The horse pawed at the floor of his stall.

"I know. I know. You're hungry."

She brought hay to the stall and dropped it into the manger, then grabbed the bucket and took it to the pump, where she filled it with fresh, cold water.

"He asked me to give him piano lessons. Can you believe that? He's building a resort, running for mayor, and he wants to add piano lessons to the mix. And I agreed! Why did I do that? What was I thinking?" She hung the bucket once again on the hook inside the stall. "I don't need his twenty-five cents."

Shakespeare chomped on his hay, unmindful of her dilemma.

Gwen rested her hands atop the stall rail, then placed her chin on her wrists. "Of course, I don't have to give him lessons. I could cancel, couldn't I?"

Yes, she could cancel. She would would cancel. First thing tomorrow, she would let him know she couldn't give him those lessons after all. cancel. First thing tomorrow, she would let him know she couldn't give him those lessons after all.

FOURTEEN.

Gwen arrived at Morgan's home at three minutes to the hour the following Tuesday afternoon. She had meant to cancel the lesson. More than once she'd begun a note to tell him she couldn't do it. The notes had ended up unfinished in the trash.

A woman wearing a black dress and matching ap.r.o.n answered her knock. "You must be Miss Arlington." The woman opened the door wide. "Mr. McKinley told me to expect you. I'm Mrs. Cheevers, the housekeeper. Please come in."

"Thank you." Gwen stepped into the entry hall. "I believe we've met before, Mrs. Cheevers. At the Humphrey girl's wedding last year."

"Oh. Of course." The housekeeper motioned with her right hand. "If you'll make yourself comfortable in the front parlor, Mr. McKinley will join you soon. He's in a meeting with Mr. Doyle."

Mrs. Cheevers led her into a beautifully appointed room with a high ceiling and tall windows that afforded a view of the town and the mountain range to the south. The piano, which stood near one of those windows, had been polished to a high sheen.

"May I bring you some refreshment, Miss Arlington?"

"No, thank you." Gwen made her way to the piano and slipped onto the bench.

Her grandparents owned a grand piano similar to this one. Her own lessons had begun on that instrument when she was six years old, before her hands could properly span the keys. She recalled many an hour in the music room of her grandparents' home in Hoboken, practicing her scales over and over again.

Mr. Kirby, her teacher, had been a strange-looking little man with thick gla.s.ses that rode the tip of a birdlike nose. "Do it again, child. Concentrate this time," he'd told her.

Sometimes Gwen had cried in frustration, but her tears hadn't moved her mother. Elizabeth Arlington had wanted Gwen to learn to play and learn to play she would. A musical ability, she'd told Gwen repeatedly, was one of the social graces. Every young lady of quality played an instrument.

Her mother couldn't have guessed that Gwen would one day be paid to teach others.

"Poor Mother," Gwen whispered as she placed her fingers on the ivory keys. "What a disappointment I am to her."

She heard men's voices and twisted on the bench an instant before Morgan and f.a.gan Doyle came into view.

When Morgan saw her through the parlor doorway, he smiled. "Ah, you're here already." He stepped into the room.

"It's now past three o'clock."

"Is it?" He checked his watch. "I hadn't realized. I am sorry to have kept you waiting." He glanced over his shoulder. "f.a.gan, you remember Miss Arlington. She's here to give me a lesson on the piano."

Gwen slid to the end of the bench as the two men approached.

"'Tis a pleasure to see you again, Miss Arlington." He gave her a broad wink. "Be patient with Morgan. I wouldn't call him daft, but still..." He shrugged as his voice faded to silence.

"Be on your way, f.a.gan." Morgan feigned a scowl.

f.a.gan laughed. "He has no sense of humor, that one. None at all. Have a care, miss."

"I will, Mr. Doyle." She grinned at him, enjoying the easy banter of the men. "Thank you for the warning."

As f.a.gan left the room, Morgan looked at Gwen and in a stage whisper said, "I most certainly do do have a sense of humor. If I didn't, I wouldn't survive having f.a.gan for a friend." have a sense of humor. If I didn't, I wouldn't survive having f.a.gan for a friend."

His eyes, she thought, contained so much life, and his laugh was deep and rich. Had she noticed that before?

