Where The Heart Is Page 4

  Natalie? But he was certain Mrs. Boone's first name was Nelda, unless his grandfather had been wrong all these years.

  The woman in his arms slowly righted herself, but avoided his puzzled eyes as she planted her hands over her exposed bottom and turned. He politely averted his gaze just as a precaution. He'd only gotten a glimpse, but it was enough to know that perky little bottom did not match the rest of her. In fact, it wasn't the only thing that didn't make sense.

  Her bosom had moved!

  "It's all right, Marla. This—this is probably for the best, anyway."

  Elliot looked from one to the other, frowning. They both looked extremely guilty about something, and Marla looked not only guilty, but smug, which further mystified him.

  "I'll just take Hickory and run along. You can explain to Mr. Montgomery, I'm sure he'll understand.” With that hurried assurance, the two made haste to the door, shutting it firmly behind them.

  Before Elliot could open his mouth to demand an explanation, the door burst open again. Marla threw her hands in the air. “Hickory won't leave until you give him a hug."

  The woman he thought to be Mrs. Boone gave a wan smile and opened her arms. Hickory ran into them, his whisper loud enough for Elliot to overhear.

  "I miss you Natty."

  "And I miss you,” she whispered back. She pulled away and looked at him sternly. “But you shouldn't make your mama run—she's gonna have a baby, you know. A little brother or sister for you to play with."

  The boy nodded vigorously. “I know. She's fat, so she can't keep up with me."

  "Come on, Hickory,” Marla called. “Papa's waiting on us."

  Elliot saw the little boy's face light up at the mention of his papa just before he twisted out of her embrace and raced to his mother. Finally, the door shut again and silence descended. He was very conscious of the other children watching from the parlor doorway.

  Folding his arms over his chest, he faced her. Now he would get to the bottom of this nonsense. “You're not Nelda Boone,” he said, stating the obvious.

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  CHAPTER THREE

  "No, I'm not.” Natalie tried to recall to her dazed mind another time when she'd felt so thoroughly humiliated, and couldn't. She lifted her chin a notch, knowing her face was on fire. Hopefully, the white powder she had applied would hide the worst of it. “Mrs. Boone left six months ago.” Darting a glance behind Elliot to the children gathered in the doorway, she lowered her voice a notch. “She left in the middle of the night, taking with her the money and everything of value she could carry."

  She watched his face as understanding dawned, bracing herself for his next question. In a few moments, it would be over. He would know the truth, and in knowing the truth it would make his task easier. Tears burned the back of her eyes at the thought.

  "Then who are you?"

  A little miss nobody, Natalie thought in despair. But she'd never been accused of giving up hope, so she offered her hand, her back straight with what dignity she could muster. He knew, so there was nothing to hide. She felt a curious sense of calm. “My name is Natalie Polk. I've lived here all my life."

  "You're an ... orphan?” he asked incredulously, too much of a gentleman to ignore her outstretched hand. “You've been running Ivy House since Mrs. Boone left?"

  "Deserted,” she corrected. His grip was warm and strong, and something about that feeling increased her urge to cry. But she couldn't. She had to show him how strong she was, how capable she was of managing Ivy House. “She deserted us. I'm the oldest, so..."

  Elliot dropped her hand and resumed his stance with his arms folded ominously. “How old are you?"

  "Nineteen.” She gave his form a swift glance. “Not much younger than you."

  A slight smile twitched his lips. Natalie gained courage from the sight. “As you can see for yourself, we've gotten along perfectly fine without Mrs. Boone. The children are healthy and well-fed, the house is clean and up to standards, I—"

  "If Mrs. Boone took the allowance with her, then how? How have you managed to run the household?"

  She refrained from biting her lip. Now she would have to embellish a little, because he would be furious if he knew the whole truth. “We ... manage. The children work at odd jobs around town. I take in a little sewing—” a gross understatement “—and we have an excellent garden, a few chickens—"

  "We used to have a cow, but we had to se—"

  "Jo does the cooking,” Natalie said in a rush, hastily interrupting Lori. “And she can make a chicken stretch into four meals. Can't you, Jo?” Natalie smiled over his shoulder at the hovering children, beckoning Jo forward with a wave of her hand.

