His Mountain Miss - Karen Kirst

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him.

      Frustration surged. If not for this young lady, he would’ve already put the house up for sale and been well on his way out of this backwoods town.

      “By all means, proceed with your plans as you’ve always done.”

      Surprise flickered.

      “But let me make myself clear—I plan to do everything possible to find a way around that stipulation.”

      She jerked her head back. Anger flashed in her eyes. “Why am I not surprised? You don’t care about the children or the people of this community.” Yanking off his coat, she thrust it at him, and he fumbled to catch it before it fell to the floor. “You care only about yourself—” she poked him in the chest “—what you want and what you need. Well, let me assure you, Mr. Beaumont, I will do everything I can to fight you on this.”

      Then, to his shock, she pivoted and dashed out into the rain. Though it had slacked off, the rain was still steady. Did she plan to run the entire way home?

      “Megan!” He rushed to the top step. “Wait!”

      He wasn’t sure if she heard him or not. She didn’t hesitate, didn’t slow down, just kept going. Across the grass and down the lane, until she disappeared around the bend.

      Shoving his hands through his hair, he blew out an aggravated breath. The woman was a danger to his sanity. And control? Hah! She had him so mixed up, he couldn’t tell up from down.

      He was beginning to wish he’d never heard of Gatlinburg, Tennessee.

      Chapter Four

      Lucian couldn’t in good conscience allow Megan to leave without some sort of protection from the elements. Ignoring the fact he was dripping water all over the floors, he went inside in search of his umbrella. Seizing one propped against the wall, he tossed his coat on the hall table and hurried back out into the rain. There, at the end of the lane, was a flash of white and blue.

      As he sprinted across the sprawling lawn, bits of mud splashed up on to his boots. His pristine, clean-as-a-whistle boots. And since, in his haste, he hadn’t bothered opening the umbrella, his vest and shirt were now soaked. He ground his teeth together. If the woman had an ounce of sense...

      Drawing closer, he noticed she’d slowed, her head bent and shoulders hunched. Her heavy skirts impeded her progress. His annoyance evaporated at once, and he was glad he’d followed her.

      “Megan, wait!”

      She ignored him. Still angry, obviously. The woman certainly had spunk. She didn’t fawn all over him like the young socialites in his circle, which he found refreshing. It was growing tougher to stomach their batting eyelashes, coquettish smiles and honeyed words. Their thinly veiled attempts to garner his favor.

      Megan, at least, gave the appearance of being straightforward with him.

      Opening the umbrella, he caught her upper arm and moved to bring them both beneath its cover.

      “What are you doing?” she demanded, eyes still smoldering and chin lifted in defiance.

      She was strikingly beautiful, even more so when angry. With his finger, he outlined her chin, dislodging the water droplets. “Has anyone ever told you that you have a stubborn chin?”

      Her lips parted. “Actually, you’re the first.”

      Lucian dropped his hand. He really needed to stop touching her. He wasn’t what one would consider an affectionate man. In fact, Dominique had complained at his lack of attention. Accused him of being an ice sculpture. He’d shrugged off her comments.

      So why would he be any different with Megan? Why did he feel compelled to connect with her every time she was near?

      Releasing her arm, he offered her the umbrella handle. “Take this. It doesn’t look like the rain will let up anytime soon.”

      Her pale brows rose. “You followed me in order to give me this?”

      His smile was grim. “Despite popular opinion, I’m not completely unfeeling.”

      “I—” She paused, her brow furrowed. “Thank you.”

      When she shivered, he pressed the handle into her hand. “You should go. Too much longer in this weather, and you’ll become ill. Good day, mon chou.”

      He pivoted on his heel before he touched her again or made another inane remark about her person. Not smart, Beaumont. As the cool rain slid over his skin, he reminded himself of his purpose. He couldn’t allow Megan to distract him, or worse, trick him into giving her control of the house.

      As soon as he got out of these wet clothes, he was going to sit down and draft a letter to his lawyer. One way or another, he would find a way to rid himself of Charles’s house and all the emotional baggage that went with it.

      * * *

      Friday afternoon, Jane handed Megan the basket of tea cakes. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you? What if he’s hateful?”

      Megan touched the red silk jacquard scarf tied about her head. It was a bit too snug, but she didn’t want to take it off. The kids would enjoy her pirate costume. She could only imagine what Lucian’s reaction might be. “Lucian can be difficult, that’s for sure, but he isn’t hateful.”

      Infuriating, yes. And bewildering. The man made it practically impossible to stay mad at him! Scooping up the umbrella he’d loaned her, she recalled their exchange and how his nearness, the intensity of his black eyes, made rational thought impossible.

      “Would you mind opening the door for me?”

      Clearly not convinced, Jane complied. “When will we get to meet him? Do you think he’ll come to church on Sunday?”

      “Oh, I hope he does.” Nicole looked up from her latest sewing project, violet eyes shining. “From the way you described him, Megan, he sounds like a dream. Just think, a wealthy aristocrat in our midst. All the way from Louisiana!”

      Megan couldn’t help but smile at her younger sister’s enthusiasm. Nicole was enamored with the idea of big-city life. As soon as she had enough money saved, she planned to open up a clothing boutique in the city of her choice.

      Not Megan. She loved East Tennessee, the mountains and streams and forests. The peace and quiet, the fresh air and space to roam. To daydream. She couldn’t imagine being content anywhere else.

      She hesitated in the open doorway. “How about I ask him outright whether he plans to or not? That way your minds will be at ease.” And hers, as well.

      “Yes, do!” Nicole urged.

      “Only if he’s in an agreeable mood,” Jane cautioned.

      Lucian, agreeable? She didn’t expect him to be, not with her and the children invading his territory. I can handle whatever he dishes out. I have to. For the kids and the town.

      “I’ll see you both later.” She turned and headed out into the late-afternoon sunshine, soaking in the hum of life all about her. Birds chirping. Squirrels darting up and down the trees on either side of the lane. The breeze swelling through the tree canopy far above her head. Ah, spring. Her favorite time of year. If only it could last forever.

      If only Charles was still here. Waiting for her and the children with eager anticipation, his weathered face smoothing into a welcoming smile, the loneliness in his eyes fading for the short time they were there. It was highly unlikely that Lucian would welcome them. If anything, he would take himself off to another part of the house in order to avoid their presence. That was fine by her. Why wouldn’t it be? She didn’t care one way or another.

      However, standing on his front porch a quarter of an hour later face-to-face with the man, she realized that was a lie. Lucian Beaumont was not the sort of man who inspired indifference. Quite the opposite, in fact. The strong emotions he invoked within her were foreign to her experience.

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