Reclaiming His Past (12 page)

He couldn't survive without resources of his own. And he absolutely refused to go into further debt to the O'Malleys.

“Are you ready?” Jessica appeared at his side. He relieved her of the parcels, tucking them under one arm while opening the door for her.

“I have one stop to make before we return home,” he told her out on the boardwalk. “It shouldn't take long.”

“Would you like for me to come with you?” A breeze teased free a long strand, and it snagged on her lips. He tried not to stare as she tugged it free.

“This is something I have to do on my own.”

He'd expected her to question him. Instead, she pointed to a long bench in front of the mercantile's window. “I'll wait here.” As he deposited the parcels beside her on the seat, she unwrapped the largest one and held it aloft. “Sun's bright today. You'll need this.”

Witnessing her expectant pleasure, he couldn't refuse. Dropping the fawn-colored Stetson into place, he ran his fingers along the stiff brim and gave her an exaggerated wink. “What do you think? Is it my color?”

“It's perfect.” She rewarded him with a sunny smile, one he could quickly become used to.

Heading for the livery, he rehearsed what he might say to convince the owner to give him a job. He strode into the weathered structure, pausing to get his bearings in the dim interior. The place smelled of stale hay and sweaty animals. All but two of the enclosures were occupied. On the far wall hung tools and tack. A wagon sat empty in the opposite entrance.

“Can I help you?” A stout, grizzled man emerged from the corner stall wiping his hands on the dirt-streaked smock covering his clothes.

“Are you Milton Warring?”

“That's the name.”

Grant removed his hat and tapped it against his thigh. “I'm here about the employment notice you placed in the mercantile.”

Warring's narrowed focus lowered, and Grant immediately stilled his hand. Letting a potential employer see his nervousness wasn't a good idea. Weakness, either, which was why he'd left the cane with Jessica.

“I'm Grant Parker. I'm staying with the O'Malleys, and I need a paying position to cover room and board.”

Scraping his bristly jaw, Warring frowned. “Heard about you. They say you have...oh, what's it called?”

“Amnesia.”

“That's it. Amnesia. So you don't remember anything about yourself?”

“No, sir.”

“Not your ma or pa? Your home?”

“No. Nothing.” He got a sinking sensation in his gut.

“That's a shame. I can't help you.” Shaking his head in dismissal, he turned and would've gone back to work if Grant hadn't surged forward, hand outstretched.

“Wait. My lack of memory won't impact my ability to be a loyal employee. I'm a hard worker.” He worked to keep his expression neutral, to hide the desperation boiling beneath the surface.

“You expect me to entrust my livelihood into the hands of a stranger?” He motioned to their surroundings. “You'll have to look elsewhere.”

“Just give me a week. I'll work without pay. If you decide to keep me on, you'll owe me for the work I completed. If you decide not to, I'll walk away with nothing.”

Grant clenched his jaw, waiting for the man's decision and despising his life in that moment.

“You'll have to look elsewhere.”

His chest tight, he replaced the hat he couldn't pay for and nodded tersely. “Good day, Mr. Warring.”

They both knew his chances of finding work were slim. He left the man staring after him, his pride in pieces on the floor.

Chapter Twelve

“Y
our friend's finished with his errand, Jessica.” Pete looped his thumbs in his waistband and rocked back on his heels. “Sure don't look happy.”

Lowell whistled softly. “Looks like he swallowed a pickled peach. Maybe he doesn't like you talking to us.”

From her spot on the bench, Jessica angled to the left, instantly aware something was wrong. Grant stalked toward them, hands fisted at his sides, anger billowing off him in waves. A muscle worked in his tight jaw. The new hat cast his eyes in shadow, but they burned into her and the pair of men who'd stopped to chat.

Bolting to her feet, she gathered the purchases. “I have to go.”

“Ditch the leech and come have pie with me,” Lowell cajoled, gesturing over his shoulder to the café. “Won't be as good as yours, of course, but a guy has to take what he can get.”

The paper wrapping crinkled beneath her hands. “I'm not in the mood for pie. And even if I were, I wouldn't share it with a man who resorted to calling others names in order to make himself look better by comparison.”

Pete chuckled. Glaring, Lowell elbowed him. He lowered his voice. “I'm just saying what everyone else is thinking. He's a leech, Jessica, sucking you and your ma dry. Has he paid you anything for your hospitality?”

Grant neared, and Jessica was desperate to shut Lowell up. Erasing the distance between them, she warned, “Not another word, Lowell, or you'll be eating pie all by your lonesome for the rest of your life. I'll make sure of it.”

Surprise flitted through his dark eyes. He put his palms up. “No call to be ornery. It was an observation. Touchy, aren't we?”

Pete stroked his chin. “I think the lady is infatuated with Gatlinburg's latest visitor.”

“Sorry to keep you waiting.” Grant's eyes glittered as he took in her proximity to Lowell.

“No need to apologize. These gentlemen were on their way to the café for dessert.”

Jessica made a brief introduction. Lowell's smirk smacked of challenge, his brown eyes falsely innocent. “Would you two care to join us?” he said.

