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  Celia smiled. “How do you do Mr. Beverly?”

  “Miss Wilcox, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” He squeezed her hand and smiled pleasantly.

  Celia took note of how handsome Truett’s father was, for all his gray hair and creases around his eyes. He resembled Truett but lacked a certain gentleness of expression that graced his son’s countenance.

  Mrs. Beverly turned to her son. “Truett, darling, I believe your father, Griff, and I are going.” She squeezed his forearm. “You stay here with Celia and escort her and her family home, won’t you?”

  “Are you sure you don’t need me?”

  “Of course not, son. You just have a good time.”

  “I’ll help you clear out some of your pies and things.” Then he turned to Celia. “Please don’t run off. I’ll be right back.”

  Her heart fluttered and she stared at his retreating back, so broad . . . Why was she thinking about such things? She was demoralized to find out she was so weak and worldly about men. She’d never been so before!

  Now she remembered what she was supposed to think about—what this crazy attraction was leading her to. Was she falling so in love with Truett that she would forget about her dream and stay here in Bethel Springs? She shuddered, a sick feeling twisting her stomach. After she’d worked so hard, prayed so hard, wanted it so badly, could she give up on her dream of opening her own shop? Could she forget that her family was depending on her now to provide for them?

  She wouldn’t, couldn’t forget that. But Truett was from Bethel Springs, had come back here after finishing medical school. People like that were very attached to their hometown. He would never leave. Besides, his mother needed him, with his father away most of the time, to help her with Griff.

  It was clear. She had to stay away from Truett Beverly. If she didn’t, things would only get worse. He was already ruining her peace of mind, making her act like the silly, giggly girls she always scorned. She had to put a stop to it. She’d resolve to do it now, while he wasn’t standing right beside her, because she seemed to lose her mind when he was near.

  But his face. The timbre of his voice and the soft warmth of his eyes. How it made her feel when he recited the poem by Lord Byron . . . His voice sent tingles down her spine.

  But I don’t even like poetry!

  Studying poetry in school always seemed a waste of time. Now, the first man who quoted a bit of Byron had her swooning like a ninny. Was she going to allow herself to become emotional over a country doctor who still lived with his mother?

  She set her jaw, and just in time, too, as Truett had finished loading his mother’s wagon and was striding her way.

  Chapter 12

  Truett smiled as his family piled into the wagon. Now he was free to return to Celia.

  On his way, he passed Sheriff Suggs and Curtis with their heads together. They looked up to level a glare at him. Had they figured out his secret?

  Not even the prospect of future trouble with the sheriff and his son could dampen Truett’s spirits, not after the way Celia had been responding to him, smiling, flirting, dancing with him, letting him hold her hand. But the look in her eye was the best of all. He could almost believe she was as enamored of him as he was of her.

  His heart tripped over itself.

  He’d been unable to tear his eyes off her. Holding her and dancing with her had been better than he imagined. How he had wished they were alone so he could kiss her. She’d looked so inviting, sweeter than he’d ever seen her, and with such an expression of longing on her face. Perhaps tonight, when he took her home . . .

  But when he met her eyes, the look on her face sent a sense of foreboding through him.

  She sure didn’t look like she would kiss him now. She looked like she’d just bit into a green persimmon.

  Was it something he said? His first impulse was to say something teasing, but that hadn’t gone over well in the past.

  They stood facing each other. “Is something wrong?”

  “Why do you ask?” The words jumped from her like the crack of a whip. She folded her arms over her chest.

  Because you look like you just snuggled up to a cocklebur. “No reason.”

  Coolly raising her eyebrows, she said, “I believe my family and I are almost ready to go home. I’m going to talk to Ruby, then I’ll be ready.”

  “All right.” But she was already moving away, giving him the cold shoulder.

  His head was spinning. One moment she was hanging on his every word, warm as an August afternoon. The next moment she was as cold as a January snow storm.

