.

She plopped onto the high seat. “This is a bad idea.”

Jessica snapped the reins, and they rumbled out of the yard. “Look, it’s just a simple errand. We’ll drop off the supplies, stay long enough to be polite and then you can return home with the team. I’m meeting Lee in town, and it’s a nice day. I’ll walk home.”

“I guess.”

“I still can’t believe he came back. And with Charles’s daughter, no less. Where are her parents, do you think?”

“I didn’t ask.” Though she’d fretted over it since their run-in yesterday.

She’d mentally reviewed their encounter more than once, the distance of time and ebbing of her initial shock allowing her to recall his slightly haggard expression, the weariness that had clung to him. Whether it was due to their long journey or the events that had prompted him to leave Kansas, she couldn’t be sure.

When they rode onto Tom’s property fifteen minutes later, Jane experienced a surge of dismay. This was far worse than she’d imagined, too much for one man to tackle.

Jess let loose a low whistle. “Ma wasn’t exaggerating.”

On the porch, Tom hacked away at the profusion of vines.

Jess chose a shady spot in which to leave the horses. “Are you ready?”

Her younger sister—by four whole minutes—might not be a sensitive soul, but she understood how difficult seeing him again would be.

“We say hello. Drop off the food. And go.” Sounded straightforward. “I’m ready.”

They each grabbed a crate and waded through the path of trampled weeds to reach him. Grasshoppers jumped out of their way. A fat beetle crunched under Jane’s shoe.

Grimacing, she eyed the chimney and wondered what creatures had lodged inside.

Engrossed in his task, Tom hadn’t noticed their approach until they were almost upon him. His eyes widened. “Jane. Jessica.”

Brushing his shirtsleeve across his damp forehead, he rushed to take Jane’s crate and, setting it down, relieved Jessica of hers. He was out of breath and his blue-gray shirt clung to him in places. Caramel-hued trousers hung low on his lean hips, encasing solid, muscular legs that seemed to extend for miles.

He was healthy and virile and too handsome for her peace of mind.

“Welcome home, Tom.” As his hands were full, Jessica gave him a quick side hug. “I could hardly believe it when Jane told me she’d run into you. How have you been?”

“Not bad.” His answering smile slipped a bit when his gaze connected with Jane’s. Concern flickered.

“Ma thought you could use some supplies.” Jessica seemed oblivious to the undercurrent of tension as yesterday’s encounter hung between them.

“That was thoughtful of her. Thanks for bringing it by.”

“How’s Clara?” Jane said.

“Not impressed with her new home. Can’t say as I blame her.” Shifting his burden, he cocked his head. “Come on in and say hello, if you’d like. She’s supposed to be resting, but I’m certain she’s playing with her doll instead.”

He was right. Wearing the same pink dress that she’d had on yesterday, she danced a worn corn husk doll across the kitchen table’s grimy surface. She stopped what she was doing to stare openmouthed at the women. The reaction wasn’t an unusual one. Children—and sometimes even adults—rarely encountered identical twins, much less redheaded ones.

“Clara, say hello to Miss Jane and Miss Jessica.” Sidestepping the bedrolls laid out on the floor, where they’d obviously slept instead of on the musty beds, he deposited the foodstuffs on the table. Red slashed his cheekbones. “Sorry about the mess.”

Jane couldn’t halt the sympathy welling up on his behalf. He’d always been a tidy person, had kept his barbershop and tools of the trade as clean as a whistle. Of course the cabin would cause him embarrassment. Cobwebs hung from the rafters. The mantel sported an inch-thick coating of dust. And while the floor had recently seen a broom, it would benefit from a good scrubbing.

In its current condition, his family home wasn’t fit for a child. Tom, either.

How would he manage with his niece underfoot?

Not my problem. She tried to harden her heart. I can’t afford to care. Can’t fall into that dark, desperate place again.

Clara came up to Jane and touched her wrist. “Princess.”

She shot Tom an incredulous look. “How can she tell us apart?”

“I don’t know.” He scraped a hand along his unshaven jaw.

