The Longing (5 page)

As soon as her mother left the room, Amelia
spun toward the coffin, toward the security of her father. She took
his unresponsive fingers in her hand and held on for life. “You’re
the only one I’ve ever been able to count on, Papa. I can’t live
without you. I can’t!” She clutched his fingers to her chest, her
heart cramped with pain. “I can’t bear to lose the mill, either,
Papa, but I don’t know what to do.”

o0o

The moment Kyle laid eyes on Amelia, guilt
consumed him. She stood in her parents’ lavishly decorated parlor
beside her father’s casket, a fragile ivory princess with eyes so
large and sad, Kyle forgot he was standing in the crush of mourning
friends and family members who had gathered for the evening
funeral.

Kyle didn’t move or beckon Amelia in any way,
but the instant she saw him, she left her mother’s side and crossed
to where he stood. Kyle’s mind was so cluttered with apologies and
self-recriminations, he couldn’t utter a word of greeting.

She scanned his face then lowered her lashes
and touched her fingertip to the red scabs crossing the back of his
hand. “I’m sorry for this,” she said, her voice soft and hoarse as
her trembling fingers glided over his knuckles. She tipped her face
toward his. “I want to thank you for everything you did last
night.”

Looking into Amelia’s sad brown eyes and
feeling the coolness of her hand covering his own made Kyle want to
bolt for the door. Silky skin and private conversation made for a
lethal combination that Kyle wanted no part of, especially when
Amelia’s expression was so open and vulnerable. He was a fool for a
woman in distress. He’d been the same way with Catherine, who was
this very minute standing across the room pretending to talk with
her youngest sister, Lucinda, while covertly watching Kyle.

Amelia laced her fingers in front of her
slender, black-clad hips, the gesture capturing Kyle’s full
attention. She had long legs, he thought as his eyes scanned down
the length of her skirt then back up over the slight curve of her
hips. Dull black fabric encased her small waist and rounded nicely
over her breasts.

“Mama and I would like you to be a pallbearer
for Papa.”

Kyle’s stomach lurched and his knees turned
liquid, but the thick banister behind him kept him from sinking to
the parquet floor. He couldn’t remember a time he felt more sick at
heart. Unable to form a sensible reply, he simply stared at
her.

“Papa thought the world of you.”

He had told Tom he was sorry, that he
shouldn’t have doubted him, but for all Kyle knew, Tom Drake had
died hating him.

Kyle groped for words, the pain of losing his
own father piercing him anew as he glanced at Tom’s inert form
shrouded in a coffin across the room. “I’m sorry, Amelia.” He
wanted to say more, to tell Amelia that her father had taught him
as much about the lumber business as his own father had, that he
was sorry he’d confronted Tom with his suspicions and upset him,
but the constriction in Kyle’s chest left his voice too rough for
talking. “If you’re trying to say you’d rather not do this, I
understand.” Amelia averted her face, but Kyle heard the sorrow in
her voice and it sliced through his defenses.

“I just assumed you’d have enough offers from
his friends and crew.”

“I would rather have you do it.” Tears
glittered in her eyes as she looked up at him. “It would mean so
much.”

His resistance melted. “All right. If you’re
sure.”

“I’m certain.” She took his hand and clasped
it between her own. “Thank you for giving me someone to depend on,”
she whispered. “You have no idea what that means to me right
now.”

Pounding heat rushed through his head and
neck until his collar felt like a noose that was slowly strangling
him. His gaze ricocheted through the parlor in search of an exit,
or an excuse that would extricate him from Amelia’s presence. But
all he saw was surprise in Catherine’s eyes, and Eva and Philmore
Bentley standing a few feet away, wearing appalled expressions that
suggested they would like to send Kyle straight to the gallows.
He’d obviously offended their sense of decency last night when he
tossed Amelia on his horse and galloped out of the schoolyard, and
they appeared outraged now by Amelia’s overt display of
gratitude.

As if she sensed their stares, Amelia
released Kyle’s hand and angled her back to them, making it look as
if she were simply turning to head in the other direction. “I need
to talk to you alone,” she said quietly, then lifted her skirt a
modest half inch and made her way back to her mother’s side.