Swallowing hard, Gwen reached into her bag and withdrew the sheet music she'd brought with her. "We should begin your lesson, Mr. McKinley."

"Of course." He moved to the left side of the bench and sat beside her, his shoulder almost touching hers.

It was quite warm in the room. Perhaps she should ask that a window be opened.

Morgan put his fingers on the piano keys, his left little finger resting on lower C, his right thumb resting on middle C.

Gwen gave him a sharp look. "You've had lessons before."

"Yes, but that was years ago."

"But I thought - "

He pressed middle C with his thumb, three times in quick succession. "My parents and I heard Percy Grainger play in the London recital that established his reputation as a virtuoso. I'll never forget it." Slowly, Morgan played the notes of the C-major scale with his right hand. "I was twenty years old at the time. Percy Grainger was nineteen. I remember wanting to learn to play just like him."

How easily he spoke of his travels in England and Europe, of the grand hotels and spas he'd visited, of seeing one of the great pianists of their day perform in London. Morgan had led the sort of life her mother could only dream of, the kind of life she'd wanted for her daughter if only Gwen would have married well.

Poor Mother.

Gwen's maternal grandparents were well-to-do merchants in New Jersey. Part of the nouveau riche, nouveau riche, their money had opened many doors for Elizabeth and Gwen. But some doors at the highest echelons of good, long-established society had remained firmly closed. Gwen hadn't cared, but her mother had. their money had opened many doors for Elizabeth and Gwen. But some doors at the highest echelons of good, long-established society had remained firmly closed. Gwen hadn't cared, but her mother had.

What would Mother think if she could see me now?

Morgan's left hand began the scale, moving from left to right, but he struck a sour note as he crossed his middle finger over thumb. He stopped, chuckled, then looked at her. "As you can tell, I'm no virtuoso."

Gwen swallowed again. "You'll get better." Her heart beat an uncertain rhythm in her chest. "It only takes practice."

How easy it would be to lean to his right and kiss her lips. Morgan longed to know if she tasted as sweet as she looked.

As if she'd read his mind, her eyes widened and color infused her cheeks. She slipped from the bench and stood beside it, clenching her hands at her waist. "Please play that scale again, Mr. McKinley."

He shouldn't be thinking about how easy it would be to kiss her or how sweet she looked. That wasn't why he was here. He concentrated again on the piano keys. His playing felt awkward, his fingers stiff. How many years had it been since he'd sat on a piano bench, his fingers touching ivory? Too many.

"Do you know your C-major chords?"

"Yes." He positioned his hands, hearing the notes in his head even before he played them.

"Now the G-major scale."

He thought about it a moment. Ah, yes. F-sharp. He played the scale, first with one hand, then the other, and finally together.

Gwen moved to the bend in the piano beside the open lid. Her expression was grave. "You deceived me, sir."

His fingers stilled.

"You let me believe you were a beginner."

He wished he could deny the accusation, but he couldn't. Though he hadn't lied to her, he also hadn't revealed the whole truth. Sometimes omission was the same as a lie.

"How well can you play?"

"Not as well as I'd like. That's why I asked for the lessons."

She studied him with a narrowed gaze.

"I didn't intend to deceive you, Miss Arlington, but I did and I'm sorry." He stood, shoving the bench away with the back of his knees. "I apologize. Please forgive me."

Seconds pa.s.sed like minutes as she appeared to weigh his words. He felt like a prisoner awaiting the verdict. Would it be freedom or the gallows? Would she remain or walk out the door?

At last, she spoke. "Tell me about the instruction you've received."

"I had a few lessons when I was a boy of about ten or so, but like I said, my father had other aspirations for me." He shook his head, envisioning his father. "Don't misunderstand me - he was a wonderful man. But he held strong opinions about the proper roles for men and women. Musical interests were not for his son." He chose not to tell Gwen what his father would have thought of a woman running for mayor. "I was twenty-six when he pa.s.sed away. I hadn't lost the desire to learn to play the piano, so I hired an instructor who taught me the basics. But then my mother's health worsened, and I started traveling with her. I played whenever I could. I even mastered a few songs, but my technique wasn't good."

