by Jillian Hart
“It was no problem.” The way she said his name tugged at his heart. He couldn’t deny he was sweet on the woman, couldn’t deny he cared. He liked everything about her—the way she drew her bottom lip between her teeth when she concentrated, the care she took with everything, including the way she set the button to the shoe leather and started the first, hesitant stitch.
Snow clung to her in big, fat flakes of fragility, turning the knit hat she wore into a tiara and decorating her light, gossamer curls framing her face. Snowflakes dappled her eyelashes and cheeks until he had to fight to resist the urge to brush them away for her.
“In other words, you are in serious need of employment.” He kept his tone light but determination burned in his chest.
“Yes.” She squinted to draw her needle through the buttonhole a second time. “My brother has found work in Wyoming. Pa is considering moving there.”
“Moving?” Alarm beat through him. “Is there work for him there?”
“No, but he has the hope for it.” Her rosebud mouth downturned, she fastened all her attention on knotting her thread. “I would have to go with him.”
“I see.” His throat constricted making it hard to speak, harder to breathe. “You don’t want to go?”
Please, say no, he thought. His pulse leaped, galloping as if he’d run a mile full out. It seemed an eternity until she answered, her voice as sweet as the morning.
“I’m happy here. I wish to stay.” She bit off the thread and bent her head to re-knot it.
I wish that, too. It wasn’t exactly a prayer, he did not believe in praying for himself, so it was for her happiness he prayed. Give her the best solution, Lord, he asked. Please. He had no time to add any thoughts because a shadow appeared through the gray veil of the storm, which had grown thick, blotting out all sign of the countryside and of the lamp-lit windows of the house that should have been in sight.
Poncho gave a short neigh, already anticipating the command before it happened. Lorenzo tugged briefly on the right rein anyway as the gelding guided the sleigh neatly around the figure. A woman walked up the lane, her head covered with a hood and her coat shrouded with snow. She glanced briefly at them, but he could not recognize her in the downfall. His first inclination was to stop and offer her a ride, too, but then he wouldn’t be alone with Ruby. He felt Poncho hesitate, as if the horse was wondering why he hadn’t been pulled to a stop.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ruby, head down, intent on sewing the final button as fast as she could go. This was his one chance, his one shot to be alone with her. He hoped that she might see something in him she liked, something that might lead her to say hello to him on the street the next time they met or to smile at him across the church sanctuary on Sunday. He gave the reins a sharp snap so Poncho would keep going. Up ahead, another shadow rose out of the ever-thickening curtain as the storm closed in.
“There. Done,” Ruby said with a rush and stowed away her needle and thread. “Just in time, too. There’s the house.”
“It was good timing,” he agreed as he slowed the gelding in front of the portico. The tall, overhead roof served as a shelter from the downfall. While she leaned forward to slip on her shoe, he drank in the sight of her until his heart ached. He didn’t know why she opened a place inside of him, a deep and vulnerable room he had not known was there.
“That will have to do.” She shrugged, for a glimpse of her stocking still showed between the gap in the buttons. Her eyes had darkened a shade, perhaps with worry. She didn’t wait for him to offer his hand to help her from the sleigh but bounded out on her own.
That stung. He steeled his spine and straightened his shoulders, determined not to let the hurt show. She made a pretty picture circling around the back of the vehicle, her skirt snapping with her hurried gait. Snow sprinkled over her like powdered sugar. She couldn’t look any sweeter. His heart tugged, still opening up to her when he knew he ought to step back and respect that she didn’t feel a thing for him.
“Thank you, Lorenzo.” She stared down at her toes.
Was it his imagination, or did her soft voice warm just a tad when she said his name? The wind gusted, driving snow between them, and he couldn’t be sure. He cleared his throat, hoping to keep the emotion from his voice. “Glad I could help you out, Ruby.”
“Help me? You saved me. This way, your mother won’t see me sewing on my buttons in her entry.” She bobbed a little on her feet and lifted her eyes briefly to him. “Thank Poncho for me, too.”
“I will.” He rocked back on his heels, shocked by the impact of her gaze. Quick, gentle and timid, but his heart opened wider.