  Celia walked toward Ruby, but before she could reach her, Grady Skidmore approached the other girl, briefly spoke, and then led her to the dance floor.

  Celia stood still. He couldn’t see her face, but her back looked rigid. Then she walked over to the edge of the dance floor. She appeared to make eye contact with Worley Till. The man’s face registered shock. He straightened his shoulders and crossed over to Celia, obviously asking her to dance. She let him lead her onto the floor for the rest of the waltz that had just started.

  A hard knot formed in Truett’s throat. Had he misunderstood? Had she never been as interested in him as she’d seemed? He watched her face now as she danced with Worley.

  Worley was tall and lanky and not exactly the most graceful dancer, but he managed to keep from stepping on her feet. Celia’s smile seemed tight, and she seemed to be holding herself as far away from him as she could, much different from the close and friendly way she had danced with Truett. He couldn’t have imagined it.

  When the dance was over, she gave a slight curtsy to Worley, then moved to Ruby’s side. Ruby’s eyes were as big as saucers. She turned in Truett’s direction, but Celia wouldn’t look at him. He would have given quite a sum to hear what the two of them were saying.

  Ruby squeezed her arm and giggled, then turned away. Celia went to round up her family.

  His thoughts still churning, he walked over to offer his assistance. Tempie was asleep in her mother’s lap, so he squatted beside her and lifted the little girl in his arms. He carried her to their wagon and lay her on a quilt. Next, he helped her mother up onto the seat.

  “Oh, Celia, you and Truett were the best dancers on the floor!” Lizzie bounced with enthusiasm on the back of the wagon. “And you looked like you were having so much fun! I’ve never seen you looking so happy.”

  Truett risked a glance at Celia. She glared at Lizzie, as if trying to silence her sister.

  Celia helped Harley into the back of the wagon, and he sat beside his sleeping sister. There was just enough room on the seat for Truett, Mrs. Wilcox, and one more person. Everyone else was seated, so he held out his hand to Celia. She took it, holding up her skirt to sit by her mother, and he helped her up, but she didn’t look at him.

  When they were all in, Truett climbed onto the seat and set the horses in motion toward home.

  All the anticipation and enjoyment had gone out of him, as Celia’s mood had clearly changed toward him. Was she angry with something he had done? But he couldn’t think of anything that might have offended her. When he’d walked away from her to help his mother, she’d looked perfectly amiable. But when he came back, her attitude was just the opposite. It didn’t make any kind of sense.

  But he wouldn’t let her get away with this sudden change. No, he would force her to tell him what he’d done. He couldn’t have been mistaken about the warmth he’d seen in her eyes.

  He relived the way she’d gazed up at him, friendly and smiling.

  Twenty minutes later, he turned the horses into the Wilcox place. He was decided. It might not be strictly the gentlemanly thing to do, but he couldn’t let her get away tonight without at least trying to get out of her some sort of explanation.

  Celia smoothed her face into cool lines. She would thank Truett for escorting them home—without looking him in the eye—and bid him good night. She would refuse to even glance at him, since she wasn’t confident that she’d
otherwise be able to keep up the frosty façade.

  She wouldn’t let him ruin her plans. If she ever wanted to leave this place without breaking her heart, she had to focus on getting back to Nashville.

  The wagon stopped and Celia scrambled down from the wagon seat before Truett could come around and help her. She hurried to the back of the wagon and gently slid Tempie’s sleeping form to the end so she could pick her up.

  Oh no! Harley was asleep too. She couldn’t carry them both. If only Will could take Harley, but Will was still hobbling around on his crutch, and while she stood there trying to decide what to do, Will and Lizzie and Mama were already walking toward the house.

  She bit her lip and carefully lifted Tempie, hoping she could get her little sister to the house before Truett—

  She almost bumped into him when she turned around.

  She held Tempie, refusing to look at him. “I can carry them both into the house. You can unhitch one of the horses and ride home.”