Grant's frown grew more pronounced. Before he could respond, she linked their arms. “We can't. I have rhubarb pie waiting on us at home. Good day, fellows.”

When they reached the horses, she put their belongings in her saddlebags. Grant unwound the reins from the post and stared moodily down the street at Pete's and Lowell's retreating figures.

“They must've changed their mind about the café.”

Schooling her features, she shrugged and, mounting her horse, changed the subject. He was sensitive enough about his situation without being privy to what folks were saying. “Did you get your errand taken care of?”

“It wasn't the outcome I'd hoped for.” Hauling himself into the saddle, he turned Galahad toward the bridge. One thing about the new hat, it hid his eyes from view, making it difficult to determine his mood.

They rode side by side into the shaded lane, the hum of the rushing river gradually fading and replaced with birds' calls echoing through the understory. Minutes passed, and yet his profile continued to appear carved from granite.

“You seem upset.”

“Talking about it won't change anything.”

The self-derision in his tone caught her off guard. He was normally so upbeat that she wasn't sure how to deal with the cracks in his optimism.

“I recall saying something similar. And guess what you said?”

He turned his head to stare hard at her. Having the fullness of his intense perusal zeroed in on her made her antsy and wistful.

“Whatever you tell me will go with me when I leave,” he supplied.

She made a zipping motion over her mouth. “Which means that whatever
you
tell
me
will stay.”

Expression stormy, he shifted in the saddle. “I tried to get a job at the livery. The owner's hiring, but he's not inclined to take a chance on me.”

“Oh.” Unexpected hurt and defensiveness flooded her, and she pictured marching into the livery and giving Mr. Warring an earful. “I'm sorry, Grant.”

One shoulder lifted in a careless gesture. “Told you it wouldn't change the outcome.”

She nudged Caramel closer to Galahad. “You'll find something.” She injected confidence in her manner. “I'm sure of it.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“What are friends for?”

“For boosting one's ego, it seems.” He thumbed the brim up, giving her an unobstructed view of his eyes. “Do you plan on writing me after I leave?”

“As I won't know where you wind up, you'll have to write me first and find out.” With a wink, she urged her horse into a trot, the exhilaration filling her stunted by one fact—she was beginning to think his leaving would be a bad thing. A feeling that could easily lead to trouble if she let it.

* * *

The wagon bed was packed with stacks of empty flour sacks and baskets, a pair of canvas tents, crates of food and enough personal items to last them three days. They planned to return Sunday night, but it was good to be prepared for delays. Grant studied the clouds above. Fat and fluffy, they looked harmless.

“I believe we have everything.”

Jessica descended the porch steps and was in the process of tying the bold pink ribbons of her straw hat beneath her chin. Her white blouse was printed with miniature pink flowers, her skirt a refreshing spring green.

“I thought redheads didn't wear pink.”

Grant couldn't resist teasing her. He'd felt sorry for himself the previous two days, stewing over the lost opportunity, until he'd decided it wasn't attractive or manly to sulk. He had his health, and he had the O'Malleys. God had provided for him.
Lord, I know You see my need for a job. I also know that with You, all things are possible.

Planting her hands on her hips, she arched one sleek brow. “I don't care if it clashes with my freckles. I like pink.”

Grinning, he moved close and gave her ponytail a playful tug. “You'd look beautiful in any color and you know it.”

Not speaking, she blinked up at him, the teasing mood gone in a flash. Interest was reflected in the green pools. Interest in
him
. He couldn't have imagined that first day that she would ever look upon him with anything other than disdain. But along with the longing in her eyes, he saw a heavy dose of restraint.

She's right to be cautious. Your past is one big question mark, as are your integrity and character. Somewhere out there might be a woman who's already laid claim to your heart. Maybe even your name.

Unable to stomach that last thought, Grant shoved it aside. He wondered about the man she'd loved and lost. What sort of relationship had they shared?

“Did he treat you well?” he blurted without thinking.

“Did who...” Her brows crashed together as understanding dawned. “That's a difficult question to answer.”

“I don't think it is. Either he did or he didn't. You said your family didn't approve. Why not?”

“It's complicated.” Picking up her skirts, she swept around to the far side. “We should go. Will's waiting on us.”

Grant battled frustration. What was so horrible that she refused to tell him? The scant knowledge he had about her wasn't enough to satisfy the growing need to know more.

* * *

He thinks I'm beautiful.

Jessica left Grant, Will and Caleb to assemble the tents while she refilled their canteens. The clearing bustled with activity. All around her, people set up their campsites in clusters of families and friends. The air was cooler here in this higher elevation, the autumn foliage more pronounced. Afternoon light set the yellow, scarlet and orange leaves ablaze. Some of the chestnut trees were hundreds of years old, their sheer size impressive. Through the openings in the trees, she could see for miles, the mountain ridges marching into the distant horizon.

“Hello.” A young woman about her age nodded and smiled in greeting as she passed.

Jessica smiled and continued picking her way across the chestnut-strewn, hilly terrain, her thoughts straying into places they had no right to go.