She was shy, he realized, which was different from not being interested in him. Her chin went back down, and she swept away like a waltz without music, like a song only he could hear.
Chapter Two
Ruby stared at the marble floor beneath her, where the snow melting from her shoes had left a puddle. A stern housekeeper in a black dress and crisp apron had taken her mittens, coat and hat and left her clutching her reticule by the strings and staring in wonder at her surroundings. The columns rising up to the high ceiling were marble, too, she suspected. Ornate, golden-framed paintings marched along the walls, which were wainscoted and coved and decorated with a craftsmanship she’d never seen before. She felt very plain in her best wool dress, which was new to her, being handed down from her older cousin. Very plain, indeed.
“Lucia tells me you are quite early.” A tall, lovely woman came into sight. Her sapphire-blue dress of the latest fashion rustled pleasantly as she drew near. “With this storm, I expected everyone to be a bit behind.”
“My pa has a gift for judging the weather, and he thought a storm might be coming, so I left home early.” Ruby grasped her reticule strings more tightly, wondering what she should do. Did she stand? Did she remain seated? What about the puddle beneath her shoes?
“Over an entire hour early.” Mrs. Davis smiled, and there was a hint of Lorenzo in the friendly upturned corners. She had warm eyes, too, although they were dark as her hair, which was coiled and coiffed in a beautiful sweeping-up knot. “Why don’t you come with me now, since everyone else is late? We can talk. Would you like some tea? You look as if you could use some warming up.”
“Yes, ma’am.” She stood, feeling the squish of her soles in the wetness. “But first, should I borrow something? The snow stuck in my shoe treads melted. I don’t want to make a mess.”
“Lucia will see to it. Don’t worry, dear. Come along.” Mrs. Davis gestured gently with one elegant hand. Diamonds sparkled and gold gleamed in the lamplight. “Come into the parlor.”
“Thank you.” Her interview was now? That couldn’t be good. She wasn’t prepared. She hadn’t recovered from being with Lorenzo. Her mind remained scrambled and his handsome face was all she could think of—the strong line of his shoulders, the capable way he held the reins and his kindness to her over the button disaster.
Pay attention, Ruby. She set out after Mrs. Davis. Squeak, went her right shoe. Creak, went her left. Oh, no. She stopped in her tracks but the woman ahead of her continued on and disappeared around a corner. She had to follow. Squeak, creak. Squeak, creak. She hesitated at a wide archway leading into the finest room she’d ever seen.
“Come sit across from me,” Mrs. Davis invited kindly, near to a hearth where a warm fire roared. “I hear you know my dear friend’s daughter.”
“Scarlet.” Squeak, creak. She was thankful when she reached the fringed edges of a finely woven rug. Her wet shoes were much quieter as she padded around a beautiful sofa. Squish, squish. She hesitated. Mrs. Davis was busy pouring tea from an exquisite china pot. The matching cups looked too fragile to actually drink from.
“I hear you girls went to school together.”
“Yes, although Scarlet graduated last May.” She knew the question would come sooner or later, so she might as well speak of it up front. “I haven’t graduated. I wasn’t ready.”
“Yes, I heard you did not have the chance for formal schooling before you moved to our town.” Mrs. Davis eased onto one sofa and gestured to the one across from her. “Do you like sugar, dear?”
“Please.” Her skirts were still damp from the snow, so she eased gingerly onto the edge of the cushion. She had to set her reticule down and stop her hands from shaking as she reached for the tea handed to her. Clink, clink. The cup rattled against the saucer. She didn’t know if she was still shaky with nerves over her encounter with Lorenzo or over her interview with his mother.
A little help please, Lord. She thought of her pa, who was such a good father. She thought of her brother, who worked so hard to send money home. For them.
“You must know my Lorenzo.” Mrs. Davis stirred sugar into the second cup. “You two are about the same age.”
“Yes, although we were not in the same crowd at school.” She didn’t know how to say the first time she’d ever spoken to the handsome young man had been today. He’d been terribly gallant, just as she’d always known he would be. He treated everyone that way.