  Truett grunted. She looked up, and the moonlight showed his expression—his lips a grim line, his eyes almost fierce.

  She should have kept her promise not to look him in the eye.

  He brushed past her, climbed into the wagon bed, and lifted Harley in his arms. He lowered himself to sit at the end of the wagon, then got down, still holding the sleeping child against his shoulder.

  Standing beside Celia, he seemed to be challenging her, waiting to see if she would try and stop him from carrying her little brother inside.

  Come on, Harley, wake up. Insist he let you down so you can walk. But the child didn’t stir, and Celia was forced to let Truett carry him. She turned and walked toward the house.

  Truett followed her up the steps, across the porch, and through the front door.

  She stepped around a doll on the floor. She could feel Truett’s eyes on her but didn’t turn to look. She stood in the door of Will and Harley’s bedroom. Pointing with her head at the bed against the opposite wall, she whispered, “You can lay Harley over there.”

  She continued on to Mama’s bedroom and lay Tempie on the bed. Mama was already putting on her nightgown and barely glanced at Celia as she closed the door behind her.

  The house was completely quiet. Where were Will and Lizzie? She peered down the hall that led to the kitchen but saw no light from that direction. The other way led past her and her siblings’ bedroom—and Truett. Had he already left?

  She tip-toed softly and peeked inside Harley’s room. Truett was bent over Harley’s bed as he pulled the sheet over the little boy, tucking it gently under his chin and around his arms and legs.

  Celia’s stomach flipped at the tender way he treated her little brother.

  He turned around and saw her watching him. Her face went hot. She had to let him know there was nothing between them.

  He moved toward her, each step slow and deliberate.

  She turned and scurried across the parlor toward the front door to see him out. She clutched at her throat. Why was she practically gasping for air?

  Truett was still only halfway across the room, his face unreadable in the dark.

  Celia’s heart beat faster. She had to get control of herself. She straightened her shoulders and wrapped her hands around her arms. Just a few more seconds and he would be out the door and she could breathe again.

  As he drew nearer, she opened the door for him and willed her voice to steady. “Thank you, Dr. Beverly, for escorting us home.”

  Her cool dismissal of him sent a pang of guilt through her. But she couldn’t think like that. She must do whatever was necessary. It was for his own good, wasn’t it? She had to be honest with him, to let him know there could never be anything between them.

  He kept coming until he stood face to face with her. He was so close she could make out the blue of his eyes in the dark room and smell the now-familiar scent of bergamot and rosemary. “Celia, I’d like to speak with you on the porch.”

  “Oh, I can’t. I have to—” Her voice sounded breathless as her throat tightened again.

  “Please.” But the word sounded more like a command. “It will only take a minute.”

  “Well.” Celia lifted her chin, trying to appear offended and hide the fact that her heart was racing.

  He held the door open for her and let her precede him onto the wooden planks of the porch. The screen door shut behind them. He faced her, his arm brushing hers, and bent his head. His lips were so close she could feel his breath on her forehead, sending a delicious tingling sensation all through her. Sweet heaven. I’m losing my mind again.

  “Celia, what’s wrong?” His voice was much softer than before. “Did I do something?”

  “What do you mean? Of course not. It was late. Time to go home. Thank you for escorting us—”

  “I’m not leaving until I find out why you suddenly gave me the cold shoulder.” He widened his stance, planting his boots in a decidedly stubborn way.

  “What are you talking about? I did nothing of the kind. It was a dance. Aren’t I allowed to dance with whomever I please?”

  “That’s not what I’m talking about and you know it.”

  “Then just what are you talking about?” She crossed her arms, giving her a bit of a barrier to his masculine frame just inches away.

  He sighed. It was too dark to see his expression.

  “Come here. Please.” He took her arm and pulled her toward the edge of the porch. They could see each other now, the moon shining full on their faces. “Can you honestly tell me you don’t care for me?” His voice lowered, softening. “That you don’t want me to court you? Because I would like to court you.”

