After the Storm (7 page)

He grinned wryly. “I didn't consider that.”

Rhea laughed, startling Cailin. Then the blonde looked at her and said, “Men!” and Cailin laughed, too.

Cailin put her fingers to her lips as Samuel's gaze aimed at her again. Offending her host with such a reaction was beyond rude. When his lips quirked with a smile, she relaxed.

“I'll have to think of something else,” he said, and thanked Rhea before the young woman left.

Rhea stuck her head past the door again and said, “Megan, you promised you'd help me knead the bread this morning, didn't you?”

“But I want to talk to Mama.”

“Mama?” gasped the young woman, staring at Cailin. “I thought … that is, I assumed …”

“It's all right,” Samuel said. Without a pause, he went on, “Megan, a promise is a promise. You can come back and talk with your mother after you've helped Rhea.”

Cailin took her daughter's hand and squeezed it. “I'll be right here,
a stór
.”

Megan smiled.

As she turned toward the door, Samuel said, “Don't forget your apron this time, Megan.”

Her nose wrinkled. “I don't want to wear it.”

“You don't have to wear it. Just go and get it and have it ready in case Rhea has some other chores for you.”

She nodded before she followed Rhea out of the room.

Samuel walked back toward the bed. “I know. I spoil them.”

“Some spoiling is good for a child.” She drew up her legs and stretched her toes. Locking her arms around her knees, she did not care about her unladylike position. She needed to stretch her muscles after the long train ride and the days of being sick. “It makes a child know he or she is loved.”

Again that single eyebrow rose. “Your opinion is different from the women in Haven, who have told me it is bad for a child.”

“It can be, if it's done too much.”

“And how much is too much?”

“I don't know. I never have gotten to the point where I believed I loved my children too much.” She smiled at Brendan and his younger sister.

Samuel motioned toward the door. “Brendan, you've got your chores in the barn, and, Lottie, you should check that your rabbit is doing well.”

“Mama,” Brendan asked excitedly, “did you know I have a cow of my own?”

“I heard you say something about taking a cow to a fair, but that's all.”

“I've got my own cow.” His chest seemed to swell two sizes as he said with pride, “Samuel lets me take care of her all by myself, and I'm going to take her to the fair to be judged.” He grinned so broadly that she laughed.

Cailin wondered how many different ways she would see signs of Samuel's affection for her children. When Brendan left, his sister following to feed the rabbit, she said, “I cannot thank you enough for your kindness to them, Samuel.”

“They make it easy.”

“They do.” She was so glad to be able to agree with him. “And I can't thank you enough for your kindness to me as well.”

He gave a nonchalant shrug. “Folks in Haven look out for each other. That's why I settled here last year.”

She glanced around the room. The furniture appeared as if it had been standing here for years, because it fit the room so perfectly.

“You look surprised,” he said.

“I assumed you'd been here for a long time if you were able to have children placed out with you by the Children's Aid Society.”

Everyone was astonished when Samuel offered to have the three children placed out with him. Three children for a bachelor
! She silenced the voice in her head. Until she knew where she had heard those words, it was worthless thinking about them.

“No one stays a stranger long in Haven, so there would have been several to speak on my behalf.” He laughed, astounding her again. “People mind their own business and yours as well, but only out of caring for one another. I'm told that it isn't unusual in a small town.”

“So you didn't live on a farm before?”

His face closed up again, and she knew she had asked the wrong question, although she could not guess why. His answer was terse. “No, I lived in Cincinnati.”

She was curious what sort of place Cincinnati was, but did not ask. Clearly this was not a topic he wished to discuss with her, and she had something else she wanted to talk to him about.

“Lottie is wearing spectacles,” she said.

He nodded. Picking up the plate, he held it out to her.

She took the last piece of toast. Once she had started eating, she found she did not want to stop until her stomach was full, a sensation she had nearly forgotten. She started to take a bite, but he lifted it out of her hand. When he slathered it with more of the strawberry jam, he handed it back to her.

“If you're going to eat cold toast,” he said, his smile returning, “at least have it be good-tasting cold toast.”

“Thank you.” She took a bite and savored the flavor of the jam and fresh butter.

“It must be quite a shock for you to see Lottie wearing glasses,” he said, as if there had been no pause in the discussion.

“A big shock.”

“Within a few days of her arrival,” he said, leaning one hand on the footboard, “I noticed she was squinting at everything. I thought at first it might be the bright sunshine, but it quickly became clear she was having trouble seeing.”

“I was afraid that was so, for I had noticed her squinting when we were crossing the sea to America. I wanted to take her to see a doctor in New York, but I wasn't sure where there was one.”

“Doc Bamburger examined her. Now if we can just convince her to stop using words she doesn't mean …” He smiled. “She wants to be as big as her sister and brother.”

“Who is Doc Bamburger?” she asked, although she wanted to hear more about her youngest, who had been speaking like a baby when Cailin last saw her. “Will he be willing to tell me if her eyes might get worse?”

“He's the doctor in Haven, and I'm sure he'll be glad to assure you—as he did me—that there's no reason to think she may become blind.”

Again she flinched. “I'm glad to hear that.”

“Doc Bamburger is a good doctor. He got the village through diphtheria with only a few deaths.”

“Diphtheria?” She sat straighter. “You have
that
here?”

“It was in Haven earlier this summer, but no one in this house got sick.”

“Thank heavens.”

“My thoughts exactly.” This time when he smiled, she did as well.

“As I've already said, but I doubt I can ever say enough, I appreciate you taking such good care of Lottie and making sure she can see. I feared what I might find when I got here. Anyone can see how well you've taken care of the children. Far better than I was able to.”

“Our situations are quite different.”