She knew better than to read anything into it.
“Tell me what kind of kitchen experience you have.” The older woman settled against the cushions, ready to listen.
“None.” Already she could see failure descending. She took a small sip of the hot tea and it strengthened her. “I’ve never held a job before, but I am a hard worker. I’ve cooked and cleaned for my pa and my brother since I was small.”
“And your mother?”
“She passed away when I was born.” She tried to keep the wistfulness out of her voice, the wish for a mother she’d never known.
“And your father never remarried, even with young children?” Concern, not censure, pinched in the corners of the lovely woman’s dark eyes.
“No. He said his love for Ma was too great. I don’t think he’s ever stopped loving her.” Ruby shrugged. Did she turn the conversation back to her kitchen skills? She wasn’t sure exactly what a kitchen maid was required to do.
“The same thing happened to my father when I was born.” Mrs. Davis looked sad for a moment. She was striking and exotic, with her olive complexion and dark brown, almost-black eyes. Ruby thought she’d never seen anyone more beautiful. The older woman set her cup on her saucer with a tiny clink. “He raised me the best he could. In our home there were maids to do the work and a nanny to help, but nothing can replace the hole left behind when someone is lost. You prepare meals, then?”
“Yes.” Her anxiety ebbed. She’d seen the great lady in town and, of course, at church, and Mrs. Davis had always seemed so regal and distant. Ruby hadn’t expected to feel welcome in her presence. Hopeful, she found herself smiling. “I’m not sure what you are looking for, but I know how to clean, I know how to do what I’m told, and I follow directions very well.”
“That’s exactly what Scarlet told me.” Mrs. Davis smiled. “Whomever I hire will be expected to assist the cook, to help do all the cleaning of the pots and pans and the entire kitchen. Do you know how to serve?”
“No.” She wilted. “I’ve never done anything as fancy as that.”
“I see.” Mrs. Davis paused a moment, studying her carefully from head to toe. It was an assessing look and not an unkind one, but Ruby felt every inch of the inspection.
What did the lady see? The gap in her shoe buttons? The made-over, handed-down dress?
“What about your schooling?” The older lady broke the silence.
Ruby hung her head. She tried not to, but her chin bobbed downward of its own accord. “I am still attending this year. I had hoped to catch up and be able to graduate in the spring, but my home circumstances have changed.”
“And you need to work,” Mrs. Davis said with understanding.
“Yes.” She was not the best candidate for the job. She was probably not the type of young woman right for the position. It hurt, and she tried not to let it show. A blur of color caught the corner of her eye. She turned just an inch to see beyond the wide windows. Outside, a man made his way through the thick curtains of snow, a familiar man.
Lorenzo.
Don’t look, Ruby. But did her eyes obey?
Not a chance.
He lifted a leather-gloved hand in a brief wave, and the snap of connection roared through her like the crackling and cozy heat from the fireplace. Hard not to remember his kind advice to her.
“I am very reliable, Mrs. Davis.” She was content with who she was, and she let the fine lady see it. “I have good values, I know the importance of keeping promises, and I will do my best never to let you down. If you hire me, I will arrive early, I will stay late, and I will work harder than anyone else. I would never leave you in a lurch by not showing up when expected.”
“That’s nice to hear, dear.” Mrs. Davis smiled fully, and it was Lorenzo’s smile she saw, honest and good-hearted and kind. “Now, tell me a little more about your background.”
He’d timed it perfectly, he thought, grateful as he seized Poncho’s reins, thanked the horse for standing so long in his traces and gave the leather lines a snap. His heart twisted hard at the sight of Ruby slipping out of the front door and into the snow. Was he in love with her? He feared love was too small a word.
He loved a woman who hardly knew he existed. He’d pined after her whenever he’d seen her in town and long before that, during their final year of school together. Not once had she ever looked his way. Until today. She’d accepted a ride from him, she’d smiled at him, she’d given him the faintest ghost of a hope.
Time to put his heart on the line and see if the lady rejected him or if he had a chance with her.