  Jo tried to duck back into the parlor and out of sight, but Cole gave her a shove. She stumbled out into the foyer, head down, blushing furiously. “Yes, sir,” she mumbled, jamming her hands into her pockets. “We don't need Mrs. Boone, she didn't do nuthin’ but chug—"

  "See?” Natalie sent Jo a warning look. “We manage just fine without her.” She didn't see any need in talking bad about Mrs. Boone. He might think it a ploy to gain his sympathy.

  "What about repairs?” Mr. Montgomery still looked doubtful, staring around the house as if he expected it to fall down around his ears. “A house this size would need constant care."

  Natalie pounced eagerly, hoping beyond hope that his interest meant he was reconsidering. She wouldn't think about his reaction should he see the second floor. “Brett, Cole, come here and introduce yourselves.” When they reached her side, she put an arm around each shoulder. “These boys can fix anything. Brett is a fine carpenter, and Cole can repair just about anything he comes across, ain't that right boys?"

  Brett and Cole nodded. Cole was too bashful to look at Mr. Montgomery, but Brett held out a manly hand. When Mr. Montgomery took it, he gave it a hard shake that brought a smile to the man's face.

  "Nice to meet you, Mr. Montgomery.” He jabbed his thumb at Natalie. “Miss Natalie, she takes care of things around here. You can trust her."

  She gave Cole a subtle poke with her elbow. He took the hint and reluctantly shook hands with Mr. Montgomery. Lori joined them and gave him a darling curtsey, surprising Natalie. Now, when had she learned to do that?

  "This is Lori, the youngest.” With everyone gathered around, they presented a united front before the man who held their future in the palm of his hand.

  "We're all just one big happy family, aren't we children?” Natalie forced a big smile to her face. Inwardly, she quaked with anticipation and fear. Please God, let it work.

  "I'm not a child,” Cole muttered beneath his breath, trying to shrug out of her embrace.

  "Neither am I."

  "Me neither,” Lori added.

  "Yes you are!” Brett sneered.

  "Am not!"

  "You're a baby, baby!” Brett reached across Natalie's dubious bosom and made a grab for Lori's hair.

  "Please!” At her sharp reprimand, the children quickly remembered themselves and became quiet. Feeling flustered and a little out of control, Natalie sent Jo to fetch an apron from the kitchen. She urged the others to wait in the parlor.

  Jo returned and helped her position the apron so that her backside was covered before she, too, scurried away. Blushing crimson, Natalie avoided Mr. Montgomery's amused gaze and turned away to adjust the false bosom. At least he appeared to have a sense of humor!

  When she turned back around, she found him laughing silently. Instead of being relieved as common sense dictated, Natalie found herself becoming irritated. Their lives were at stake, and this man was laughing!

  "I glad you find this amusing, Mr. Montgomery. You have to know how frantic we were that you wouldn't approve of me running Ivy House."

  He made a serious effort to control his laughter. Finally, he cleared his throat, his eyes sparkling with suppressed humor. “I apologize, Miss Polk. Believe me, I find myself admiring your spunk and ... ingenuity.” His mirthful gaze dropped to her
large, makeshift bosom which was still askew despite her efforts to right it. “If that young boy hadn't come along, it might have worked."

  Natalie clutched her stomach, dread clouding her eyes. “You mean ... it didn't work?"

  "Well, of course it didn't. I know who you really are."

  "Oh.” She laughed at little breathlessly, feeling foolish. “Oh, you mean that. I thought you were talking about—” Deciding it wasn't wise to voice her thoughts, she clamped her lips shut. There was a slim chance she was wrong about his reason for being here and Lord knew she didn't want to put any ideas into his head.

  Elliot's mirth subsided abruptly, causing Natalie's stomach to flip-flop all over again. She didn't like that serious look, not at all. And she didn't think she was imagining the flash of guilt in his eyes; she'd noticed it earlier.

  "What did you think I was referring too?” he queried softly.

  "Nothing, nothing at all.” She backed away, clutching the stair post for support. He would tell her now. He would tell her that he didn't intend to keep Ivy House open.

  Where would she go?

  More importantly, where would the children go?

