by Jillian Hart
“I appreciate it.” He stomped the snow off his boots before he followed her inside. He shouldered the door shut and hunkered down on the hearth, stirring the banked coals before she could finish lighting the closest lamp. Taking over as if he had the right. Just like a man.
She shook out the match and laid it carefully in the tray. Maybe it was simply the ghosted memory of Ham she saw, of how he’d hitch down before the hearth and take over the tending of the fire, criticizing her all the while. Trying to bait her into arguing with him so he could have the excuse to fight with her.
Joshua was opposite to Ham in everything. But it gave the back of her neck an odd tingle. She left him to rebuild the fire as she hurried through the shadowy kitchen and saw a reflection in the uncovered window. Black fiendish eyes stared back at her for half of a second and a gasp strangled in her throat. She didn’t know if she made any sound at all, but Joshua was there, his pistol cocked and aiming at the void of glass.
The image was gone. “It was nothing. A wolf.”
“Not the Hamiltons?”
“No.”
“You sure? How about the sheriff?”
“No, no.” She gripped the back of the closest chair. “I know it’s ridiculous. The wolves have been here every night. I don’t know why they startled me tonight.”
“Oh, maybe because you know there might be trouble.” He lowered his weapon, lowered the hammer and holstered it. “The wolves are still prowling?”
“I can handle it.” He’d done enough. More than enough. And there was no mistaking him for Ham’s ghost or memory as Joshua Gable pulled out the chair, tugged her by the wrists and guided her into the cushioned seat. “You’ve had quite a night. I’ll get you some tea for a change.”
“What? Do you even know how to steep tea?”
“You’ve met my granny. Do you think she’d put up with useless grandsons?” He snatched the match tin and knelt to light the stove. “You did real good tonight. Most women would have never gotten their feet cold.”
“Those were my horses. Joshua, I am so grateful to have them back. Those men…those boys, that’s what they are, I’d like to make them pay if I could. They had no right. Animals depend on us for their care. Thor and Loki didn’t deserve to go hungry. Or be out in these temperatures.”
“Most women would have offered to pay to get their horses back. That’s what I meant. Or, well, offer more.”
“And you are mentioning that because…?”
“Don’t worry, I’m not hinting I expect more than a polite word of thanks.” He knelt, feeling his face heat even as ice crackled on the stove’s handle. “I meant it’s my experience that most women these days like to stay indoors at leisure and let the men do all the dirty, hard work.”
“Leisure? That’s how I spend my days. After I order about my house servant, I like to nap in the parlor.”
“Some women. I guess that’s one thing I like about you.”
“You like me?” she blurted, as if that surprised her.
“Yeah, I like you.” Liar, his conscience upbraided him. But what good would come from telling the truth? He had his life. He had his duty to his family, and as the oldest son, he’d had to take his father’s place when Pa died. And he could not walk away because he wanted. Want was too weak a word. His desire for her went beyond desire, beyond lust, beyond any bond of affection he’d known before.
Overwhelmed, he cleared the aching emotion from his throat and lit the fire. Kindling sparked and snapped with a merry brightness and cadence that belied everything he was feeling. He didn’t feel cheerful. He didn’t feel hopeful.
He felt that everything within him was breaking. All his defenses. All his beliefs. All his resolve. And he felt far too exposed, as if he’d taken off every strip of clothing and stood naked in the unforgiving night. Knowing he’d freeze to death and knowing there was nothing he could do.
“What’s not to like about you, pretty lady?”
“I guess I never wondered how you felt about me.” Because I’m too busy trying to rationalize how I feel about you. She unwound her muffler the rest of the way and hung it over the nearest chair back. “I mean, you’re so busy being a knight errant, a defender of widows and a Robin Hood of horse thieves, I know you must not have the time.”
