Where The Heart Is (Choices of the Heart, book 1) (8 page)

Feeling foolishly inadequate, Martin just stood there. His daughter hadn’t been home a full day, and already he was at a loss.

Jessie took the pie from the oven and set it on the table. “Why don’t you try playing for her, Martin?”

His chest tightened at the thought. He hadn’t picked up his fiddle since the night after he’d first met Chelle in his sheep pasture. Playing had torn something open in him then. Would it hurt as much now, or had that changed too? He couldn’t make sense of his feelings anymore.

But Jessie watched him with an encouraging smile, and Chelle’s deep-blue eyes were on him, too. How could he refuse without looking like a fool? He fetched the fiddle and tuned it, keeping his eyes on Leah. “Does she recognize any songs?”

“Jean used to sing the
Skye Boat Song
to her and Peter,” Chelle told him.

Martin began the familiar melody. In his mind, he heard Eleanor’s voice blended with the singing of the fiddle, as it had on so many evenings.

Tho’ the waves leap, soft be your sleep

Ocean’s a royal bed

Rocked on the deep, Flora will keep

Watch by your weary head…

Leah stared at him, eyes wide. Forgetting his own feelings, Martin slid into a slow air and watched his daughter as he played. Her fascinated gaze never left him. Then, her eyelids drifted down, and she laid her head on Chelle’s shoulder.

A moment later she stood slowly, smiling, and carried the baby upstairs.

Martin watched her out of sight before he put the fiddle away. He set the case in its corner and looked down at his hands. Instead of the crushing grief that had overwhelmed him the last time he’d played, he felt only simple contentment. What kind of alchemy was Leah working on him, then?

Since Eleanor’s death, there’d been no solid ground under his feet. Now, he felt more at sea than ever. He sure as hell didn’t want this ache in his heart, this raw, stinging vulnerability, but it seemed he had no choice.

Chapter Eight

Martin woke to the sound of women’s voices drifting up the stairs. It took him a moment to remember who they were and why they were there. He’d brought his daughter home yesterday.

She must have had a relatively peaceful first night since she hadn’t wakened him. He knew already that if Leah decided to cry, he’d hear her. She wasn’t one to hold back.

Martin rose, opened his door a crack and found a pitcher of warm water waiting for him in the hall. Of course, with women in the house, he couldn’t go down undressed to get water himself. Another small thing to get used to.

Better shave, too.

The savory aroma of browned sausages and potatoes floated up to him with the voices. Martin’s stomach rumbled as he hurried to wash and dress. Downstairs, he found Jessie ready to serve breakfast and Chelle leaning over Leah as the baby scuttled across the floor on all fours, laughing, her bottom in the air, her green calico dress all askew.

Chelle hadn’t put her hair up yet; it swept past the curve of her cheek like a sunny curtain to mingle with the baby’s bright curls. She wore a plain cotton dress in a quiet rosy shade that would have made most blondes look washed-out, but not her. The gown’s simplicity emphasized the grace of Chelle’s slender young figure, and the subtle color brought out the bloom of her skin.

Watching her, Martin felt his blood warm in a straightforward male response. He averted his eyes. It brought up too many confusing feelings, resentment, sadness, appreciation, to watch someone other than Eleanor take a mother’s place with Leah. As for his body’s response, that was natural enough, but it only added to the confusion.

Leah stopped her game and scampered to him with Chelle behind her, flushed and smiling.

“Good morning.”

Something of his uneasiness must have shown. Her smile faded, and she stepped back as Martin picked up his daughter.

“Mornin’, young lassie. Have you had your breakfast yet?”

“Yes, she has.” Chelle retreated to the table, pulled her hair over her shoulder and began braiding it, her movements quick and Martin thought, a little nervous. She drew a ribbon from her pocket, tied her braid and began setting the table. He still hadn’t spoken to her.

Jessie set a pan of sizzling sausages and potatoes in the middle of the table. Martin hugged Leah, put her down and included both women in a nod of thanks. “This looks a treat. How’d the little one fare overnight?”

Her face still flushed from her game with Leah, Chelle handed him the plate Jessie had just filled. “She only woke once, and she went right back to sleep when she realized I was there.”

“Good. Jessie, I’ll be goin’ in to the store for the mail this afternoon. Let me know if you need anything.”

Martin hadn’t realized he was so rusty at ordinary conversation. Or perhaps it was his new awareness of Chelle that kept him silent. He bolted his breakfast, harnessed his team and headed for the fields, hurrying as if he could leave his feelings behind.

