"What should you do?" Thomas answered ahead on the stairs. "Pick any girl and marry her the very day you return to town?"

"There lies my problem. I can't simply pick a girl. They look like children to me." His voice echoed in the empty and cold parlor as he followed his brother to the kitchen beyond. "I cannot marry a woman half my age."

"That's one of the difficulties of being thirty." Thomas grabbed a taper and lit it from the single candle burning in the table's center. "By that age, all the women are married or so ugly no one will have them."

"You're speaking of Tessa Bradford," he guessed. "Hell, what happened to this kitchen?"

"Women," Thomas muttered, shaking his head.

Women? The devil's teeth! It looked like a pack of bakers had descended on the house. "Father is dying. He doesn't need a final buffet."

"Final buffet. Last supper." Thomas shrugged. "Look, Andy has already helped himself. He's devoured half the cinnamon cake."

"I'm in deep trouble, brother, and you worry over missing pastry?" Jonah grabbed a cup and crossed the room. "I am to wed. I have little faith in marriage."

"Pray, don't say that too loudly. You are like to offend all the young ladies who made these treats and they will have you thrown in the stocks for a day." Thomas, even weary and grief-stricken, managed another joke.

"I cannot marry a mere girl." He gestured to the plate-laden table. Crocks, platters, rows of cakes and delicious treats crammed nearly every available inch. "They do not even know me. These efforts of theirs are far from sincere."

"You want sincerity? Then do not look for it in any woman." Thomas considered that. "Well, maybe a few women. But a damned few."

"Aye." Jonah knew they were both remembering their stepmother. "That woman made Father's life hell and took pleasure in it. I refuse to marry anyone even half as selfish."

"Or eager for your money." Thomas' telling gaze met his.

So, they shared the same worries. Jonah understood. "I have given my word. I must marry. There must be a son who will inherit this land."

"So, who will you choose?"

Jonah filled two cups with coffee, thinking. "If Father survives this illness, he will be infirm. Then I'll need a female willing to care for him as well as to manage the household. I shall not have a lazy wife sitting about, shouting at the servants."

"Our servants work the land and would not agree to clean house," Thomas added.

"True." Jonah set one cup before his brother and pulled a chair up to the board. "She must be kind. I don't want a cruel woman raising my son."

Again, he thought of his stepmother. Aye, the viciousness of that one. All of them bore scars in one way or another. Fear beat within his chest like a caged bird. What kind of woman could he tolerate for a wife?

"Most important, she must be a female I can see myself bedding, not a child half my age. If only we knew if Father was to recover for certain, I could take my time. Maybe travel to Boston and find someone appropriate."

"I don't envy you." Thomas sipped the steaming brew. "For once I'm glad I am not the eldest brother. Father is weak and we do not have much time."

"Aye. I do not need reminding." Jonah rubbed his face with both hands as if he could rub away the weariness, too. "I have been thinking a lot about the word. Duty. What it means. And what I must do."

"I have been pondering it as well." Thomas stepped away to choose a cheese tart from the offering on the table. His steps knelled heavily on the wood floor. "We all have left home following our own paths. Now, Father's illness has brought us back. To change. To carry on what he's worked hard for all his life."

"The land," Jonah sighed. "Family."

Aye, duty was a tough word. It required self-sacrifice, doing the right thing rather than making his own choices. And damn it, Jonah was a man used to forging his own path, facing challenges, and commanding men.

But that was a different duty, one that required only muscle and brain. It did not require heart.

"How will you choose your bride?" Thomas asked now.

"I have no idea, but I know this." Jonah remembered Father's face, pale and shrunken now that the frightening fever had broken. He was improving, but for how long? "I must make a decision."

"Today would not be fast enough." Thomas' hand landed on Jonah's shoulder.

His brother's understanding felt good, made him more brave. "How do I know the woman I select will make an unselfish wife and a kind mother, especially if I can't spend any time getting to know her?"

"There must be a way," Thomas murmured, sounding as perplexed as Jonah felt.

Duty. There was no denying, no stalling, and no excuses he could make. Now was the time to make good on his promise, to stand up and be the son his father wanted and needed. "Father is going to require constant care for some time, and the doctor fears he may never fully recover."