His mother hadn't cared about his technique. Over and over again, she'd asked him to play "Amazing Grace," "Jesus, Lover of My Soul," and other favorite hymns. She'd loved it even when he could only play the melody with his right hand. "It comforts me," she had said to him countless times.

Morgan cleared his throat as he tamped down the poignant memories.

"How long has it been since you played?" Gwen's voice was filled with compa.s.sion, as if she'd heard the words he hadn't spoken.

"About four years."

"Nothing is lost. You'll remember what you learned, I promise you. It's just a bit rusty." Gwen motioned toward the piano keys. "Let's begin our lesson again, shall we?"

She smiled at him.

And in that moment he realized something. A man couldn't plan if or when he would find a woman who would win his regard. It simply happened. Such was the case with the enchanting Miss Arlington. Despite his intentions to remain free of attachments, despite all his promises to himself, he'd fallen for her like a lemming tumbling over a cliff into the ocean, headlong and mindless of the danger. And unless he missed his guess, it was much too late to save himself. Although she might not know it yet, Gwen already held his heart captive in her hands.

Good thing he knew G.o.d's timing was perfect. He couldn't say much for his own.

Gwen was not so naive that she didn't recognize the light of interest in Morgan's eyes. She'd seen it in men's eyes before. She saw it in Charles Benson's eyes every time they were together. And yet Morgan's gaze seemed different. As if he saw beneath the surface and knew the real Guinevere Arlington.

Which was a ridiculous, romantic notion, and she was not a ridiculous, romantic woman. Besides, in her experience, few men saw beneath the surface when it came to women.

She drew herself up, trying hard to look every inch the teacher. "Please play the C-major scale again. A little faster this time." Then, to make certain her thoughts didn't continue to wander where they shouldn't, she moved to stand behind Morgan.

The remainder of the lesson progressed in a normal fashion with her student running through the scales and chords, roughly at first but improving with each try. Gwen suspected she would soon hear him play more difficult melodies.

And though she was loath to admit it, she looked forward to listening to him play again, next week and the one after that and the one after that.

FIFTEEN.

Harrison Carter closed the office door and turned toward his visitor. "What can you tell me? Why was she in his home?"

Elias Spade, a short, bespectacled man, shook his head. "Miss Arlington's giving McKinley piano lessons."

"I don't believe it."

"It's true, sir. She was there just over half an hour, and I could observe the two of them clearly. My view was un.o.bstructed."

Harrison crossed to the window that overlooked Main Street. Kitty-corner from his law offices stood the sandstone munic.i.p.al building that housed both county and city governments. For more than a decade, all the major decisions regarding what was and wasn't done in this area had been made in Harrison's office first. He wasn't about to let anything upset the order of things.

Piano lessons. What was she thinking? Foolish girl.

This was why women shouldn't be involved in politics or business. They had no head for it. They were naive and unable to make the types of decisions men made on a daily basis. Women belonged in the home and not in the halls of government. To think he would be saddled with this foolish female for the next four years set his teeth on edge.

Maybe he shouldn't have given her his support. But what else could he have done? If he'd backed Tattersall, he'd have been labeled crazy. And while he could have run for mayor himself, he knew his own interests were better served in his position as head of the county commissioners.

He cursed softly. He would have to a.s.sert a little more control over Miss Arlington.

"What more have you learned?"

Spade answered, "McKinley owns the land free and clear. No mortgage. No enc.u.mbrances. Almost a hundred acres." He cleared his throat. "And from what I hear, he's got some connection to the governor or some senator. I'd be careful if I were you."

"Moses Alexander isn't interested in what's happening in Bethlehem Springs. He's too busy trying to make Idaho a dry state to notice us." Harrison sat in an oversized leather chair. "What about McKinley's business practices? What about his family?"

"Sorry, sir. Nothing you don't already know."

Harrison felt his temper rising. "What am I paying you for, then?"

"Mr. Carter, Morgan McKinley is one of the fifty wealthiest men in the country. What he doesn't want anyone to know, they aren't going to know. I've done my best, but there just isn't anything more to be learned."

"Get out." Harrison waved his hand. "Get out of my sight."

Elias Spade didn't waste any time following the order.