Reclaiming His Past
No Possessions, No Memories, Not Even A Name!The wounded stranger found on Jessica O’Malley’s property has no idea who he is. And Jessica would be foolish to trust him after being proven so wrong about a former suitor who turned out to be a criminal. But Jessica’s wariness toward the newcomer is soon turning to interest…and hope.Until he knows his true identity, “Grant” can’t make a life in this quaint Tennessee town. He certainly shouldn’t be thinking so much about the feisty redhead with beautiful, guarded eyes. But even as he fights to keep a distance from Jessica, his feelings for her grow. And he can’t help but wonder if he’ll want to return to his old life when his past is revealed.Smoky Mountain Matches: Dreams of home and family come true in the Smoky Mountains
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No Possessions, No Memories, Not Even a Name!
The wounded stranger found on Jessica OâMalleyâs property has no idea who he is. And Jessica would be foolish to trust him after being proven so wrong about a former suitor who turned out to be a criminal. But Jessicaâs wariness toward the newcomer is soon turning to interest...and hope.
Until he knows his true identity, âGrantâ canât make a life in this quaint Tennessee town. He certainly shouldnât be thinking so much about the feisty redhead with beautiful, guarded eyes. But even as he fights to keep a distance from Jessica, his feelings for her grow. And he canât help but wonder if heâll want to return to his old life when his past is revealed.
Smoky Mountain Matches: Dreams of home and family come true in the Smoky Mountains
âYou and I arenât friends?â she said.
In the intimate closeness the serene, dark forest imparted, he lifted his head to regard her with eyes that had deepened to a navy hue. âThatâs a question only you can answer, Jessica. Friends trust each other. They donât suspect them of deceit and ill intent.â
There was no condemnation in his tone. Heâd spoken frankly, but there was understanding there, too. As if he identified with her misgivings.
âIn that case, the answer is yes.â
The slow arrival of gratitude, then relief and finally happiness passing over his clean-shaven features did serious damage to her defenses. Bolting to her feet, she bid him a brief good-night and reentered the house, seeking sanctuary in her room.
She couldnât allow herself to like Grant Parker. Empathy was acceptable. Concern for his health was natural. But opening herself up to a man, even for something as innocent as friendship, could very well be the first step to disaster.
KAREN KIRST was born and raised in East Tennessee near the Great Smoky Mountains. A lifelong lover of books, it wasnât until after college that she had the grand idea to write one herself. Now she divides her time between being a wife, homeschooling mom and romance writer. Her favorite pastimes are reading, visiting tearooms and watching romantic comedies.
I will instruct thee and teach thee in the way which thou shalt go: I will guide thee with mine eye.
âPsalms 32:8
To Kelly Youngâwho couldâve guessed weâd wind up in the same place? Iâm so thankful for you and your family. Looking forward to many more years of friendship.
Contents
October 1885
Gatlinburg, Tennessee
It wasnât easy staying angry at a dead man.
Jessica OâMalley hesitated in the barnâs entrance, the tang of fresh hay ripening the air. The horses whickered greetings from their stalls, beckoning her inside, probably hoping for a treat. She used to bring them carrots and apples. She used to enjoy spending time out here.
This place had become the source of her nightmares. Her gaze homed in on the spot where the man sheâd loved had died defending her. The bloodstain was long gone, but the image of Lee as sheâd held him during those final, soul-wrenching moments would be with her for as long as she lived.
His whispered apology, his last uttered words, came to her during those nights she couldnât sleep. At times she missed him so much it hurt to breathe. Other times she wished she could give him a piece of her mind. How could he have been so reckless, so irresponsible with their future?
If heâd been honest with her, if heâd made different choices, she wouldnât be living this lonely, going-through-the-motions existence She wouldnât be a shadow of her former self, clueless how to reclaim the fun-loving girl she once was.
Lost in troubling memories, she was wrenched back to the present by a weak cry for help. Her empty milk pail slipping from her fingers, Jessica hurried to investigate. She and her mother lived alone on the farm. And right this minute, her mother was inside the cabin preparing breakfast. She surged around the barnâs exterior corner and had to grope the weathered wall for support at the unexpected sight of a bruised and battered man near the smokehouse.
He was hatless and looked as if heâd romped in a leaf pile, and his golden-blond hair was messy. âCan you help me?â
âWho are you? What do you want?â
He dropped to his knees, one hand outstretched and the other clutching his side. Jessica belatedly noticed the blood soaking through his tattered shirt. Bile rose into her throat. Leeâs gunshot wound had done the same to his clothing. Thereâd been so much. It had covered her hands. Her dress. Even the straw covering the barn floor had been drenched with it.