Kyle didn’t
want
to be alone with
Amelia. Especially now that she was touching him and looking at him
with her expression all soft and needy. He didn’t want to be
needed. Needy women were dangerous. So were the intense stares of
Eva and Philmore Bentley who looked as though they were expecting a
marriage announcement from Kyle and Amelia after the funeral.

Kyle nodded to the older couple and gave
Catherine a discreet glance of acknowledgment, but it was Jeb Kane
who caught and held Kyle’s attention.

The mill foreman crossed the room and met
Kyle at the foot of the magnificent cherry staircase that rose in a
slow arc to the second floor. Expecting a glare filled with
animosity, Kyle was surprised that the foreman’s eyes held only
sorrow and sympathy. “Damn sad day,” Jeb said, shaking Kyle’s
hand.

“And one filled with regret, Jeb. Believe me,
I had no idea Tom had been so ill.”

Jeb nodded as if acknowledging the sincerity
in Kyle’s statement. “Tom kept his troubles to himself.”

“As I should have done. If you haven’t
already told Victoria and Amelia what happened, I intend to, at a
more appropriate time, of course.”

“Why add to their distress?”

“That’s the last thing I want to do, but you
were there last night, Jeb. You know I upset Tom with my
suspicions. How can I not tell them that I caused his
collapse?”

“It only upset Tom that you thought he was
trying to hold you back. That man loved you and your accusation
hurt him.”

Hearing it put so baldly drove a stake of
shame straight through Kyle’s heart. More than anything, Kyle
wished he could roll back time. He would swallow the suspicion of
Tom’s betrayal and accept Tom’s word without question. He would
have accepted Richard’s invitation to supper instead of charging
off to Tom’s in outrage. Better to have subjected himself and
Catherine to Richard’s inquisitive eyes than to suffer the
gratitude in Amelia’s.

There was nothing he could say now that would
change what had happened, no apologies to Jeb or Amelia or Tom’s
wife that would undo the damage. The only honorable thing to do was
fulfill the vow he had made to Tom. He would do whatever it took to
support Amelia and Victoria.

Jeb stretched his neck as if seeking a
respite from his tight collar. “You’re an ambitious man, Kyle, but
a good one just the same. Tom knew it. And I know it. You hurt
Tom’s pride, but you didn’t kill him. Tom may have been upset, but
it was because he felt he let
you
down. He wouldn’t have
wanted things left this way. Don’t crucify yourself over something
you can’t change.”

Regardless of Jeb’s words, Kyle knew he would
never forgive himself. He’d sensed something bothering Tom for a
long time; whatever it was, it had destroyed a damned good man. And
Kyle had unwittingly sent that man to his grave.

“Come on,” Jeb said, turning toward the
pastor who was waiting beside the coffin. “It’s time to carry Tom
out.”

After minutes of maneuvering through
doorways, Kyle, Jeb, and six other men moved the coffin outside
into the evening air. Then they made the long trek across a field
to a tiny family cemetery surrounded by lilac trees bursting with
fragrant purple blossoms. The throbbing pain in Kyle’s shin made
him clench his teeth, but it was nothing compared to the ache in
his heart as he carried Tom Drake to his grave.

Kyle managed the walk and the struggle of
lowering the casket to its final resting place, but as they
concluded the ceremony and returned to the house, he stayed to the
back of the crowd to hide his increasing limp. After endless
minutes of standing in the parlor, Kyle was light-headed and
nauseated by the hot pain burning up his leg. He braced his hand on
the back of a chair, but discovered too late that he'd caught his
fingers in the back of a woman’s hair.

He glanced down as Amelia stood up. She
grabbed at the back of her hair that was now straggling free of its
pins, then turned and stared at Kyle.

For the first time all day, he saw her face
bloom with color. His own face heated. “Sorry, Amelia. I meant to
rest my leg a moment and didn’t realize the chair was
occupied.”

“What's wrong with your leg?” she asked,
gathering two thick strands that had fallen free then tucking them
into the mass of hair she was holding behind her head.

“He hit it with a maul this afternoon,” Duke
offered.

Boyd turned from his discussion with Radford
and Evelyn. “Was that the same one you hit last week?”