  What was she to do?

  * * * *

  Reading the fear in her eyes, Elliot suddenly wished the floor would open up and swallow him. He wasn't angry about the way she tried to fool him—not at all. Anyone who would go to such extremes for a good cause showed spirit and courage, something he admired. And to be honest with himself, he was more than a little relieved she wasn't really a widowed matron, not with the thoughts he was having when he first held her soft-as-silk hand.

  Now he could admire her eyes and the sweet curve of her mouth without feeling strange. Now he could wonder what she looked like without the ugly, bulky trappings of her dress and the ash-covered hair.

  Now he could get on with it and tell her about Ivy House, his lost fortune, his grandfather's unwise investments, his reason for being here. He would sit them all down and explain every last detail, no matter how humiliating.

  After meeting Natalie Polk and the other orphans, he knew he could not send a letter or just bluntly tell them the truth. His honor wouldn't allow it. His admiration for her and her concern for her fellow orphans wouldn't allow it.

  And if his grandfather were still alive, he wouldn't allow it.

  Gazing into her deep blue, anxious eyes, he gathered himself together. “Miss Polk, I'm sorry to say—"

  Someone rapped on the door, but before Elliot could sigh in relief at yet another interruption, a familiar voice called out.

  "Yoo-hoo! Anybody home? Elliot!"

  His gut twisted in response. He groaned.

  Missing the sound, Natalie moved to answer the door. She, too, looked relieved about the interruption.

  As well she should, Elliot thought in sympathy, turning to face his fiancee. But instead, his gaze drifted to the white apron covering Natalie's behind. That tiny glimpse he'd gotten when Hickory had ripped the bustle away remained emblazoned on his mind.

  She possessed a nice derriere, he thought.

  "Elliot! There you are! I'm sorry I stayed away so long, but I found the most wonderful material for our parlor curtains.” Suetta ignored Natalie and swept across the threshold, snapping her parasol closed. She continued to sweep in his direction, offering her cheek for his kiss.

  Elliot automatically landed one in the air near her forehead, catching Natalie's quirked eyebrow as she closed the door.

  "Well,” Suetta announced, looking around her with a faint frown. “Not too shabby, although I daresay it could use a little decorating. It might make a decent summer—"

  "Suetta, I'd like you to meet Miss Natalie Polk. Natalie, Miss Suetta Riverstake ... my—” the words stuck in his throat. He forced them out—"my fiancée."

  "Shame on you for interrupting, Elliot.” Suetta tapped him with her parasol and twirled around to stare at the children who had once again gathered in the parlor doorway. “Why, this must be the little orphans!” Dismissing them just as quickly as she had Natalie, she craned her neck at the curving staircase and squinted her eyes. “Did you meet with Mrs. Boone, dear? Have you told her yet?"

  Elliot met Natalie's gaze across the room, his expression somber. “Yes, I've met her. She's a fine lady, and does a beautiful job running the orphanage. Now, lets get back to the hotel, Suetta. I'm as hungry as a bear in the spring.” He didn't think he could force a bite of food between his lips, but he was desperate to get Suetta out of the house before she blurted the ugly news.

  "Oh, but—"

  "I can't wait to hear more about the curtains for the parlor. You can describe the pattern to me in the carriage.” He skillfully distracted Suetta as he grasped her elbow and urged her along. To his relief, Natalie stepped forward and opened the door.

  Pushing Suetta gently in the direction of the waiting carriage, he paused, staring at Natalie's pale, upturned face. She looked fragile. She knew, he realized in that moment as he watched worry darken her eyes to the color of storm clouds. Somehow, she knew what he had come to Chattanooga to do.

  "I'll be back tomorrow,” he said, wishing he could ease her mind. There were other things he wished for, but one glance at Suetta climbing into the carriage reminded him that he had no business wishing them.

  But as the door closed behind him, he found himself wondering what lay beneath her disguise and anticipating the morrow. He already liked the Natalie he could see—how would he react to the real Natalie Polk?

  * * * *

  "Are you ‘wake, Natty?"

  Natalie mumbled an indistinguishable reply and snuggled deeper beneath the covers. Whoever it was, she hoped they would go away. It had taken her hours to get to sleep, but once she had, she'd begun dreaming about Elliot Montgomery. In her dream, he didn't have a fancy fiancee and he wasn't rich.

