Beyond These Hills (3 page)

Andrew sighed and shook his head. Sometimes there was no reasoning with his father. He wished he could make him…

His gaze drifted across the street, and the frown on his face dissolved at the sight of a young woman standing at the back of a pickup
truck. Her fisted hands rested on her hips, and she glared at the back of a young boy running down the street.

“Willie,” she yelled. “Come back here. We're not through unloading yet.”

The boy scampered away without looking over his shoulder. She shook her head and stamped her foot. Irritation radiated from her stiff body, and his skin warmed as if she'd touched him.

As if some unknown force had suddenly inhabited his body, he eased off the sidewalk and moved across the street until he stood next to her. “Excuse me, ma'am. Is there anything I can do to help?”

She whirled toward him, and the long braid of black hair hanging over her right shoulder thumped against her chest. Sultry dark eyes shaded by long lashes stared up at him, and a small gasp escaped her lips. “Oh, you startled me.”

His chest constricted, and he inhaled to relieve the tightness. His gaze drifted to the long braid that reached nearly to her waist. He had a momentary desire to reach out and touch it. With a shake of his head, he curled his fingers into his palms and cleared his throat.

“I'm sorry. I heard you calling out to that boy, and I thought maybe I could help.”

Only then did her shoulders relax, and she smiled. Relief surged through his body, and his legs trembled. What was happening to him? A few minutes ago he was mentally reaffirming his commitment to bachelorhood, and now his mind wondered why he'd ever had such a ridiculous thought. All he could do was stare at the beautiful creature facing him.

She glanced in the direction the boy had disappeared and sighed. “That was my brother. He was supposed to help me move these crates into the store, but he ran off to find his friend.” She smiled again and held out her hand. “My name is Laurel.”

His hand engulfed hers, and a wobbly smile pulled at his lips. “I'm Andrew. I'd be glad to take these inside for you, Laurel.”

“Oh, no. If you could just get one end, I'll hold the other.”

He studied the containers for a moment before he shook his head. “I think I can manage. If you'll just open the door, I'll have them inside in no time.”

She hesitated as if trying to decide, then nodded. “Okay. But be careful. These crates are filled with pottery. My mother will have a fit if one piece gets broken.”

He took a deep breath, leaned over the tailgate of the truck, and grabbed the largest crate with
Mountain Laurel Pottery
stamped on the top. Hoisting the container in his hands, he headed toward the store and the front door that she held open.

As they entered the building, a tall man with a pencil stuck behind his ear hurried from the back of the room. “Afternoon, Laurel. I wondered when you were going to get here.”

She smiled, and Andrew's heart thumped harder. “We didn't leave home as early as we'd planned.” Her smile changed to a scowl. “Willie was supposed to help me, but he ran off.” And just as quickly, her expression changed again to a dazzling smile. “Andrew was good enough to help me get the crates in.”

Mr. Bryan helped Andrew ease the crate to the floor and glanced up at him. “Any more in the truck?”

Andrew nodded. “One more, but it's smaller. I don't need any help getting it inside.”

“Then I'll leave you two. I'm unboxing some supplies in the back.” Mr. Bryan turned to Laurel. “If anybody comes in, holler at me, Laurel.”

“I will.”

A need to distance himself from this woman who had his heart turning somersaults swept over Andrew, and he hurried out the door. Within minutes he was back with the second container, but he almost dropped it at the sight of Laurel kneeling on the floor beside the first one. She opened the top, reached inside, and pulled out one of the most beautiful clay pots he'd ever laid eyes on. Swirls of orange and black streaked the smoky surface of the piece. She held
it up to the light, and her eyes sparkled as she turned it slowly in her hands and inspected it.

He set the second crate down and swallowed. “Did you make it?”

She laughed and shook her head. The braid swayed again, and he stood transfixed. “No, my mother is the potter. I help her sometimes, but I didn't inherit her gift. This is one of her pit-fired pieces.”

She set the pot down and pulled another one out. She smiled and rubbed her hand over the surface. Her touch on the pottery sent a warm rush through his veins.

“Exquisite.” The word escaped his mouth before he realized it.

She cocked her head to one side and bit her lip. “Exquisite?” she murmured. She glanced up at him, and her long eyelashes fluttered. “I've searched for the right word for a long time to describe my mother's work. I think you've just given it to me. They are exquisite.”

He swallowed and backed away. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

She shook her head. “No, thank you. You've been a great help.”

“I'm glad I could be of service.” He searched his mind for something else to say, something to prolong his time with her, but his mind was blank. He took a deep breath. “I need to go. It was nice meeting you, Laurel.”

She smiled. “You too, Andrew. Goodbye, and thanks again.”

“Goodbye.” He slowly backed toward the door.

Outside in the fresh air he took a deep breath and pulled his hat off. He raked his sleeve across his perspiring brow and shook his head. What had just happened? He'd felt like he was back in high school and trying to impress the most popular girl in his class.

He closed his eyes for a moment, and the image of her holding the pottery in her hands returned. He clamped his teeth down on his bottom lip and shook his head. She'd misunderstood. It wasn't the pottery he was describing when the word had slipped from his mouth.

Exquisite? The word didn't do her justice.

And she had a beautiful name too. Laurel. He straightened, and his eyes widened. He hadn't even asked her last name.

He whirled to go back inside the store but stopped before he had taken two steps. His father's face and the words he'd spoken when Andrew left home flashed in his mind.
Remember who you are and why you're there. Don't do anything foolish. People in Washington are watching
. He exhaled and rubbed his hand across his eyes.