“How much time does a thought take?” He hiked off his hat and tossed it across the room. His Stetson hooked a peg on the coat tree and swung into place. “I can do two things at once. Hang up my hat. Think nice things about one of the few women I actually respect. I couldn’t believe how you were tonight. As calm as a seasoned lawman. It was cold and it was uncomfortable and climbing up that hill was hard work, and you didn’t complain once. You even knew how to use snowshoes.”
“It’s how I get to the barn to do my chores in the winter.”
“Your chores?” He glanced around the cabin, clean and tidy and, now, cozy. It was a real nice little place with womanly touches to soften the rust wood walls. Did she have barn work, too?
“I took care of the animals.” She said it with serenity, as if there was nothing wrong about that or unusual. “What? Why are you shaking your head?”
“Didn’t Ham do the barn work? And in winter?” He yanked the damper wide a little too roughly. Hell, he couldn’t help it. What kind of man left the outside work to a lady? It was hard physical labor, not to mention hotter than blazes in summer and, in winter, the temperature could freeze the mercury. That was no way for a man to treat his wife. “My mother never stepped foot inside the stable, unless it was to wait for her team, which one of us was already hitchin’ up for her.”
“From what I’ve heard about your family, your mother is a proper lady. A bank owner’s wife.”
“Ranching was Pa’s hobby. He loved it. He inherited the bank, so he was obligated to do his best by his father. Duty. The state of the oldest son.”
“You didn’t want to run your family’s ranch?”
“Nope. I wanted to run the bank, but Pa’s little brother does that. So I have the ranch.” And if he had regrets about that, what good did it do him to give them a moment of time? None. Some things were a given and no force on earth was going to change them. He was in charge of his family’s extensive land and livestock holdings and he’d do his damnedest. “How about you? You’re gonna be the next laundry lady in Bluebonnet County. That can’t be what you always figured you’d wind up bein’.”
“No one’s more surprised than I am.”
“Betsy’s had good luck with it. She’s made a decent living. It’s hard work, though.”
“I’m not afraid of hard work. It’s what I know.”
Yeah, if she was used to doing barn work. Joshua didn’t know if it was rage or sympathy he felt, but it raged within him like a blizzard’s leading wind. Howling through him until he felt like crushing steel with his bare hands. “You worried about driving so far alone?”
“Betsy said she’s had no real problems. A bear once, she said, when she was delivering up north in the mountains, but I won’t have to worry about that.”
Joshua’s face darkened. “No. That’s the bastard she’s marrying.”
“Betsy mentioned you didn’t like him.”
“Like him? I hate him. He’s marrying her to take advantage of her and she doesn’t see it.” True agony creased his features as he turned away. He said nothing more as he spotted the teakettle and lifted it. Water sloshed inside so he set it on the stove and crossed to the front room where the fire had devoured the kindling.
Claire unbuttoned her coat, trying to make sense of the ax blade of pain that wedged deep into her heart. It wasn’t her pain. It wasn’t her agony. But she hurt just as fiercely as the man kneeling at her hearth. Back straight, shoulders set, head bowed. With his reverent posture, it was strange to think of this man vulnerable and hurting. “I have worried about Betsy, too. She’s making a mistake,” Claire said.
“Hell, yes. Nobody seems to see it. Granny and I, we’ve tried to make her see. M
ama’s indulgent, she always lets Bets have her way. But marriage once done is until death. It’s a mistake that cannot be made right. I don’t want her hurt. I don’t want her heart broken when she realizes this man who has no job is hoping to get his hands on her inheritance.”
“I suppose your family’s land is very valuable. That is one advantage to being relatively, well, poorer than most. No one will marry me for my inheritance. Although, my former in-laws are convinced you’re interested in my quarter section of grazing land.”
“A rancher is always looking to increase his holdings, but any man who would want your land more than you is someone who doesn’t deserve you.”
She twisted onto her feet because she’d forgotten to put on the potatoes, spinning toward the stove and out of his sight. But the potatoes weren’t why she had retreated from his sight. She didn’t want him to know how much his words had meant.
Why was it when she didn’t believe she could think more of this man, he went and did something more, something that made her love him even more? When she didn’t want to love him at all?