  Celia’s mouth dropped open. She never expected him to be so blunt. “I . . . as a matter of fact . . .” She swallowed. Oh, Lord, give me words! Aiming her gaze beyond his shoulder, she forced herself not to look at him. Finally, she managed to draw in a deeper breath. “I appreciate the help you’ve given to my family. You’re a good man, but in fact, I don’t want you to court me.”

  There, she’d said it. Her future was safe.

  “Won’t you even look at me?” His fingertips brushed her cheek, as if to turn her face toward him.

  A pleasant warmth was stealing through her from his touch, snaking down to her stomach, where she had apparently swallowed a dozen butterflies.

  She looked into his eyes before she could stop herself. The tenderness she saw in his expression brought tears to her eyes. This was harder than she imagined.

  She whispered hoarsely, “I don’t want you to court me.”

  The hurt that flashed through his eyes twisted her insides. His hand fell from her cheek to his side.

  She’d flirted with him, enjoyed his arms and his dancing, then coldly rejected him. If he’d been rude or crude or looked at her the way Curtis Suggs had, she wouldn’t feel these pangs of guilt and regret. Inside she was so torn. He had been nothing but good and kind. And now his eyes were wide with pain.

  Somehow he’d never looked more handsome. His hair was a bit mussed, curling over his ears. The moonlight and shadows seemed to bring out the slight cleft in his chin and give his cheekbones and jawline a hard, chiseled appearance. And her heart ached to take her words back. Her arms fought to slip around him. Her cheek tingled, imagining being pressed against his chest.

  Mad. She was completely insane.

  “All right, then. You don’t owe me an explanation, of course, but I do wish you would tell me if I did something wrong.”

  Her heart fluttered. Now what could she say? She was as much in danger as ever. “Well, I . . . a lady doesn’t have to have a reason. And no, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

  Uh-oh. From the look on his face, she was not conveying the proper sternness.

  “Is it because you don’t like me?” A bit of a smile played around the corners of his lips.

  And what perfect lips they were, too.

  “I don’t have to answer that.” She looked past his shoulder again. “I don’t
dislike you.”

  “Then you do like me.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Then you’re afraid I’ll keep you from going back to Nashville.”

  “Well . . . yes.” Her eyelids fluttered as she struggled to break free from the hold of his intense blue eyes. Her gaze slipped down, but she encountered his broad chest, which only made her imagine again how it would feel to press her cheek against it and hear his heart beating.

  “Celia, I—”

  His hand was coming toward her face. She took a step back. When she did, her foot went off the edge of the porch.

  “Oh!” Celia flailed her arms. She was falling! He grabbed her, but it was too late. They both fell the three feet off the porch into the flower bed below.

  Chapter 13

  She was lying on top of him, he on his back. Somehow he had managed to place his body between hers and the ground as he took the brunt of the fall.

  Celia scrambled off of him and pushed herself up, propping on her elbow. A daisy lay across his chest, its long stem crumpled and its white petals askew.

  “Are you all right?” Truett asked, also pushing himself up to look into her face.

  “Yes. Are you hurt? I’m so sorry.” When he didn’t say anything, she asked again, “Are you hurt?”

  He moved slowly. “I don’t think so.”

  She managed to get to her feet in the middle of the crushed patch of daisies and bachelor buttons. She bent and tugged on his upper arm, the muscles as hard as rock

  Once he was standing, he straightened his back. He carefully flexed his left shoulder, the one he had fallen on, wincing as he did so.

  “You’re hurt, aren’t you?”

  He nodded.

  “Where does it hurt?”

  Truett frowned and closed his eyes for a moment. Then he pointed to the left side of his chest.

  His heart.

  “Oh, for pity’s sake. You’re just teasing me, Truett Beverly.” Celia slapped lightly at his arm.