Page 22 of These Summer Storms

Or was he?

Stranger comes to town.

Except, the man wasn’t a stranger. The rest of the family clearly knew him, and if their collective disquiet, complete with combative looks (Sam), tight lips (Greta), and stiff silence (Elisabeth), was any indication, they didn’t like him. Even relaxed, radically-accepting Emily seemed knocked off-balance by his arrival, her shoulders straightening and rolling back, like she had something to prove.

Worse yet, he clearly knew them—which meant, last night, he’d knownher. And he’d said nothing. Jesus, what a fool she was, thinking she could ever have something just for herself. Not even one night with a stranger, with no repercussions.

She should’ve known better. Shedidknow better—there were always repercussions. Hadn’t her father taught her that?

And this man, whoever he was, was here to deliver them.

He didn’t seem to notice the animosity vibrating through the foyer.Instead, he looked impossibly relaxed, his gaze falling to each of them, one by one. She waited for it to land on her, braced herself for its weight.

When he looked at her, it was so cool and brief, she almost questioned if she was wrong, and she didn’t know him. His gaze slid past, and Alice’s attention sharpened, taking him in. He’d rolled down his shirtsleeves, but she could see the red of his knuckles—still raw from the punch he’d thrown at the photographer outside the train station, proof she hadn’t imagined anything about that encounter…or what came after.

What the hell was he doing here?

Who was he?

Before she could ask, her mother spoke, waving everyone toward the enormous front room of the manor. “Well. Now that we’re all present, I suppose Jack has something to say.”

The words unstuck the tableau, everyone moving at once, smooth and unhurried, as though they’d all been expecting it. Of course, years lived with Franklin had prepared them for this, when upheaval arrived and emotion roiled but was never, ever shown.

Storm inside.

Alice followed her family through the doorway into the front room, bringing up the rear of the procession, trying to collect her thoughts.

Not the rear. Not really.

Because at the door, he waited, letting everyone enter before him.

She hesitated on the threshold. Looked to him. Forced him to meet her gaze, his gray eyes revealing nothing, so different from the night before, when he’d looked at her with pleasure, and need, and something so private she’d never dreamed it would see the light of day.

“Your name is Jack.”

He didn’t look away, but his eyes were unreadable. “Yes.”

“They know who you are.”

“They do.”

“You knew who I was.”

“I did.” No shame. No hesitation.

Anger flooded through her. Anger, and frustration, and something like betrayal. She’d been wrong. He wasn’t steady like the train. And hewasn’t her secret, unscheduled stop. He was someone else’s secret. Kept from her.

Here to humiliate her.

She’d be damned if she’d show him all that, though. Instead, she lifted her chin and said, “So much for Boy Scout, huh?” before stepping over the threshold, into whatever chaos was to come.

Chapter

5

“Franklin sent me.”

As far as opening statements went, it was a doozy.