She could hear him in the front room. The clang of the poker, the thud of wood in the bin, the stir of ashes and the creak of the armchair. It never occurred to her that a man would know anything about lost dreams. Joshua had wanted to work in the town bank?
Countless times she’d been inside the fashionable brick-and-stone building, of course. She’d never given much thought to who owned it, and she didn’t know Joshua’s uncle had inherited it. Nor would she have ever guessed that Joshua, a man as suited to the rugged high country as the jutting rise of the Rockies to the west, would want to work behind a desk. Managing people and money with the same stoic commitment that he ran his brothers, his ranch and handled his livestock.
Was he happy? she wondered, already knowing the answer as she tugged open the cellar door. She could feel that sadness, too, within him, as black as the void of night sky where no stars shone. He was not happy with the charted course his life had taken. As she herself had not been.
The girl she’d once been—so full of dreams and belief, so certain that love could conquer all—seemed to stand beside her in the dark cellar. This was part of being an adult, of realizing that dreams were only fancies and love an invention of poets.
His footsteps made the floorboards creak overhead, and she filled her pockets and rose out of the cloistered cellar. The rattle of the teapot greeted her. Joshua stood at her stove setting the cozy on the teapot.
“The potatoes.” He grabbed the hot pad and opened the stove. “I’ll put them in. The coals look hot enough. Do you want me to stay awhile, to keep an eye on things?”
“Taking care of others is a habit with you, isn’t it?”
“A bad habit. One I usually only burden family members with. But for some reason I seem to be very protective of you.”
The man took her breath away, towering over her, pressing close, his wide, dependable chest like a shield against the heartaches of the world. Joshua had the power to melt away the world’s troubles. Her troubles. Like a knight of old, he conquered foes, righted wrongs and stood a noble man when the battle was done.
She strummed with want for him. Want for his comfort. For his tenderness. For the heat of his kiss. She knew the reality of men. Of marriage. But she longed for the dream.
As if he felt the same yearning, his fingertips grazed her chin, tipping her face toward his. A perfect angle for kissing. Her gaze fastened onto his as if a physical force pinned her there, mesmerized by how deeply she could see inside him. Past the granite features and rugged shields around his heart to the real man within.
Her soul sighed; it was as if she’d taken her very first breath, newly born as he put his mouth over hers, hovering, and his free hand fitting against her jawbone in a slow, tender slide. His caress skidded across her sensitized nerve endings, crackling like dry winter air, and she felt the snap and sting of it deep within her. A sensual and emotional jolt that intensified.
It was as if their souls met.
This is a dream. Claire didn’t close her eyes as Joshua stood over her, his chiseled lips parted. Her mouth softened, remembering the velvet brush of his earlier kisses. Pleasant and thrilling and nice all at once, the way a man’s kiss should be. The way she’d always wanted to be kissed.
When his lips fit to hers, she curled her fingers in the front of his jacket and held on. This time was different. She could see his eyes haze over and she wondered if he felt as if he were dreaming, too. The heated spice of his kiss, the warm caress of his lips to hers, the gentle suction became more than the chaste romantic kiss she expected.
More than anything she’d ever imagined.
His fingertips held her firm, not that she wanted to move away or do one single thing that would risk this moment in time. When they breathed the same air and their hearts beat in synchrony. When the sweet thrill of his kiss spilled like wine through her limbs.
This has to be a dream, she rationalized, because nothing real could be this wonderful. It was impossible that a man’s kiss could make her buoyant, as if she were standing on a rising cloud. Higher and higher she seemed to fly, but she was not afraid. She boldly pressed against the hard male length of his body and held on tight.
It was just a kiss, and yet…joy burst inside her, spilling through every part of her being. The flare of happiness that blasted to life inside her was bright enough to dim the stars from the winter sky. Dazzling enough to make her forget—for one moment only—that she didn’t believe in true love. That she’d stopped wishing.
His kiss was thrilling enough for her to see, even a small glimpse, of what happiness with him could be.