* * *

After settling Leah for her afternoon nap, Chelle found herself at loose ends. Jessie had already done the lunch dishes and started a pot of corned beef and cabbage for supper. Now she was concocting a milk pudding. Chelle hadn’t been allowed to do anything useful all day other than look after the baby. Perhaps Jessie was afraid that if she slowed down, Martin would decide he didn’t need her.

The only chore waiting now was milking. Leah would sleep for at least an hour, so Chelle slipped out without saying anything to Jessie, found the milk pails in the cellar and brought the two cows in from the paddock behind the byre. She breathed a sigh of relief when she got the animals safely inside without Jessie seeing what she was about.

Chelle approached the first Jersey cautiously, but the cow gave her no trouble. She seemed to be used to a woman’s hand. Likely Martin’s wife had done the milking. Chelle shook off a vague feeling of guilt as her hands worked the cow’s teats. It was cruel that Eleanor Rainnie hadn’t been given the chance to enjoy her baby and her marriage.

Chelle’s cheeks warmed, remembering the way Martin had looked at her that morning when he came downstairs. Was it her imagination, or had she seen a glimmer of attraction there? She shrugged off the thought. She’d had enough attention from men at home to know these stray feelings came and went. Martin was no carefree boy looking to flirt, and she had no intention of getting involved with a man who needed a mother for his child. When she left the farm, this pull between her and Martin, if she hadn’t imagined it, would die as quickly as it had formed.

The same ginger tabby Chelle had seen before came skulking into the byre, looking expectant. At home, they’d always given the cats a treat at milking time. It seemed Mr. Rainnie did the same. Sure enough, the tabby came closer and opened his mouth for a squirt of milk. Chelle obliged him, just before she heard the clatter of hooves and the creak of a wagon coming to a halt.

A few minutes later, Martin led his team past the stall where Chelle sat. Walking between the two massive mares, he didn’t see her. Gyp followed.

“Now then, Tessa, get over, there’s a lass.” Martin’s voice was low and easy, followed by the sounds of him removing the mare’s harness. Gyp barked and jumped, earning a quiet chuckle. “Daft old lad, are you ever going to act your age? Go on, now.”

Chelle discovered that she’d stopped milking to listen. Irritated with herself, she turned back to the cow and sent milk hissing into the pail. When Martin stilled, she knew he’d heard her. He appeared at the entrance to the stall, blocking her light. “Go on inside. I’ll finish out here.”

Chelle looked up. She wasn’t sure why, perhaps just because it reminded her of home, but she felt childishly determined to finish the chore. “Martin, I grew up on a farm. I’m used to milking, and Leah’s asleep. I have time. Why don’t you start with the other cow?”

His eyes flashed irritation as he took a step closer. “You’re here to look after Leah, not the stock. If she wakes early, Jessie will have to tend to her in the middle of getting supper. Go on inside.”

His voice held no warmth now. Clearly, she’d overstepped a boundary, though she had no idea what it was. Without replying, Chelle stood and edged past him.

In the cramped space, he seemed larger than ever. His legs would make two of hers in thickness, as would his forearms, revealed by the rolled-up sleeves of his cotton shirt. He exuded power along with the scents of clean sweat and fresh air. Was he intentionally trying to intimidate her? If so, he succeeded. The thought irked her, so she stopped and rested a hand on the cow’s side. “If I’ve done something to annoy you, tell me and I’ll try not to do it again.”

Martin took Chelle’s place on the stool and looked up with an exasperated scowl. “Can’t take no for an answer, can you? I’m used to doing my own chores, is all, and I’d prefer that you leave me to it.”

“Of course.” Chelle flashed him an irritating grin and took her time leaving the byre. There might be a glimmer of attraction between them, but if this was how it affected him, it couldn’t die out fast enough.

If you and I were to spend a week together, Mr. Rainnie, we’d be at each other’s throats by the end of it.

But perhaps she was being a bit unfair. It couldn’t be easy for Martin to see her looking after his daughter and doing chores that his wife had probably done. As Aunt Caroline had said, he was doing the best he could to deal with his grief—one thing he and Chelle had in common.

She fed Leah when she woke, then convinced Jessie to let her make buttermilk biscuits to go with the corned beef and cabbage for supper. Poignant memories of her mother crowded in as she mixed and cut the dough. Chelle wasn’t used to baking with a coal range, but the biscuits came out better than she’d feared they might, if not quite as well as she’d hoped.

Martin came in as she was taking them from the oven. Leah toddled over to him, clutching the rag doll he’d bought her last week. He scooped the little girl up in his arms. He might feel the need to be prickly with Chelle, but Leah already had him wrapped around her little finger, and she knew it. The man was infatuated. It didn’t seem possible that less than three weeks ago, he’d wanted his daughter kept out of his sight.