For a moment inside the store he'd been distracted. He was the son of Congressman Richard Brady, and his father had big plans for his only living son.

He glanced once more at the pickup truck that still sat in front of the store and pictured how Laurel had looked standing there. When he'd grasped her hand, he'd had the strange feeling that he'd known her all his life. How could a mountain girl he'd just met have such a strange effect on him?

He pulled his hat on, whirled, and strode in the opposite direction. Halfway down the block he stopped, turned slowly, and wrinkled his brow as he stared back at the truck. The words painted on the containers flashed in his mind, and he smiled.

It shouldn't be too hard to find out her last name. For now he would just call her Mountain Laurel. His skin warmed at the thought. A perfect name for a beautiful mountain girl.

He jammed his hands in his pockets and whistled a jaunty tune as he sauntered down the street.

Chapter 2

L
aurel set the last piece of pottery on the shelf and stepped back to survey the display. She propped her hands on her hips and tilted her head to the side as her gaze drifted over the pieces her mother had sent.

There had been a lot of spaces left in the section of the store that Mr. Bryan rented to Mountain Laurel Pottery. That only meant one thing. The tourists who came to Gatlinburg liked her mother's work and were willing to pay the price to take a piece of mountain-made pottery home with them.

The bell over the door jingled to signal someone had entered, and her father stepped into the store. He smiled when he spotted her, but the troubled look she'd seen in his eyes earlier at the Ferguson farm hadn't disappeared.

He stopped beside her, put his arm around her shoulders, and studied the pottery on the shelves. “Thanks for taking care of this.”

She looped her arm around his waist and moved closer to him. “I enjoyed doing it. A lot of the pieces we brought two weeks ago have sold. Mama is going to be happy.”

Her father nodded, then glanced around. “Where's Willie?”

Laurel tensed and moved out of her father's embrace. “Uh, off with Jacob, I think.”

“Did he say when he'd be back?”

“No, but we can probably find them down by the Little Pigeon River when we get ready to leave.”

“I guess so.”

Laurel breathed a sigh of relief. At least he hadn't asked her how long Willie had been gone. The last thing she wanted was to get Willie in trouble, but she wouldn't lie if her father asked her about it. Luckily, he hadn't said anything yet. In fact, he seemed rather distracted. She glanced back at him and frowned.

“Poppa, how did it go at the lawyer's office?”

He took a deep breath and shook his head. “Nothing to concern yourself about, darling. I'll go settle up with Mr. Bryan so we can start home. I don't want to be too late. Your mother will want to have an early supper so she'll have plenty of time tonight to go over her Sunday school lesson for tomorrow morning.”

“I know.” Laurel sighed and reached down to put the top back on the open crate at her feet. “I hope she has somebody in her class tomorrow. The Whitsons moved out of the Cove this week, so that's two more children gone.”

Her father nodded but didn't say anything as he headed to the back of the store where Mr. Bryan was helping a customer. Something had happened to cause her father to be so distracted. The lawyer must not have had good news to share.

Frowning, she carried the empty container outside and loaded it into the back of the truck. This had certainly been a day of confusing emotions. The sorrow she'd felt at the Ferguson farm and her anger at Willie for abandoning her outside the store had been forgotten in the thrill that had swept through her when she turned to see a handsome young man standing beside her.

She leaned against the truck's side for a moment and glanced up and down the street. There was no sign of him now. With all the tourists in town he was probably at one of the hotels. With his wife. Her body stiffened, and she pressed her hands to her suddenly hot cheeks.

Had he been wearing a wedding ring? Her eyes narrowed, and her forehead wrinkled into a frown. She didn't remember seeing one, but maybe she hadn't noticed. But some men saw no reason to wear a ring. Her father didn't wear his because he was afraid it would get hung on a piece of farm equipment and injure his finger. But Andrew was no farmer. She'd known that when his soft fingers curled around hers. They felt nothing like the work-roughened hands of a farmer. He must have a good job if he could afford to vacation in the Smokies.

She gritted her teeth and pounded her doubled fists against the side of her legs. What difference did it make what kind of job he had? She doubted she would ever see Andrew whatever-his-name-was again.

“Is something wrong?” Laurel jerked to attention at the sound of her father's voice. He stepped up beside her and shoved the other crate into the back of the truck.

“No, just waiting for you.” She grabbed the tailgate and slammed it into place. Her father reached out and locked both ends. “It didn't take you long to settle up with Mr. Bryan,” she said.

He nodded and smiled. “Your mama is gonna be happy with her sales.” He glanced around and took a deep breath. “Still no sign of Willie, huh? Let's drive down and see if he and Jacob are at their usual place on the Little Pigeon.”

Laurel walked to the truck's passenger side and opened the door. Her hand tightened on the handle, and she gazed down at the running board for a moment before she reached up and stroked the braid that hung down her chest. Her breath had caught in her throat when Andrew's gaze traveled the length of her plaited hair. But it was his dark-eyed stare that locked on her when he set the second container down that had made her heart almost explode in her chest.

No man had ever looked at her like that, and for a moment she feared her voice had deserted her. With few people left in the Cove, she'd had little experience talking with young men. Her shoulders
sagged. What if he thought she was a silly mountain girl who didn't have a rational thought in her head?

She closed her eyes for a moment and shook her head. She wasn't silly, but these confusing thoughts were. Her reaction to meeting Andrew could be because with nearly all her friends gone from the Cove she'd been lonely for a while. It was something she'd have to talk to her mother about.

“What are you waiting for, Laurel?” Her father, his hands on the steering wheel, leaned across the seat and stared at her.

“N-nothing.”