Chapter Sixteen
A loud blast ripped through the stillness. Joshua pulled his mouth from Claire’s, too stupefied from the effects of her kiss to make sense of anything else.
It sounded like someone had laid a half-dozen sticks of dynamite against the outside wall of the front room and lit them. The blast rolled through the cabin like a crashing wave, shaking the walls and window glass, vibrating through the floorboards. Crystal lamps clattered and the hanging pots in the kitchen bonged as they rocked.
“What in hell blazes is that?” If it was a blast caused by those damn Hamiltons, he’d make them pay and to hell with spending a few nights in jail for assault, because he’d just been forced away from the best kiss of his life. She’d left him the consistency of melted butter on a red-hot stove. He had a hard time making his muscles obey him, and all because of a kiss.
Because of Claire’s amazing kiss. He shook his head. He had to forget about that kiss. He had to shove aside the fog-thick haze obscuring clear, rational thought. The blast struck again, rumbling the timbers beneath his feet.
Was it the Hamiltons? Rage seared through him as he headed to the door. He felt nothing but the certainty with which he was going to make it clear that they were to leave this woman alone. And then it struck him that it wasn’t a blast, and it wasn’t someone outside.
“Will you need help? I’ve got my forty-five loaded and ready.”
There was no mistaking the lilt of humor in her words. Joshua winced. “Nah, I’m just on edge. Better to be safe than sorry.”
Good thing he was facing away from her so she couldn’t see his face heat. Hell, was he really on the way to wrestle down a wind gust? Sure, it was a damned hard wind, but, jeez, what in hellfire was wrong with him?
“The wind comes down from the Rockies and gains speed as it blows down the slopes. By the time it hits here, it can hit like a speeding train. This isn’t bad.”
“How often does this happen? I’ve been out here plenty of times, and in a blizzard. I’ve never felt this. Are you sure it’s the wind?”
“Positive. It’s a windstorm. If we’re lucky, it won’t get much worse. Let me put the potatoes in…the potatoes that are still in my pocket.” She dug into her pockets and there they were, two brown egg-shaped lumps, which she shoved into the hot coals.
“I’ll lend you a warming iron, too. I’m going to worry about you all night now.”
“You’d worry about me?”
“Someone has to.” She stayed where she was, bathed in the orange glow of the fire. “At least I won’t worry about the Hamiltons tonight. They probably won’t come out in this cold.”
“You like silver linings, don’t you?”
“I’ve noticed you’re not the optimistic type.”
“I’m a practical man. I don’t have the luxury to be anything else.”
“You don’t kiss like a practical man.”
You kiss like a fantasy. How did a man go on from knowing that? He couldn’t. As much as he wanted the fantasy, he knew it wasn’t real. So he forced a retreat into the kitchen, where he poured a cup of tea for her. He didn’t bother to do one for him, as cold as he still was. He had to get out of there before he did something they would both regret. He wanted more than a kiss.
He wanted everything.
Some things a man couldn’t have no matter how much he longed for them. No matter what he would give to be able to lose himself in her and just be.
As if she were intending to make the agony worse, she padded after him, the whisper-soft brush of her gait on the floorboards behind him. He swore he could feel the slightest vibration of her step with the same force as the winds. It was her voice that curled around his soul and hung on.
“I’m sorry. I never should have said that about your kiss. You don’t have to run off. I’m not expecting…anything.”
“If I don’t leave now, you will be.”
“What does that mean…” And she fell silent as realization struck.
He poured her tea with quick jerky movements and wished. He wished everything was different. Longing filled him with a blinding wave, a breath-stealing cascade of a riptide that dragged him under.
What kind of sense did that make? He didn’t trust women and he didn’t believe in love. He knew marriage was a miserable trap most men bemoaned the rest of their livelong days.
And yet to have the chance to love this woman, who gazed at him with a pure, guileless understanding in her eyes, whose soul felt wedged, in part, inside his. He broke away before he was completely, utterly lost.