Her shoulders stiffened, and she closed her eyes before sudden tears could flow from them. That remark sounded too much like Abban's mother when she had looked down her nose at Cailin and denounced her as a liar.
No Rafferty would marry riffraff like an ignorant Irish farm girl
. Those words had plagued her for the long weeks of her grief at the dashing of her dreams.

“Cailin?”

At the concern in Samuel's voice, she shoved aside the tentacles of those memories. She opened her eyes to discover him so close to her, as he searched her face while he waited for her answer, she hardly dared to breathe. His breath, flavored with strawberry jam, brushed her face, and his lips were only a finger's breadth from her mouth.

They were alone in this room with, she noticed with abrupt uneasiness, the door closed. Caught up in her conversation with Samuel, she had not seen Lottie or Brendan close it. Or had they? Had Samuel closed it after they left?

Her daughter and his hired girl probably were just beyond the door, but they might as well have been on the far side of the ocean. She could think only of how this strong, quiet man, who was not afraid to show his attachment to her children, possessed an undeniable male charm. As his hand rose toward her, she was torn between cringing away and lifting her own hand to touch it.

He put his palm against her forehead, shattering her delusion that he was as mesmerized as she. She should be grateful he only wanted to see if the fever had returned, but she could not be. For a moment, she had imagined his hands holding her as gently as he did one of the children. But she had not wanted him to hold her with a parent's care. She had imagined him holding her far more intimately.

“No fever,” he said. “Is something else wrong?”

“No fever at all?”

“None at all. You're as cool as a spring morn.” Samuel regarded her with confusion, and she could not blame him. How could she explain that it would be simpler if her thoughts had been a hallucination brought on by fever?

“Good.” She sounded foolish, but it would be even more unwise to speak of how she had been ready to let him take her into his arms. It must be the weakness left by her illness and the loneliness of her broken heart. She would not make the same mistake with another man as she had with Abban. She had been shown how silly trust in a man could be. If Abban had been alive when she reached New York with the children …

“Then what's wrong?” Samuel asked. “Are you in pain?”

“My head is aching.” She would cling to the truth as long as she was able.

“Maybe you should rest some more.”

She hoped her voice did not sound as breathless to him as it did to her own ears when his firm fingers curled around hers, enclosing them in a warm cocoon of flesh. “No, I want to spend more time with the children.”

“They've worn you out.” His smile was as paternal as the one he wore when he teased Brendan.

“I've waited a long time for this. Now that I'm in Haven …”

“You're staying here?”

“I can't leave. I don't have enough money to pay for even one train fare back to New York.”

His expressive brows lowered. “You mean you bought a one-way ticket?”

“It was all I could afford, and I didn't want to wait a moment longer than necessary to find my children.”

Samuel's shoulders grew rigid as Cailin's had been a few minutes ago. Did she always have to put that slight emphasis on
my
when she mentioned the children? He did not ask, because it might be his ears that were hearing that stress on the word he had come to enjoy using when he spoke of the Rafferty children.

“I'm sure you understand,” she continued, her fingers quivering in his.

Her hand in his? When had that happened? He released her slender fingers, realizing he must have taken her hand when he wanted to be certain she was not sickening again.

She hastily drew her hand away, holding it close to her chest. His eyes followed the motion and took note of how her breasts pressed against the borrowed shirt—his shirt—with each breath she took. His own breathing was as unsteady as hers. Were they both out of their minds?

Lifting his gaze to a face that seemed to have no more color than the pillows beneath her, he tried to imagine her at Megan's age so he could finish this conversation with what dignity he had left. It was impossible. Even though her high cheekbones and softly rounded chin surrounded by rich auburn hair were the same as the child's, he could not ignore the pink invitation of her lips or the very adult emotions in her dark eyes.

He mumbled something and went out of the bedroom. As he walked toward the front door, he was not surprised to hear the kitchen door open and shut and running feet behind him. He paused in the doorway to see both Brendan and Lottie vanishing back into the bedroom. A moment later, her hands covered with flour, Megan followed them.

Walking out onto the porch, Samuel stretched his tense shoulders as he gazed out over the fields of ripe corn. He had spent too much time during the past few days standing guard at Cailin's door so the children would not sneak in and disturb her. Now he had work to catch up on. Lots of it.

Good. That would keep his mind on something other than dark brown eyes and soft lips. He had thought he had learned his lesson, but it was clear he would end up being taught the same lesson over again if he was not careful.

As he crossed the yard toward the red barn, he heard laughter coming through the bedroom window. He paused and listened to Brendan talk about the first stop the orphan train had made, and how the older boys had tried to sneak off the train to figure out where they were. This tale was one Brendan had never told him.

Walking on toward the barn, he picked up a shovel. He tossed it in the back of the wagon. He had gotten his life to where he wanted it. He had the children to fill his days with chatter. Teaching them their letters so they would be able to keep up with the other children in Haven was a pleasure after a hard day's labor. Now everything was changed, because of a woman who was dependent upon him to take care of her until she took the children and left.

His hands curled into fists on the side of the wagon. She should not be able to come here and take them away so easily, not when her story had more inconsistencies than a felon's when facing a jury. Even without his legal experience, he knew she was hiding something from both him and the children. She had left the children in danger once. If she took them away, who could guess what she might do next?

There had to be something he could do. Tonight, when the children were sleeping, he would push aside the pocket doors to the back parlor and unpack the law books he had left in their crates. If there was anything he could do legally to keep her from endangering these children again, he would find it.

Four

As Cailin shifted the ragged gown on her lap, another section tore. She picked it up, wondering how many more patches she could put on it before she ran out of fabric from the sleeves she had cut unfashionably short. She ran her finger along the rent. This could be sewn back together. If she took the tiniest stitches she could, it might not be too obvious.