  He was hers.

  "Natty, I wanna sleep wiff you!"

  The loud whisper intruded again. She felt a small, chilled body slide under the covers and snuggle against her.

  Cold feet touched her knees.

  She yelped and sat up, fully awake now. Weak moonlight shone through her open bedroom window, illuminating Hickory's pale features as he snuggled into the mattress. “What on earth are you doing here, Hickory?"

  He pulled the quilt to his chin, his voice matter-of-fact. “I wanna sleep wiff you! They won't let me sleep wiff them.” His bottom lip quivered; his eyes were wide and staring.

  Natalie shoved her freshly washed hair out of her eyes and blew out an exasperated breath. “It's the middle of the night! And of course Marla and Noah wouldn't let you sleep with them, you're five years old. You should be sleeping in your own bed.” She threw back her side of the covers, groaning because she knew what she would have to do. “I have to take you home."

  "Don't wanna go.” He stretched the quilt over his head. “Ain't goin’ home."

  "But Marla will be frantic if she wakes up to find you gone!” No answer. With another groan, she crawled over him and struggled into her dressing gown. Although faded and patched, it was heavy and warm, swirling around her feet and covering her from head to toe. At this hour of the night, she shouldn't encounter a soul on the way.

  When she had dressed, she jerked the covers back and folded her arms. “I'm gonna count to three, then I'm gonna go downstairs and get a bucket of water—"

  "No!” Quick as lightning, Hickory slid from the bed, looking lost and adorable in his sleeping gown.

  Natalie's heart softened. She knelt before him, ignoring the hard wooden floor. “Hickory, do you know how much this hurts Marla?” When his face screwed into a confused frown, she tried again. “Her feelings, Hickory. Right here.” She placed her hand on her heart and spoke softly. “You hurt Marla's and Noah's heart when you run away. They think you don't love them."

  Hickory slowly shook his head. “No. I just miss you, Natty, and Jo and Brett and Cole and Lori."

  "But your home is with Marla and Noah—and the new
baby, remember? You've got your own room, and a pony. Besides, you can see me anytime you want, and you do, don't you?” Hickory nodded. Natalie took his hand and led him quietly downstairs. When they reached the door, she knelt before him again. “If you promise not to sneak away in the middle of the night again, I won't tell Marla about this time."

  He chewed on his finger, then popped it out to ask, “So it won't hurt her heart?"

  "So it won't hurt her heart,” she agreed, hugging him so hard he grunted.

  * * * *

  Elliot couldn't sleep. With a muttered oath, he rose and pulled on his dressing gown for the third time. His hotel room faced Main Street, and he went to the window now, staring out at the peaceful town of Chattanooga, huddled in the crook of majestic mountains, still and quiet beneath a slice of bright moon and a sky full of stars.

  He knew why sleep eluded him. He couldn't stop thinking about Natalie, Jo, Brett, Cole and ... Elliot frowned in thought as he searched his memory. Lori—Natalie had called the little one Lori. A frail, delicate child...?

  His conscience pricked him at the memory, although he knew he had no choice in the matter. He couldn't continue to fund Ivy House, and if he didn't sell Ivy House, then he'd be living on the streets, sleeping in alleys and doorways, dodging creditors and wondering where his next meal would come from.

  But wasn't that exactly what he was planning for them? To put them out into the streets? Elliot slapped his palm on the window sill. No, he wasn't, by God. He had money put aside, money for each of the orphans to use in finding a new home—money the creditors didn't know about because they had yet to learn of Ivy House.

  But it was only a matter of time before Bo Carnagie's men did find out. Then, they would hunt him down and demand their money.

  Elliot grimaced, his thoughts returning to the orphans and the pending adoptions. What kind of people would be tempted to take on a child just for the money? What would stop them from taking the money, then ignoring the child? Something he hadn't thought of before.

  A shadow on the street below snatched his interest. He leaned closer to the window and peered out, his brows lifting in surprise. Who would be out at this hour of the morning? Someone definitely was, he realized as the figure moved into a patch of moonlight.