Reclaiming His Past. Karen Kirst
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“I appreciate your concern, Grant. I do. But you’re not gonna be here long enough to matter.”
* * *
Jessica watched him limp across the yard and disappear around the corner of the cabin. No wonder he’d flat out dismissed her offer of assistance. She’d been rude.
Humiliation had spurred the hasty words. That and outrage. Knowing her mother and Grant had discussed her spectacular mistakes made her burn with embarrassment. That she hadn’t divulged specifics didn’t matter. Grant hadn’t earned their trust. He was a stranger in their home.
A handsome stranger whose presence made her evaluate her current circumstances and the sad fact that she was alone. Helping him outside in what had amounted to an awkward side embrace, she’d been overwhelmed by his latent strength, the power coiled in those honed muscles. His heat and earthy scent had taunted her, reminding her of what she might never have—someone special who meant more to her than everyone else on earth, someone worthy of her trust and admiration.
The longing for love and romance scared her. Under absolutely no circumstances could she be attracted to this man. He was the worst possible person to reawaken long-buried dreams. If she ever decided to reenter the world of courting and suitors, she would take the safe route. A pity the reverend was triple her age and happily married.
Several riders entered the lane behind her. Swinging around, she registered her cousins’ approach with mixed feelings. Josh, Nathan and Caleb were more like brothers than cousins. Having grown up on neighboring farms, they’d shared meals and holidays, gotten into mischief together, stuck up for one another. And while she loved them dearly, she didn’t appreciate it when they stuck their collective noses into her business.
Josh was the first to dismount and approach. The oldest brother, he wore his wheat-colored hair short. A trim mustache and goatee framed his mouth. The quiet, intelligent type, he looked to be on a slow simmer.
“We heard about your visitor,” he said, grip on his waistband tightening.
Nathan joined him, his silver eyes stormy beneath his hat’s brim. “What were you thinking, Jess? Will came home this morning spinning wild tales. Are they true?”
Raven-haired Caleb stalked over, the angry scar around his eye more pinched than usual. He didn’t have to say a word. All it took was one imperious glare for her to guess his thoughts.
Jessica squared off against the trio. “First of all, he isn’t my visitor. So all this protective outrage is wasted on me.” She made a circling motion in the air. “Grant is Ma’s project. Take your complaints up with her. Second, he’s suffering from several wounds, not to mention memory loss, so leave him alone.”
Caleb’s mouth twisted into a cynical slash. “You believe his story?”
“I haven’t made my mind up yet.”
Grant’s sincerity seemed awfully authentic, and she found herself leaning toward belief. But resistance lingered. Look at how Lee had convinced her he was a run-of-the-mill farmer, when right under her nose he’d been cooking up moonshine to distribute across the state and beyond.
Their expressions turned frosty. Looking over her shoulder, she saw Grant register their animosity and come to a halt. Caleb made to move past her. Slapping her hand again his chest, she inserted steel into her voice. “He’s injured.”
“So?”
“So take it easy.”
“Relax, cuz. I’m just gonna talk to the man.”
Trailing behind them, praying for a peaceful outcome, she studied Grant’s busted-up face. Wariness was notable in his stiff shoulders and stance, but the determined set of his jaw said he wasn’t going to back down. The cabin wall behind him providing support, he didn’t waver beneath Caleb and Josh’s onslaught of questions. The righteous defiance in his clear gaze shifted her perception of him, eradicating many of her doubts. There wasn’t a hint of discomfort in him. No telltale signs he was protecting a lie.
If she were to accept his account of events, it wouldn’t be a case of her judgment opposing everyone else’s, as in Lee’s case. Her own mother and the respected town doctor trusted Grant.
Not speaking, Nathan listened, content to let his brothers do the interrogating.
The longer it went on, the more Grant’s physical weakness began to show.
Pushing past Nathan, she walked between the brothers to stand beside Grant. He glanced at her in surprise.
“Who’s interested in blackberry cobbler? And coffee? I’m sure Ma’s wondering what’s keeping us.”
Caleb and Josh exchanged matching looks of displeasure. Too bad. She wasn’t about to stand by while they ambushed him.
Nathan lifted his hat and fluffed his dark hair. “I’ve just had breakfast, but I won’t pass up your cobbler.”
“Then it’s settled.” Linking arms with Caleb, she urged him in the direction of the porch steps. “So how are Rebecca and the kids?”
“In between feeding and changing the baby, Becca’s teaching Noah how to paint faces on pumpkins and gourds.”
She smiled at the image his words spawned. Caleb’s wife was a gifted painter. In fact, one of Becca’s paintings hung on the wall across from Jessica’s bed. Young Noah was a sweetheart, and he loved being a big brother to three-month-old Isaac.
He angled his face so that his mouth met her ear. “Tread carefully with this one, cuz. While I suspect he’s telling the truth, there’s no way of knowing his history and whether or not it’s a violent one.”
Her smile vanished. Of course he was alluding to her past. Her discernment would forever forward be called into question. Teeth clenched, she merely nodded, quickly disengaging her arm once they entered the house.
He was right. Grant Parker was a puzzle. One no one might ever be able to solve.
For a while there, Grant thought he might get stabbed a second time. Or shot. Or, at the very least, punched.
Jessica’s relatives were not pleased she and her mother had taken him in. The scarred one especially looked as if roughing Grant up a bit would make him feel better. Alice O’Malley’s presence dictated they be polite. Still, the unspoken strain in the crowded living room was palpable.
Although he tried not to appear fixated on his perplexing young hostess, his gaze insisted on sliding in her direction against his will. Seated on a low cushioned stool beside the unlit fireplace, Jessica held a delicate china teacup in her hands, the saucer on the stool beside her. She’d served up the cobbler for everyone except herself and him. His excuse? He’d probably cast up his accounts if he attempted to eat anything more. As for hers, he wondered if she was too nervous to eat, concerned about maintaining her waistline or the kind of person who enjoyed the act of cooking more than actually sampling the fare. He found himself wondering a lot of things. Such as why she’d come to his rescue outside when he’d obviously messed up by mentioning her private grief.
The brief excursion outside his bedroom had winded him. While he longed to recline in his borrowed bed, doing so would impart the notion he was either weak or hiding something. Instead, he’d sunk into the closest wingback chair, the soft, worn cushions like a gentle hug. Focusing on the conversation flowing around him took his mind off his body’s state of perpetual soreness.
There was talk of extended family members, both young and old, as well as the state of Josh’s furniture business in town. Sophie, who they’d explained was Will’s sister, was expecting twins. From the way Nathan’s expression lit up, Grant surmised the proud father-to-be wasn’t daunted by the prospect of caring for two infants at once.
Ensconced