Maybe that’s why he’s crusty with me. I was close to his daughter while he was keeping her at arm’s length, and he’s a little jealous of that.
If so, Chelle could forgive him, as long as he loved Leah as she deserved.

Chelle chatted with Jessie over supper while Martin ate in silence. Then, with the meal over, the dishes done, and the baby settled for the night, she slipped out to sit on the doorstep to enjoy the cool breeze sweeping down from the hillside. The house didn’t boast a summer kitchen and perhaps in this climate didn’t really need one, but today it would have been a blessing.

Minutes later, a few stray notes from Martin’s fiddle drifted from the open window. He played the first few bars of a tune, stopped awkwardly and began again, feeling his way through the waltz as if he hadn’t played it in a long time. Then he played it again with more assurance. The lilting melody rang out, warm and full of expression until Chelle felt like getting up and dancing. Jessie was right. The man had a gift.

He slid from the waltz into an arrogant march that he played with a hint of a bounce, as if he were making sly fun of the tune’s seriousness. Chelle closed her eyes and smiled. Martin followed the march with a haunting air that sent her soaring over the dales in her imagination, looking down at their windswept emptiness.

One tune blended into the next until twilight faded and the stars came out. When Martin stopped playing, Chelle came back to earth with a jolt. How long had she been sitting there?

The house behind her was dark and silent. Jessie must have turned out the lamp and gone to bed. Through the open door, she heard Martin put away his fiddle and come to stand in the doorway. Then she felt his presence behind her. His voice touched her ear as he sat next to her. “You’d best come in, lass. It’s gettin’ late.”

Chelle pulled up her knees and clasped her arms around them, instinctively sheltering herself.
From what?
She wasn’t sure. She should do as Martin suggested and go in, but somehow she couldn’t. “Martin, I wonder if you know what a gift you have. You could be playing in concert halls.”

Chelle felt as much as heard his slight chuckle. She could barely pick his form out of the surrounding darkness, but that seemed only to heighten her awareness of him. She felt his warmth, heard the scrape of fabric on stone as he shifted.

“No. I haven’t the background or the inclination for it. If I put on a suit and collar once a week, that’s enough for me. I haven’t even done that for months.”

“Have you never wanted to make a living playing?”

She caught the fragrance of tobacco as he pulled a pipe from his shirt pocket and filled it. A match flared, illuminating his face for a moment. Perhaps it was a trick of the light, but his strong jaw-line appeared softer, his mouth less rigid than usual. For the first time, Chelle noticed his well-cut nose, the thick, mahogany lashes shadowing his eyes.

“No. I spent a few months in London one autumn a few years back, playing in pubs, but by Christmas, I was ready to come home. I’d tired of the food and the company, and most of the people I played for weren’t listening to me anyway. Then Dad took ill, and I had no choice but to stay home unless I wanted to give up the farm.”

“And you’ve never had any regrets?”

“None. I belong here.”

The glow from the match faded, leaving him in darkness again, making the hint of wistfulness in his voice more compelling. Chelle remembered what Kendra had told her, how Martin used to play at the local dances and how he and Eleanor liked to dance. What a hole she must have left in his life. “Have you ever been further from home than London?”

“No.”

“I never expected to travel, either. I always thought I’d settle close to home in Morgan County. I’ve never wanted to live anywhere else.”

Mr. Rainnie blew out a breath of fruity smoke. Chelle felt him turn toward her.

“What was it like, your home?”

His voice lost the edge it generally took on when he spoke to her. It must be the dark. It made even strangers less reserved, and she and Martin weren’t exactly strangers anymore. She’d seen this side of him with his daughter, and now he was showing it to her for the first time. At that moment, it would have felt very natural to move closer to him, share his warmth, perhaps feel his hand over hers… Chelle forced her mind back to his question. “It was peaceful. There never seemed to be any need to hurry. When Trey and I were growing up, we had the run of the woods and fields. We rode, swam and climbed trees. Morgan County was a wonderful place to be a child.”

She
had
moved closer to him, without realizing it. Chelle edged away and shivered as cool air filled the space between them. They really should go in, but at the moment, Martin didn’t seem inclined to move. He drew on his pipe again. “Your father told me your brother ended up enlisting.”

Chelle winced in spite of his gentle tone. Any mention of the war dredged up the worry that she worked every minute to suppress, for Trey and for her friends. And, in spite of how things had ended between them, for Rory. All of them so young and full of life, with so much ahead of them if they survived. “Yes. Trey planned to go west and stay out of the war, but he changed his mind and joined the Union army.”