That was one chance he wanted more than anything on this earth. The marrow of his bones ached with it, the depth of his soul longed for it. He snapped the reins, sending Poncho out of the shelter of the barn and into the fierce beat of snow and wind. But did he feel the cold? Not a bit. Not when he kept Ruby in sight, slim, petite, as sweet as those snowflakes falling.
“C’mon, Poncho,” he urged. “Don’t lose her.”
She walked at a good clip, bent into the wind. Her blue dress flashed beneath the hem of her coat and twisted around her ankles, trying to hamper her. But she kept on going without looking back. He saw nothing more of her as the gusts shifted, stealing her from his sight. The storm couldn’t stop the longing in his soul to see her again.
This was his chance to be with her. To try to get past her shyness and see if she could like him. His stomach knotted up with nerves as he snapped Poncho’s reins, urging him to hurry, although he could barely see his horse’s rump in the whiteout conditions. Surely Ruby couldn’t have gotten far.
Poncho seemed to understand the importance of the mission, for the mighty gelding pushed into the storm, parting the thickly falling snow. He walked right up to Ruby and stopped of his own accord. Lorenzo grinned. It was nice having his horse’s support.
“Poncho? Is that you?” Ruby’s whimsical alto drifted to him through the storm. He could see the faint outline of her, already flocked white. “It is you. So that means…” She hesitated. “Lorenzo? What are you doing out in this weather again?”
Her words may be muffled from the wind and snow, but they carried a note of surprise. As if she truly had no idea what he was up to.
“I have an errand, which will take me by your place.” He pulled aside the buffalo robe he’d taken from the tack room. “Would you like a ride?”
“Well…” She wavered, considering.
“It will be an awfully difficult walk with this drifting snow.” He’d tried over and over to stop his feelings for Ruby. An impossible endeavor. He braced himself for her refusal and tried one more time. “You may as well let Poncho do the hard work.”
She edged closer, debating, her bottom lip caught beneath her front teeth.
“I appreciate Poncho’s offer.” The hint of a smile tucked in the corners of her mouth deepened. “I suppose his feelings would be hurt if I turned him
down?”
“Very. He’s the one who insisted on stopping. Apparently he’s taken a shine to you.”
“Well, I think he’s a very nice horse. He’s as gentlemanly as my Solomon.” She disappeared, perhaps believing it was the horse who cared for her and not the driver. Although he could no longer see her, the faint murmur of her voice as she spoke with the gelding carried on the wind. Just a syllable and a scrap of a sentence, and then she reappeared at his side. “Poncho talked me into accepting.”
“He can be persuasive.” Lorenzo held out his hand to help her settle onto the seat beside him. Her hand felt small against his own, and the bolt of awareness that rushed through him went straight to his soul. He wasn’t used to feeling anything this strongly. “Besides, a storm like this can turn into a blizzard, something you don’t want to be out walking in.”
“It would be no less dangerous to a horse and sleigh.” She settled against the cushioned seat back. “I wonder why you would venture out. Surely there isn’t much ranching work this time of year?”
“I never said it was ranch work.” He tucked the buffalo robe around her, leaning close enough to catch the scent of honeysuckle. The vulnerable places within him tugged, defenseless against her nearness. He didn’t know why his heart moved so fast, determined to pull him along. He could not stop it as he gathered the reins, sending Poncho forward.
“In my worry over my shoe and my interview, I forgot to ask you. I heard your father was injured a while back. How is he?”
“He’s still recovering.” Lorenzo did his best not to let his anger take hold at the outlaws who had taken up residence west of town last summer and stolen a hundred head of cattle in a gun battle. “My father wasn’t as fortunate as the others the outlaw gang shot. He was hit in the leg bone and the back. He’s still struggling to walk with a cane.”
“I’m so sorry.” Sympathy polished her, making her inner beauty shine. Her outer beauty became breathtaking, so compelling he could not look away. Soft platinum locks breezed against the curving slope of her cheeks and the dainty cut of her jaw. “I noticed he wasn’t coming to church, but I didn’t know he was still struggling with his injuries. I don’t get to town much.”