Page 57 of Magnolia Summer

Celia had to work to keep her expression neutral, telling herself to react with compassion instead of judgment. She had heard of unmarried women having children, but she’d never known any personally. And it wouldn’t help Almira to see her looking shocked.

“And now my father has forced James to flee for his life. I don’t know where he is, and I miss him so much.”

Celia kept her arm around Almira’s shoulder. Celia had never been in a situation in which she could imagine being tempted in such a way. Before her kiss with Truett Beverly, she’d never understood. How was a man able to persuade a woman to give away her virtue? But Truett’s kiss had stirred feelings inside her that she could imagine leading to something much beyond a few kisses.

No, she shouldn’t condemn Almira any more than Jesus had condemned the woman caught in adultery and thrown at his feet.

“Is there any way I could help?”

“There’s nothing you can do.” Almira shook her head and wiped her eyes with her hands.

Celia handed her a handkerchief.

“Thank you.” Almira laughed nervously. “I must have forgotten mine.” She wiped her face and nose. “There is one thing you can do for me. If I’m unable to teach, you could step in for me.”

“I’m not sure I’ll be here, but if I am, I will do it for you.”

“I must be going. I’ve bothered you with my troubles for too long.”

Celia’s heart swelled against her chest as she stared at Almira. The girl had no one, no mother or siblings, only a father, and he hated the man she loved. What would her father do if he found her pregnant? Celia shuddered.

“If you need anything, Almira—and I mean this—please come to me. I’ll do whatever I can. If you need a place to stay or anything else.”

“Thank you. That means so much to me.” Almira threw her arms around her. “I’ve only known you for a short time, but I treasure your friendship, Celia.” She pulled back and smiled a tremulous smile. “I’ll go now, but thank you for the books and for listening to me.”

“You’re welcome.”

They waved good-bye.

Truett was right. James hadn’t forced himself on anyone. She tried to picture Truett Beverly putting on the black hood and riding out to save his friend. Brave, indeed. Maybe crazy. And a little romantic too, like a story in a book. But then, he did love to spout poetry.

The more she thought of Truett Beverly, the harder her heart pounded. She had to tell him to be careful. If she had figured out that he was the hooded horseman, surely others would too. Truett was too good to die at the hands of an evil sheriff like Suggs. She’d never met anyone like Truett before—handsome, kind, brave, and good.

But she mustn’t think this way. Look what had happened to Almira.

It was best if women stayed away from men.

But she had to warn Truett to be careful and not to don the hood and cape again. If she had a chance to warn him but didn’t take it, she’d never forgive herself if he was killed.

Chapter 17

Truett slapped the new medical journal closed in disgust. It had arrived in the morning mail, but he couldn’t concentrate on reading when his mind kept bringing the thought of Celia Wilcox between him and the page.

Why couldn’t someone get violently ill, or split their head open? Anything to give him something to do. Not that he really wanted to see anyone hurt, but he’d already straightened his shelves, dusted the jars of tonics and elixirs and remedies, and looked over his inventory of medical supplies. He needed something to do.

He wished he’d never laid eyes on Celia Wilcox.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true—which was the whole problem. Every time he saw her he was sorely tempted to forget his promise to himself to stay away from her. Even at church—especially at church—the memories would appear before his mind’s eye, memories of the Fourth of July dance, the way she felt in his arms, and their kiss. How was he ever going to get her out of his mind? Obviously, she was completely unaffected by him.

Although, remembering the way she reacted to his kisses . . .

No, he mustn’t remember.Shehad obviously forgotten.

The longer he stayed away from her, the more difficult it became to think on anything but her. He was like a drunk wishing for that next drink, longing for it. Maybe if he could talk to her one more time, let her insult him and tell him she didn’t care for him, he’d start to dislike her. Then he could quit these confounded, Celia-induced delirium tremens.

Truett growled and tossed the journal aside. Sure, he could face down a bunch of armed men and risk his life, but one disagreeable, unpredictable young woman had sent him reeling.

But she wasn’t disagreeable, not really. She had come here, a place she didn’t want to be, to help her family. No, she was vibrant and beautiful and intelligent, with a mind of her own. And yet, he’d seen her be vulnerable and sweet too. There was so much there that he wanted to explore, and he wanted her to want to know him as well.