The Bachelor's Homecoming. Karen Kirst
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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?”
“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