"Aye."

Jonah paused, considering. Inspiration struck. Why hadn't he thought of it before? "Then I'll need a wife willing to tend to Father. It would only be logical."

"Logical?"

A trickle of hope flickered inside Jonah's chest. Could it work? Why not? If he could find a woman who wouldn't mind caring for a sick old man, then perhaps…

The hope inside him grew, warming him from the inside out. That would be the test, the way he would know which of those young, terribly inexperienced females had a genuinely caring heart. Maybe, just maybe, she wouldn't be the kind of female who would dominate his life or tear him apart with her guile.

"What are you saying, brother?"

"I think I've found a solution." Ah, it felt good to have at least one burden lifted. "This is a neighborly village. People care for one another, pitch in and help out when there is an illness such as Father's."

"What is your point?"

"I will watch the young women who come visit today." Jonah stood, his knees a little shaky, but his heart firmly resolved. "And I will marry the one who genuinely offers to do the most for Father."

"What? Have you gone mad?"

"Probably" Jonah could not deny it.

"What if it's the widow with the warts?" Thomas cried out, horrified.

Duty.

Jonah set his jaw. It mattered little what he wanted, only what he had to become.


The golden light of morning warmed the room with its cheerful presence, and Tessa knew she must leave. She had her furious grandfather to appease, who was only tolerating her long night of service to Colonel Hunter because Grandfather hoped to impress Jonah Hunter.

Violet was now of marriageable age, and apparently Grandfather had high hopes for her.

Half stumbling, Tessa carried the sheets to the kitchen and piled them by the back door. Surely one of the Hunters' servants would know to wash the sheets. As it was, she was far too weary to do more than find her way home.

Of course, more work awaited her there.

"Are you leaving?"

Jonah's rich voice warmed her like rum. Such reactions she had to this man. Tessa lifted her chin. "Chores are awaiting me at home."

"I understand. I don't know how to thank you for all you've done for my father." Jonah smiled, tired and troubled, but that smile stretched all the way to his eyes.

Such deep eyes, a woman could get lost inside them. Lose all common sense. She knew the taste of his passionate kisses, knew the heady luxury of being enfolded in his strong arms. 'Twas a feeling she had only dreamed of before now.

Then she shook her head, dispersing the spell he cast on her. The way he was looking at her, and remembering the liberties she'd allowed him, made her blush. "I help anyone who's ill. Coming here was nothing out of the ordinary."

"Oh." The light died in his spectacular eyes.

Tessa's heart darkened at the sight. She didn't want Jonah to think she was doing him any special favors. Still, she hadn't meant to hurt him. He'd been absent from this village a long time, didn't realize she helped wherever she could. Knowing Jonah, he probably thought she'd come especially because of him, the self-important oaf.

Now at least he no longer thought so, even if he didn't gaze at her with eyes of liquid heat.

"When your father awakens, give him a cup of the tea I left right there." She gestured. "By the hearth."

He was a man of silence, of unreadable emotion sheltered in the shadows. Solid and strong as steel. The sight of him made her heart catch.

He cleared his throat, his voice as somber as a funeral. "Thank you, Tessa. You are a better woman than most"

Dark eyes snared hers, cool but somehow intimate.

"You're very pretty when you smile. You should do it more often."

"False flattery doesn't fool me."

"Then I shall have to try all the harder."

Captivating. He could lure the angels from heaven with that slow stretch of a grin. It was lopsided and carved a dimple into his left cheek.

"I thought charm comes naturally to a man like you."

"Aye, 'tis a gift" His smile deepened, lighting his eyes.

Touching her heart.

Tessa's head reeled. Air wedged in her lungs. "You best watch out for lightning after telling a lie like that"

"So, now I'm a liar." Two dimples shaped his smile, so wickedly handsome her brain forgot to function.

"A charming liar. A lethal combination." Tessa swallowed. What was she doing, bantering with this man? What would her grandfather say if he knew? Pain twisted in her heart No one will ever want to marry a sharp-tongued spinster like you. You are ugly, skinny and disagreeable. You ought to be grateful Horace Walling agreed to take you, but I had to throw in a cow with the deal.