" 'Tis nothing but a tale," Jonah answered, dismissing the story grown into fiction with a wave of his well-formed hand. "Thank you for the tea, Mistress Tessa."

His fingers brushed hers as he took the simple wooden cup. Tiny flames danced up her arm. Appalled, she stepped away.

"He does not fancy you, Tessa," Violet whispered loud enough for everyone to hear.

Jonah's dark eyes landed on hers, his gaze as dazzling as the first star of the night Heavens, she could not look away. Grandfather's wife tittered, made some comment Tessa didn't even listen to. She ought to bow her head, tear her gaze from his, so arrogant Jonah Hunter could not see the pain in her heart. But she could not.

He broke the gaze, turning his sizzling eyes to Violet, blushing prettily in the midday sun. A dimple framed her smile, and to Tessa's despair, Jonah Hunter smiled back.

"I will take some of that sugar." His rich voice caressed the words.

Tessa shivered and turned away. She concentrated too hard on the task of pouring tea and serving it around the table. Her hands shook and she nearly spilled twice, but she ignored her stepgrandmother's scolding.

Why did she let him affect her so? Because he was so handsome? Because he made her blood heat? Angry with herself, Tessa turned her back on him and tidied up.

"Hello, Ely. Mistress Tessa." A man's voice, rude and harsh, broke through the family's pleasant conversation.

"Horace," Ely welcomed.

Tessa's blood froze. She looked up into the haggard, lined face of her grandfather's neighbor. Watery eyes focused on her. A slow smile stretched his chapped lips.

"I have come to see my bride-to-be." His voice felt as cold as ice. "I want to walk her back to the meetinghouse."

Tessa took one step back and into the table. Boards rattled. A crock thumped in protest. A man's big hand covered her elbow. She looked up, and Jonah stood at her side, wide shoulders set, his powerful body tensed.

"Bride-to-be?" he roared. "What the devil is he talking about?" A muscle jumped in Jonah's square jaw. "Tessa, explain to me what Walling means?"

Little fires licked her skin trapped beneath the heat of his hand. Her heart raced as fast as a bird in flight. Tessa felt dizzy, unable to breathe, as Horace stepped forward and held out one unwashed, bone-thin hand.

"I-" She swallowed, unable to say the words. It felt as if her heart died looking at the unkempt man in the doorway. In the common yard beyond, she saw families packing up their dinners and heading back to the meetinghouse, wives beside their husbands, children huddling around them.

"Horace has agreed to marry my granddaughter and take her out of my household for good." There was no mistaking the pride in Ely Bradford's voice. He clearly didn't want Tessa. Was proud he'd done little better than force her on a brutal husband.

Jonah's throat tightened. Anger beat at his chest. She felt so fragile beneath his hand. He felt fine bone and sinewy muscle. She was lean and spare, too damn lean in his opinion. Looking at her face, so sad, lined with fatigue, it didn't take a genius to know why.

Ely worked her harder than most would work a slave. And treated her worse, too. Why, she had nothing to ward off the last of the winter's harsh winds. Only a thin woolen shawl, ragged and worn.

"Let Major Hunter come to know Violet better," Ely dared to say now, "and go with Horace, Tessa. Oh, and take the dirty dishes with you."

He felt Tessa tense, her muscles drawing up ready to fight. Then she moved from his touch. She stepped away, a slim ribbon of a thing, picking up cups and gathering spoons with quiet efficiency.

Jonah's chest tightened when she folded the basket shut and took one halting step toward Horace Walling. The foul bastard grinned, exposing yellowed, rotten teeth. Anger roared through Jonah's blood.

"She is the worst tempered female in the colony," Charity Bradford began in her irritating, overly gracious tone. "Thank goodness Violet is sweet tempered. Please, do not think such horrid character runs in the blood."

One look at Violet's calculating, greedy eyes told Jonah the girl was far from sweet. Words of protest rose in his throat, words to defend Tessa from these people who called themselves family, but he stopped.

He remembered how Tessa had walked away from him this morning in the parlor, how she'd refused his help, called him wolf, told him he could not buy her. There was no selfish want in her eyes, no coveting a fine home. Hell, she hadn't even wanted the payment he'd offered.

A small light of admiration burned in his chest Not that he found Tessa Bradford attractive. No. A woman with such a sharp tongue could slice a man in two.