He thinks I'm beautiful.

Lee had been lavish with his compliments. So much so that she hadn't taken them to heart. Grant's praise was altogether different. His sincere admiration had rattled her.

Admit it, even without his memories, Grant Parker is a better man than Lee ever dreamed of being.

Instantly guilt flooded her. It wasn't right to compare her deceased beau to a living, breathing virile man. Still, she couldn't help noting the differences. When she thought of Grant, the description
steadfast
came to mind. Strength of purpose. Serious, yet able to appreciate the humor in life. Grant was light and laughter.

Lee had been dark and compelling, a swirling eddy that beckoned her closer to discover what was beneath. Compared to the local men, he'd seemed exciting and adventurous. Even a little mysterious. From the moment they collided outside the café and globs of buttermilk pie rained down on him, the handsome, brash newcomer had pursued her with flattering single-mindedness. He'd dazzled her with stories of life in Virginia as a wealthy businessman's son. He'd wooed her with romantic picnics. Delighted her with thoughtful gestures...flowers, badly written poetry, candy, inexpensive trinkets. Spending time with Lee made Jessica's small-town life less dull, less mundane. He was her perfect match.

Or so she'd believed.

He'd presented himself as a God-fearing man in pursuit of a simpler life. It wasn't until those weeks prior to his death that she'd realized she hadn't
truly
known him. A single question nagged her. How could she have loved a man who'd deceived her so convincingly?

She knelt at the stream's edge, cold water trickling over her hand as she dunked the first canteen beneath the surface. Preventing this flourishing friendship with Grant from becoming meaningful was crucial. There were so many reasons why caring for him could prove disastrous it made her head swim.

The next man she allowed into her heart must lead a life that was above reproach. His reputation had to be untarnished. He'd be safe. Uncomplicated. Boring men didn't turn out to be criminals. They didn't lead double lives.

A dismayed cry snapped her out of her reverie.

“My dolly!” Farther down the bank, a girl who reminded Jessica of her niece, Clara, was tugging frantically on her older sister's sleeve and pointing to the object bobbing in the current.

Capping the canteen and placing it in the grass with the others, she hurried to join the girls. “Can I be of assistance?”

They lifted matching brown eyes to hers. The older one nodded. “Yes, please. My sister's doll fell in.”

The stream wasn't wide, nor was it particularly fast. With no time to remove her boots or stockings, however, she wound up with soggy feet and dripping pantaloons. Handing the toy to its owner, Jessica smiled despite her uncomfortable state. “There you go.”

“You saved Winnifred.” The little girl sighed. Unmindful of her dress, she hugged the drenched doll to her chest.

“Thank you, ma'am.” Her sister wore a look of relief. “Winnifred is her only doll. She would've been devastated to lose it.”

“Happy to help. My name's Jessica. What's yours?”

“I'm Eve.” She tilted her head to the side. “This is Lydia.”

Lydia blinked shyly up at her.

“Nice to meet you both.” Jessica bent to wring the excess water from her hem.

“We have to go.”

“See you around, girls.” She watched the pair hurry off, Eve lecturing Lydia as they went.

Laughing to herself, she didn't at first notice the woman rushing toward her.

“Jessica!” the woman squealed. “I'm so happy you're here!”

She caught the impression of red hair and a familiar smile before being crushed in a tight hug. Arms pinned to her sides, she inhaled a fragrance she'd recognize anywhere. Lavender.

“Juliana?” Her voice came out muffled, wonder filling her. What was her oldest sister doing here?

Gripping Jessica's shoulders, Juliana leaned far enough away to scan her face with unchecked joy. “Evan and I were searching for a good spot to camp when we saw Caleb. I couldn't believe my eyes. And then he told us you were here. I abandoned them without a word, I'm afraid.” She laughed, hugging her again.

“Why didn't you write and tell us you were coming? Ma will be inconsolable for a week once I tell her.”

It had been seven months since they'd last traveled to Cades Cove. Because of the farm's many responsibilities, they visited once or twice a year. Juliana and Evan hadn't been able to come to Gatlinburg as often as they liked, either.

“This trip wasn't planned. At the last minute, Lucas and his wife volunteered to care for the children.”

“That was thoughtful of Evan's cousin. I'm sure you two appreciate the opportunity to be alone, but I would've liked to have seen James and Sammy.”

Her nephews were growing so fast. James was four years old, Sammy two. Both boys resembled their raven-haired, blue-eyed father.

“You look well,” Jessica observed.

Marriage and motherhood agreed with Juliana. An inch or two taller than Jessica, she wore her hair in a neat twist and preferred to wear comfortable, unfussy dresses.

Linking arms, Jessica led her to where she'd abandoned her things. Contentment she hadn't known for months stole over her. Growing up, Jessica could always count on Juliana's practical advice.

“I've missed you.”

At the rare admission, Juliana's expression became concerned. “I received your letter about Mr. Parker. Did you get my reply?”

Crouching to refill the remaining canteens, she shook her head, her hair swinging forward.