Kyle scowled at his younger brothers, praying
the conversation their mother was having with Agatha Brown and
Victoria Drake on the other side of the parlor would keep her
occupied. If she knew he’d hurt himself, she’d pester him to death
until she made certain it wasn’t a serious injury.

“Maybe Doc Finlay should look at it.”

“It’s nothing, Amelia. Really,” Kyle said
when she cast a doubtful glance at his leg.

She plucked the pins from her hair then
gathered it quickly and twisted it up again. She was efficient and
made quick work of it, but not before Kyle admired the multitude of
colors that shifted through that long mass of chestnut hair. Then
he remembered how gorgeous it had looked last night slicked back
from her face and dripping with rain.

“Excuse me,” Amelia said, then turned and
wove her way through the crowd. Kyle watched the sway of her skirt
and cursed himself for doing so.

Boyd whacked Kyle on the shoulder. “That is
one beautiful and
eligible
lady who is definitely
interested in you. Do yourself a favor and don’t be an ass this
time.”

Kyle caught the uneasy look that passed
between Radford and Evelyn, but he knew Boyd wasn’t trying to be
cruel. He was offering sensible advice, but Kyle didn’t want it.
Women were poison and he had no desire to have his heart ripped out
again. The only safe woman was Catherine. She didn’t want a
commitment or a man who would demand her heart. She wanted a friend
and occasional intimacy, and that suited Kyle’s life perfectly.

To his embarrassment, Amelia came back with
Doc Finlay, who stopped in front of Kyle. “Let’s have a look at
that leg,” he said, indicating the chair Amelia had just
vacated.

Knowing he would cause more of a scene by
balking, Kyle sat and pulled his pants leg to his knee. Doc Finlay
squatted and inspected Kyle's purple-streaked, swollen leg while
Amelia looked on with a concerned expression that grew more queasy
by the minute.

Focusing his gaze on the doctor’s balding
head, Kyle sat in stony silence as the doctor probed the area along
his shinbone that was turning the color of eggplant. Pain raced
clear to his thigh, but Kyle clamped his teeth together, refusing
to let anyone know how much it hurt.

“The gash will heal without stitches. Other
than a lot of swelling, I can’t see any damage that won’t mend in a
few weeks.” The doctor pulled the pants leg over Kyle’s injury then
stood. “You might have a fragment of bone floating around your shin
for the rest of your life that could cause some discomfort from
time to time, but you’ll survive.”

Amelia's face paled and her eyelids
fluttered. The next thing Kyle knew she was falling forward into
his arms.

The instant he realized he was holding her
again with her bottom in his lap, he panicked. He looked for an
empty chair or couch to deposit her on, but the house was packed
with people. His heart pounded, whether from his quick reactions or
simply panic at having Amelia in his arms again, Kyle wasn't
certain, but he was desperate to get rid of her. If everyone would
just move back so he could get up, he would put Amelia in his
chair. But they all crowded in to see what was happening, the
Bentleys standing front and center, his own mother’s expression
filled with concern as she guided Victoria Drake directly toward
them.

Catherine turned away.

“Sit still so I can see what I’m doing,” the
doctor demanded.

With his heart hammering, Kyle sat with
Amelia Drake passed out in his lap, her head lolling upon his
shoulder while the doctor dug in his bag for smelling salts. The
seconds seemed like hours as the heat of her limp body burned into
his. Her slim derrière rested on the most inappropriate part of
Kyle’s anatomy, but he couldn't readjust her without knowing smirks
from his brothers and those who had gathered around him.

So Kyle sat there not trusting himself to
breathe. Touching Amelia was like rubbing a sore muscle; a
perverse, intimately entwined feeling of pain and pleasure that his
aching body craved.

The first thing
Amelia saw when she opened her eyes was Kyle Grayson’s handsome
face staring down at her. Frown lines sat above a fine straight
nose. His lips were full and fit his face nicely. Anything less
than a strong jaw would have ruined his looks, and his eyes nearly
matched the rich brown of his hair.

Intriguing angles and contours tempted Amelia
to touch him. She glided her fingertips over the stern line of his
mouth and over his cheek, but the feel of firm skin beneath her
palm, and a pair of startled eyes staring down at her jerked Amelia
back to reality as abruptly as if he’d pinched her.