Familiar Stranger In Clear Springs. Kathryn Albright
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to deny her true emotions evaporated. She loved him—and wanted him to know it. “I love you, Tom Barrington.”
At her confession, he hesitated a moment, and then bent down to kiss her long and thorough. She closed her eyes, absorbing the warmth of his lips, enjoying his soft touch.
“I’m on duty tomorrow, but I’ll come afterward.”
She opened her eyes and smiled up at him. It was a promise. “Tomorrow.”
That had been the last time she saw Tom...until now.
It was painful to ponder what had happened all those years ago. She had blurted out her feelings and the thought of it embarrassed her now. Tom had gone to seek his future and never wrote, never tried to contact her. He’d obviously enjoyed the summer on the water and then moved on. It was futile to wish things had been different. He hadn’t cared enough to stay—or ask her to go with him.
She tightened her jaw. It may have taken a while, but she had learned her lesson well. She would not be making a fool of herself again. Not ever.
With surprise, she realized that people in the pews surrounding her had risen and were singing the ending hymn. Quickly she rose and joined in, hoping no one had noticed her lack of interest in the sermon.
* * *
After the service, Elizabeth descended the whitewashed steps of the church, while at the same time tying her straw bonnet ribbons under her chin. The day was sunny but cool, so she tugged her heavy ecru shawl about her shoulders and then glanced toward the hotel. On the wide porch stood her brother, nose to nose with Sam Furst in what appeared to be a very heated discussion by the way Terrance was using his hands and leaning into the conversation.
Tall and thin, with dark brown hair and eyes the same as hers, it was nonetheless curious how different Terrance was from her. They might look similar and both have ambitious natures but that is where it ended. Her brother’s personality veered vastly different from hers. Even his sense of humor was nothing like hers. Where she preferred witty anecdotes and puns, his tended to the coarse and at times rather banal. She certainly didn’t understand him. He glanced over just then and noticed her approach. Straightening, he waved impatiently for her to hurry up.
She eyed the disgruntled expression on his face. Whatever the topic between him and Sam, he certainly wasn’t happy with what he was hearing. It looked as though he was more than ready for her to join him.
In the hotel’s restaurant, her brother chose a favorite table in the center of the room. She had asked him once why that particular table and he answered that Preston had once recommended it. It was so that he could see and greet people all around him at nearby tables. Sitting near the wall would give him only half the area. She suspected an opposite motive—he wanted people to notice he was there. Plus, a few times she’d been aware of him eavesdropping on conversations at nearby tables. She’d thought to caution him on it, but then held her tongue. It wouldn’t do any good to say something. He wouldn’t listen to her, anyway.
As she settled into the chair, smoothing her midnight-blue dress over her knees, a man with a thatch of dark brown hair at the table just beyond Terrance caught her eye. She inhaled sharply. Tom sat not ten feet away—alone with an empty plate and full cup of coffee in front of him. He tipped his chin up, acknowledging her, his gaze steady and unnerving as always.
She realized, suddenly, what was different about the way he looked from last night. He had shaved and put on a fresh shirt, so that now without the scruffy beard she could clearly see the contours of his face. He had definitely matured—not an ounce of boyish flesh that she remembered remained. Everything about him signaled strength and manliness. Tiny lines fanned out near each eye—the kind that happened from laughing a lot or perhaps squinting in the sun. She rather thought it was the latter. It wasn’t fair that he had grown even more handsome since the last time he’d been here.
When Terrance eyed her with a curious expression, she smiled a bit too brightly, distracted as she was by Tom’s presence. One moment she wished he would just disappear and the next she hoped he would come join her. How could he sit there so casually oblivious to all that they had been to each other? Of course, it no longer bothered her. It happened too long ago and she had learned...oh, yes...she had learned from it. The others in the restaurant would not be getting an eyeful today.
Apparently her brother hadn’t noticed Tom. Considering how things had gone in the past between the two, it was probably a good thing. And as it was none of her business why Tom was in town, and he obviously wasn’t here to visit her, she had best ignore his close proximity other than to be pleasant should the need arise. With concerted effort, she turned her attention to her brother, who, she realized, was dressed particularly sharp. In the next second, she realized why.
“A new suit?” she asked. “From Marston’s? Does this mean you have decided to run for the city commerce board?”
“I thought about what you said a few weeks ago. You were right. If changes are to be made that will affect my business, I want to be in on the decision-making.”
She had encouraged it only to keep him from pressing her about moving to the city with him and helping him with his business—a discussion that surfaced more and more often now that his business was up and running. She hoped instead that he would marry and start a family. If she wasn’t going to have a family of her own, at least she would be able to dote on nieces and nephews.
A serving waitress stopped by their table and took their orders. Dinner consisted of yellowtail fish and boiled parsley potatoes—a staple and one well-liked by the Sunday crowd. She pushed her food about her plate, taking a bite now and then while Terrance droned on about the Chinese abalone and shrimp fishing going on in the area. She could barely concentrate on what he was saying. Each time she looked up, she couldn’t keep from glancing beyond Terrance, and each time Tom was watching her. She lowered her gaze immediately, but still felt a flush of warmth rise on her cheeks. He simply filled the room with his presence.
“The supplies you ordered have arrived,” Terrance said. “They’ll be on the Wells Fargo Stage for the Tuesday run.”
Her brother’s words registered after a moment. “The supplies?” She had ordered them months ago. “That’s wonderful. I received word from Gemma just this week. The schoolhouse is nearly finished.”
She toyed with her china cup, smoothing her finger around the rim, hoping Terrance would go along with her plan to visit Gemma. She could just imagine the delight on her friend’s face when she first opened the crates of supplies and she wanted to be there to see it. Terrance didn’t like change—especially change that he didn’t instigate and might affect his income in any way. He would shove a laundry list of reasons at her why she shouldn’t go, and since half of the store was his, he did have a right to be a part of the decision. “As a matter of fact,” she said, “I would like to visit her...and take her the supplies myself.”
Terrance paused from stuffing a forkful of slaw into his mouth. Slowly he put his fork down. “I don’t see that that is necessary.”
She leaned forward. “I’d like to be there when she first sees everything. I want to see the expression on her face.”
“Just who do you expect to watch the mercantile? I certainly can’t.”
She pressed her lips together. Of course that would be Terrance’s first concern. Always practical. Always economical. But he had a valid point. Who would watch the store? And there was her cat to consider. Left on her own, Patches would be easy game for coyotes.
She tapped her fingers on the tabletop, considering her limited options. “Otis Ferriday? Mrs. Flynn?”
With a wave of his hand, Terrance dismissed those two suggestions as unsuitable.
“Why not? What wrong with one of them? Mrs. Flynn has even availed herself of the order sheets and dusting once or twice when I wasn’t feeling well.”
He ticked them off on his fingers. “Otis Ferriday is older than dirt and just as rumpled. He doesn’t instill trust. Mrs. Flynn