“We do tend to wear our hair differently,” Jessica mused, finger combing her long ponytail. While Jess didn’t give much thought to her hairstyle, Jane tended to wear hers up in twists or tidy buns.

“Jane’s hair was loose yesterday,” he said.

She must be mistaking the admiring light in his eyes. He’d made a habit of teasing her about the color. And of course, he preferred blondes, like Megan.

Bending down, she indicated the doll. “What’s your baby’s name?”

“Jenny.”

“That’s a pretty name.”

“That was my mama’s name.”

“Oh.” Unaware of the child’s situation and the whereabouts of her parents, Jane refrained from further comment. She straightened and risked a glance at Tom. Deep grooves appeared on either side of his mouth. In him, she glimpsed a curious mix of regret and anger.

The news was likely not good. Why else would he have guardianship?

“I hate to ask, but would you mind keeping Clara company long enough for me to take a quick inventory of the property? I need to determine the most pressing tasks.”

Jessica turned to her, unwritten apology in eyes that matched her own. “I’d stay if I could, but Lee will be waiting for me.”

So much for making this a brief visit. Refusing Tom this simple request wasn’t something she could find it in her heart to do. “It’s all right. I don’t mind staying.”

Slapping his battered black Stetson on his head, he cupped her upper arm and ran his hand down the length of it, setting her nerve endings on fire. “Thank you, Jane.”

To his niece, he said, “Mind your manners, birdie.”

“Yes, sir.”

Jessica waited until he’d gone. “I’m sorry, sis.”

“I’ll be fine.” She’d continue to say the words until they rang true.

“I know. It’s just that you don’t need this on top of everything else.”

Clutching her doll against her, Clara watched them with too-serious scrutiny. What troubles had befallen this precious child?

Jane ushered her twin toward the open door. “I’ll see you at home later.”

Turning back, she lifted her satchel off her shoulder and, hanging it on a peg near the door, pasted on a bright smile. “How would you like to help me clean up this kitchen for your uncle Tom?”

Chapter Three

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Hot, overwhelmed and running on an empty stomach—the tin of beans and handful of jerky they’d had for lunch long gone—Tom’s question came out more sharply than he’d intended. He’d come upon Jane and Clara at the creek with what looked to be the entire inventory of his kitchen laid out across the grass.

Bent over the water, Jane sat back, the cup in her hand dripping a trail of dark splotches on her navy skirt. “Clara and I are helping you.” With a significant glance at his niece, who was carefully drying a saucer, her tone carried a hint of reproof.

Slipping off his gloves and shoving them in his pocket, he removed his hat and fluffed his sweat-dampened locks. He motioned her farther down the line of shade trees. “Can I speak with you for a minute?”

She came hesitantly. He smoothed his expression. No matter his current mood, the near despair that had set in as he’d inventoried the seemingly endless list of repairs, he wouldn’t take it out on her. She’d endured the worst kind of humiliation yesterday, and he wasn’t about to add to her distress.

“I didn’t expect you to work while you’re here,” he said. “This is my problem. My responsibility.”

“You can’t do it all yourself.” Standing in a patch of light, she squinted, doing a slow inspection of the undulating fields and blue-toned mountain peaks rising to the sky. “How are you going to manage with Clara?”

Focusing on his niece, the familiar drive to provide for her settled in his chest. “I’ve no idea.” Life had delivered more than her fair share of harsh blows. She deserved a bit of happiness, deserved better than trailing him around the farm day and night while he worked. “Suppose I’ll have to find someone to watch her during the day.”

Jane stared at the ground, teeth worrying her lower lip. Sunlight glinted in her glossy locks pinned into a simple twist with short strands about her ears. Dainty pearl earbobs matched the line of pearl buttons on her bodice. A pleasing mint green, her blouse was crafted of the softest cotton, the hue a perfect foil for her flame-colored tresses, expressive eyes and sun-kissed skin.

This close, he could make out the faint smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose and the crest of her cheeks. In the past, he’d taken great pleasure in teasing her about those freckles. Now he experienced the strange urge to trace them with his fingers.

