Reclaiming His Past. Karen Kirst

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      “How does one go about making apple butter?”

      Jessica explained the process. Once all the apples were quartered, they’d start three fires out in the yard. One to boil down cider, another to heat the quartered apples and a third to turn cider into a sugar-like substance. Once that first batch of cider was half its original amount, they’d add the apples and sugar, along with cinnamon and nutmeg. This process would take the entire day.

      He glanced at the dirty dishes piled in the dry sink, the bowl of bread dough rising on the stove. His presence was adding to their already considerable load of chores.

      “I’ll help you.”

      “You look as if one flick of my finger could knock you over.” Her expression was dubious. “You should be in bed resting.”

      Pointing to the table, he said, “I can sit there and peel apples while I rest.”

      “You’ll regret pushing yourself too hard.”

      Her concern appeared to center around his health this time and not on how his arrival had disrupted her life.

      “Before I leave, I’m going to find a way to repay my debt. I don’t have any money.” The tips of his ears burned. “What I can offer you is physical labor. I can do chores. Tend the animals. Fix whatever needs fixing around the farm.”

      A wave of light-headedness washed over him, and his hand shot to the window ledge. Jessica’s washcloth slipped to the floor unheeded. Striding over, she dipped beneath his arm and sidled close against his side.

      “Let’s get you to your room before you fall flat on your face.” Her palm was warm on his lower back.

      “I’ll go crazy staring at those four walls.” He switched course and headed for the table. “I just need to sit down for a few minutes.”

      She accommodated him without a word. When he was seated, she perched on the table corner and crossed her arms. “I can’t help but wonder what sort of skills you have.”

      Taken aback, he raised his brows in question.

      One delicate shoulder lifted. “You offered to tend the animals, but how do we know you have experience with them? You might’ve grown up in a crowded city.”

      Grant searched hard for a silver lining. “I might’ve been a newspaperman. Or a wealthy shipping magnate.”

      The tiniest of smiles played about her mouth. “You were so wealthy you resided in a seaside mansion with dozens of servants and indoor plumbing.”

      “I like the sound of that.” Stroking his light beard, he said, “On the other hand, I could’ve been a poor but happy traveling circus performer.”

      Her eyes widened. Her lips curved into a full-on smile that dazzled him. When a husky chuckle bubbled up her throat, Grant couldn’t help but share in her amusement.

      “Perhaps you’d like to juggle a few of those apples to test that theory.”

      Smiling, he shook his head. “Maybe when I’m in top form.”

      They continued the silly game for several minutes, each of them proposing more and more outlandish professions. By the time Alice joined them, Jessica had been transformed. Her eyes sparkled with good humor. Her teeth flashed white with each spurt of laughter. The glimpse of tiny dimples charmed him.

      Splaying a hand against her middle, she panted, “My stomach hurts from laughing.”

      Her mother stopped beside the pie safe looking both pleased and confounded. “It’s good to hear you laugh again, dear.”

      Pushing off the table, Jessica moved to retrieve the towel from the floor. “Yes, well, Grant has quite the imagination. He’s convinced he was either a stage actor or a patent medicine salesman.”

      Alice’s jowls quivered with laughter. “There are endless possibilities, to be sure. Now, young man, it’s time to change out that bandage. I’m sure you’d appreciate a shave, as well.”

      “Yes, ma’am.”

      As he shuffled into the living room, leaving Jessica to her work, Grant wished the lighthearted moments didn’t have to end.

      * * *

      Jessica heard movement in Grant’s room and sat up. She’d come to bed over an hour ago, weary to the bone yet unable to sleep. Her shoulders and the muscles of her upper back ached from the constant stirring required to ensure the apple butter didn’t scorch. Her hair and skin smelled like a mixture of cloves and cinnamon.

      His door latch clicked. Seconds later, the floor creaked. What was he up to?

      Wide-awake, she pushed the thick quilt off her legs and, after lighting the lamp on her bedside table, shrugged on the housecoat that covered her from chin to toes and went in search of him. No light came from the kitchen. Will’s obnoxious snoring sliced through the darkness. Jessica jiggled his feet hanging off the end cushion, and he shifted onto his side, thankfully cutting off the noise.

      The scrape of wood across floorboards drew her to the nearest window. She could make out Grant’s shadowy form in the rocking chair. Taking care to be quiet, she slipped outside.

      His head snapped up. The lamp’s muted glow fell on his face, highlighting his freshly shaven jaw and glinting in his clean locks.

      He’s handsome. So what? Gatlinburg has dozens of attractive men.

      “Did I wake you?” His husky voice cut through the frogs’ song echoing through the woods. Soon it would become too cold for the creatures.

      “I’d have to be asleep for you to do that.” Choosing the rocker on the other side of the door, she set the lamp near her feet and folded her hands in her lap. “Have you ever pushed through exhaustion until you’re not sleepy anymore?”

      “I’m not sure.” Wearing a rueful grin, he pushed the chair into motion with his foot. “I have an excuse to be awake. I had a long nap after lunch. You, on the other hand, didn’t stop moving the entire day. I expected you to be snoring right about now.”

      “Will was doing enough of that for the both of us.”

      His laugh was soft, affectionate. “I heard.”

      Jessica reached for her ponytail out of habit, only to remember she’d left her hair unbound. Grant caught the movement. His gaze sharpened. In the dimness, she couldn’t decipher his expression. Uncharacteristic self-consciousness seized her.

      “You have beautiful hair.” His voice deepened. “Like a flame. Or a sunset.” Scraping a hand over his face, he grimaced. “That sounded better in my head.”

      She couldn’t help smiling. Funny, she’d done more of that in the past twelve hours than in the past twelve months. “I believe we can rule out poet.”

      “I believe so.” Turning his attention to the sky visible beyond the overhang, he said, “Did you know the constellations are different in summer and winter?”

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