And yet she was one woman who-

No, he would not think it Tessa was to be married. She was too old, too difficult, too stubborn, and Andy was right. She wasn't pretty.

He bid the family goodbye, startled by Violet's sultry smile. What was wrong with this child? And with the others half his age looking at him as if he could move the moon, as if he were a hero?

Bleakness beat at his heart. When they looked at him, could they not see it? He was nothing but a man. A man of flaws and fears and a heart that had died long ago.

He did not want a sixteen-year-old for a wife. He wanted a woman, one strong enough to stand beside him, one who wasn't afraid of work.

Jonah's gaze landed on Tessa, trudging silently beside pole-thin Horace Walling, her head bowed, defeat weighing down her shoulders.

"Do not even think it, brother," Andy advised, hurrying to catch him.

Jonah laughed aloud. "How do you know what I am thinking?"

"You are thinking of duty. And well you should." Little brother clasped him hard on the shoulder. "I am just back from the house. Father is failing. Thomas said to bring Mistress Tessa at once."

Fear froze Jonah. He felt his blood stall in his veins. His own legs refused to move. "What? Is Father dying so soon?"

"I don't know." Andy's face turned grim, his eyes bleak. True sorrow burned there. "But you had best pick one of those women now, brother. If the old man does not improve, this well might be your last day as a bachelor."

Chapter Four

" Tis not good news," she spoke from the thick shadows of the room.

Jonah stood, his heart quickening. Fear tasted sour in his mouth. Tessa Bradford stepped farther into the parlor, the few lit candles stroking her face with alternating ribbons of darkness and light.

"Tell me. I need to know the truth," he demanded.

"His lungs are failing." She pushed a handful of ebony ringlet curls out of her regret filled eyes. Eyes that touched him with sympathy. "Jonah, I have done my best to ease his discomfort, but you must call a surgeon. There is naught more I can do."

"Then do more." Jonah tore across the room, knocking aside a chair. Anger tore at his chest-the only feeling he'd known for so long-and it raged bright enough to burn him clear through. "Father cannot die. You must do something. Get back upstairs. Use your herbs-"

She raised two slender hands, callused, work-reddened. "Jonah, I cannot-"

"Do it, I say!" Anger ground his words into a threat. His fingers closed around her upper arms, holding her captive, hostage to the emotions tearing him apart. "You cannot let Father die."

"Jonah." Her soft voice, nearly whispering his name, stopped him, made him blink. The red rage before his eyes ebbed. He saw Tessa's heart-shaped face, lined with fatigue, crinkled with worry. Tears shimmered in her eyes. "You're bruising me."

In shock, he let her go. She took a step back, rubbing her small hands over her forearms, as if to chase away his touch. Or the crushing pain from his grip.

Shame filled him. He'd never hurt a woman. Would never wish to- He hung his head. "Tessa, I'm sorry."

"No matter." Cold and distant, she sounded. Strangely disappointed. "You're overwrought, I understand. The news is not good. I plan to stay and do what I can. Regardless of what you think of me, I would never leave a dying man alone and suffering.

A dying man. Her words struck him like a blow. Damn fool, he'd been gone too long. He'd let the years slip by like dirt through his fingers, never stopping to think his father, so strong and brave, would not live forever. Jonah took a step back, mind reeling.

And now, was he too late? Would there be no time to share tales, watch sunrises, walk the cornfields with Father and speak of harvests, of hopes for the future?

He had no one to blame but himself. In chasing after what he'd hoped would make Father proud, he'd lost a decade, precious time that could not be recovered.

A pair of velvet blue eyes gazed up at him, shimmering with unshed tears and an emotion that drew him hard and fast. Air lodged in Jonah's chest seeing the hurt he'd caused. A hurt he could not guess at.

"I'm sorry, Tessa." The words came broken, edged with defeat. He'd been wrong to raise his voice and to hold her captive. "I know you have done all you can."

Her bottom lip wobbled. Soft and full, too lush for her thin, pale face. " 'Tis all right."

Yet she turned away, shoved her callused hands deep in her faded skirt's pockets and ascended the stairs. Blood thickened in his veins watching the sway of her hips beneath her skirt. The darkness swallowed her until there was only the sound of her light foot on the steps.

Jonah rubbed his hands over his face. Aye, always the fool. If he were half as successful in relationships, in interacting with other people as he'd been on the battlefield… Well, that was his true failure. Something he could not hide here in this house, in this small town, where family and relationships were everything.