Tom shook off the unsettling thought. This was Jane, after all, the baby sister he’d never had.

“Thanks for befriending Clara.”

“She’s a delightful child.” Her smile was there and gone too quickly. “I’m still wondering how she was able to recognize me.”

“I don’t have any trouble.” Their eyes and mannerisms set them apart. Jane’s were soft, dreamy. Innocent. Jess’s contained a boldness, a yearning for adventure. And Jane’s voice was huskier than Jessica’s.

“That’s because you’ve known us your entire life.” One cinnamon brow inched up. “And we haven’t attempted to trick you.”

He kicked up a shoulder, fully confident. “You could try, but you’d fail. I’d know you anywhere, Janie girl.”

Something akin to anguish passed over her face, and he wondered what he’d said to cause it. Then it dawned on him. Here he was teasing her as if she wasn’t suffering from a broken heart, as if the man she was supposed to marry hadn’t deceived her in the most horrific way.

Taking her fine-boned hand in his larger one, he skimmed a thumb across her knuckles. “How are you holding up?”

Head bent, she seemed engrossed by their linked hands. “I’m fine.”

“You never did tell me who you were supposed to marry.”

“No one you know. He moved here last summer.”

She sounded lost. Dejected. Anger sparked and simmered in Tom’s gut. How could anyone willingly wound her like that?

Jane gestured toward the pile of dishes. “I should return to Clara before her interest wanes and she wanders away.”

His niece had indeed abandoned her task and was tossing pebbles into the water.

“You two have already made friends.” Jane was sensible and sweet natured. She’d treat Clara with kindness. The more he considered this potential solution to his dilemma, the more he warmed to it. “Would you be willing to be her caretaker?”

Her jaw sagged. “Me?”

“Yes, you.” He smiled at her astonishment. “You’re wonderful with her. And besides, I trust you wholeheartedly. I wouldn’t worry about her if she was with you.”

Her expression shuttered. “I can’t.”

Surprised by her vehement refusal and the lack of forthcoming reasons, he said, “It’s a paid position.”

“I wish that I could help you, but Jessica and I bake in the afternoons. The café owner, Mrs. Greene, has been ill and has cut back her hours. She hired us to provide the desserts.”

Something wasn’t right. Her words of regret didn’t ring true. The fact he couldn’t interpret her true state of mind drove home the fact she’d grown up. Changed.

“Are you still angry with me?” In the old days, he would’ve slung his arm about her shoulders and cajoled her out of the doldrums. He didn’t feel comfortable doing that now. He hated that his insensitivity had created this distance between them. Couldn’t have guessed his departure, and the cowardly way he’d gone about it, would trouble her to this extent. Oh, he’d surmised she’d be miffed at him for a month or so. But two years?

“I truly am sorry, Jane.”

* * *

Tom was holding her hand.

The soft-as-a-feather scrape of his thumb across her skin mesmerized her. Hot tingles arrowed up her arm and into her midsection. He was standing so near, wide shoulders filling her vision, his brilliant green eyes earnest.

“I...I’m not angry anymore.”

“But you’re disappointed.”

She couldn’t lie. “Yes.”

“And hurt.”

“That, too.”

This close, his lips looked firm yet yielding. If Tom tried to kiss her, she wouldn’t shy away. She’d welcome his embrace. It hit her then that marrying Roy wouldn’t have accomplished anything. Laura’s arrival had saved her from a catastrophic mistake.

Pulling free, she adopted a casual air that was difficult to pull off. “Not sure why I expected you to write to me. I was just a silly kid with a bad case of hero worship.”

His forehead creased. “That’s not how I remember it. We were friends. I—”

“Uncle Tom?” Clara twisted her hem in both hands. “I’m hungry.”

Tom continued to stare at Jane, obviously conflicted. After a moment, he slowly nodded. “I am, too. Guess it’s time for a bite to eat.”

Glad for the interruption, Jane held out her hand to her. “My ma packed lots of goodies. Why don’t we go and see what all there is to choose from? We can finish the dishes when we’re done.”

Clara’s hand in hers was small and warm, her expression trusting but with a hint of sadness and uncertainty. Jane found herself pondering how to elicit a smile from Tom’s charge.

Her hope that he would busy himself with another chore fell flat when he stacked the already washed plates in his arms and followed them to the cabin. He even joined them in riffling through the foodstuffs, his excitement matching Clara’s over the jars of apple butter and assorted jams. They decided to appease their hunger with thick slices of bread smeared with butter and blackberry preserves. Jane insisted on scrubbing the tabletop beforehand, so while she tended that task, Tom readied the food.

A giggle caught her attention. Twisting, she saw them standing together at the long counter beside the cookstove. His hair was a shade darker than hers, but the family resemblance was strong. He dipped his finger in the jar and swiped a tiny bit of sweet jam on the tip of Clara’s nose. He grinned. “Try and lick it off.”

Clara stuck out her tongue. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t reach. “My tongue isn’t long enough.”

“Let me try,” he said, swiping some on his own nose.

Clara giggled again at his antics, and Jane couldn’t suppress her mirth. She’d forgotten how good he was at that. Making others laugh. Making them forget their problems, even if just for a little while.

He looked across the room at her and winked. She quickly resumed her task before she could act on the impulse to join them. She wasn’t part of their family.

And she couldn’t allow herself to be a part of their lives, no matter how much the idea appealed. When the surface was at last clean, Tom carried three plates over.

“You’re joining us, right?” He pulled out a chair for her.

Jane hadn’t planned to. She could use the time to wipe off the wall-mounted shelves above the counter or clean out the stove’s firebox. But she didn’t want to disappoint Clara, who was waiting expectantly.

“Sure.” Taking her seat beside him, she scooted the plate closer.

“I haven’t had a chance to purchase a milk cow. We’ll have to make do with water.” He angled his thumb toward the saddlebags in the corner. “Unless you’d prefer coffee. I could wash out the kettle and brew us some.”

“Water’s fine.”

“Do you even drink coffee? You didn’t use to like it.”

“Sometimes. I require lots of milk and sugar when I do.”

He nodded, the bread balanced in his large, work-roughened hand. “I’ll be sure to have those items on hand next time you visit. And this place spick-and-span.”

Jane didn’t mention she wasn’t planning on doing much of that. Quietly taking in the interaction between uncle and niece, her questions mounted. Tom was completely at ease with the child, his manner natural. He loved her. How had such a rapport between them built? How long had he been her sole caretaker?

By the time he’d gotten her settled on her pallet for a nap, Jane couldn’t resist questioning him. Pride be hanged.

They’d gone out onto the porch, the cloying heat hinting at an impending rain shower, and he’d tugged on his buckskin gloves and begun removing the remainder of the vines. Bit by bit, the sagging railing became visible.

She hung back, out of his way. “What happened to Clara’s mother?”

The muscles in his broad back rippling with effort, he ripped away a handful of vines and tossed them in a growing pile near the porch. Pushing his hat farther up his forehead, he met her gaze squarely, rioting emotions near the surface.

“Jenny died a year after I went to live with her and Charles. Pneumonia.”

“I’m so sorry.” Sympathy squeezed her heart. Poor Clara.

“Me, too. She was a fine woman.”

“How old was Clara?”

“Four.”

Lips pressed in a tight line, he attacked the last section. So he and his brother had been left to comfort the small girl. Cook for her. Do the wash. Mend clothes. Hard to fathom how they’d managed it in addition to ranch work.

“Where is Charles?”

Was it her imagination, or did he yank on the stubborn vegetation with greater force? He discarded another bunch before answering.

“I have no clue where my brother is,” he bit out.

Shock carried her forward. “I don’t understand.”

“Me, either.” He snorted. “It’s not a topic I like to dwell on.”

His rigid spine and closed-off expression warned her to abandon the topic. There was a mystery here, one she would’ve liked to unravel. Short of tying him up and forcing it out of him—something her bolder, braver twin wouldn’t have hesitated to try—she’d have to accept his silence on the subject.