by Jillian Hart
"How did you get to Montana?" he asked, although how he could talk with such a clenched tight jaw was anyone's guess.
"After our grandparents passed away, we were supposed to go live with a cousin near the Dakota border, on the Montana Territory side. But he wanted nothing to do with us and handed us over to the nearest orphanage." She bowed her head, blaming her tearing eyes on the cold wind against her face. She would never forget that hopeless feeling, as if the world would never be right again. Or the unwanted, scary uncertainty of stepping foot through the front door of the Holbrook Children's Home for the first time. "At least we were together and we stayed together."
"How old were you?" He turned toward her, his granite face softer somehow, the bunched muscles gone along his jaw. Shades of caring darkened his hazel eyes.
That caring gripped her, wrapped tight around her heart. She blinked away her tears. "Fourteen."
"That had to be hard." His gaze roamed over her face, as if trying to see more of her, to see deeper. "No wonder you want to get married so badly. You want the home you kept losing over and over as a child."
"Something like that." She was the one who looked away, unable to take the intensity any more. Holding back her heart, trying not to let herself care for him any more than she already did made her chest ache, as if it was about to explode. "I do want that stability and security, of loving someone and being loved. I think I'm starting to accept it might not happen for me."
"Why not? You had a handful of suitors at the door today. Maybe all you need to do is live in a larger town. You're gorgeous. You must know that." He turned his attention to the road, his big hands gripping the reins easily, the tension back in his jaw.
"That's a word I've never heard from anyone other than my sisters." She tried to shield her heart, because his compliment meant a lot to her. She'd heard a lot of comments about her looks the past few years. Being a spinster in a tiny town made other people feel sorry for her. It affected her. A lot.
"Last spring, I went into the mercantile to pick up more soap for my boss." She bowed her head because even the memory still wrung out her heart. "I happened to overhear two farmers talking about me. One man who'd come calling on my youngest sister Dee, who was seventeen at the time, had ended up marrying a friend of Dee's. He said to his friend, 'Too bad that Maggie Carpenter girl is starting to show her age.' Well, if that wasn't hurtful enough, I tiptoed back into the aisle but not in time to keep from hearing his friend— who was a new widower, by the way —reply. He said, 'The only thing Maggie has going for her is that she's a hard worker. That's what a farmer wants in a wife.'"
"What an idiot," Miles interrupted, anger booming in every word. "I hope you didn't believe that."
"It's nothing that I hadn't heard before." She tried to wave off his concern, pain stark in her expressive eyes. "Then the store owner, who hadn't seen me, said something worse. 'She's turning into a dried up spinster, these days. A man would be foolish to waste his time on her.' It was just the final straw, I think, to hear those men talking about me as if I meant so little. He went on to say that it was a hard call, because he had seven children already and needed a hard-worker in a wife, but if he married me then he'd be stuck with me. He figured I was going to turn out like my older sister who no one wanted, used up before my time. In ten years, I'd be gray and wrinkled, so he wanted to go with someone younger, someone who could get his blood boiling."
Her head bobbed lower, as if she were humiliated and ashamed. As if she'd heard one too many times she couldn't be loved for who she was. "That's when I realized it was never going to happen for me unless I did something."
"So you answered an advertisement?" he asked, understanding her more now.
"Yes. Chester wasn't wrong. I was desperate, but more than that, I was starry-eyed. I really thought I'd finally have what I'd always wanted, but had always passed me by."
"You're a better person than I am." The words ground out of him as he reined Big Jack around another troublesome looking drift. "I would have set those two idiots straight."
"Like I said, it's a very tiny town. If I'd said anything, the gossip would have flown through town. Everyone would have heard about it. Then I would have been seen even more as just like Emma, which would have proved the farmers' point." She gave a helpless shrug.
"You don't seem too old, set in your ways and used up to me." Probably because he'd seen her naked, he thought. He gritted his teeth, trying to keep the image buried, but it popped up in bold, full color, dominating his brain.
Hmm. Maybe the only way to keep from remembering her naked was to drink more Scotch. He might be smart to get three bottles instead of two.
"Thanks, Miles." She turned toward him, so close her shoulder pressed against his arm and sent heat rolling through his blood, scorching him. She searched his gaze, vulnerable and honest. "I really needed to hear that, even if you're lying."
"I'm not lying." He'd never spoken words more truthful. There that image went, taking over his mind again, forcing out everything except the shine of candlelight on her skin, the fullness of her bare breasts, the way his hands had wanted to reach out, craving to know how it would feel to touch and grasp, to stroke and caress. He wanted to feel her long, lean legs wrapped around him, the cradle of her hips as he— Stop! He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing the fantasy out of his thoughts as the sleigh bounced along. Imagining her naked was one thing, but mounting her was quite another—
"Miles!" Her hand gripped his arm. "Miles! Look out."
His eyes flew open, but it was too late. Big Jack neighed in frightened protest as he charged straight up the side of a very tall, very wide snowdrift. The gelding was only doing as he'd been told, but he wasn't happy about it. The snow crunched loudly beneath his hooves, a sign of what was to come. Miles reined to the right, but the snow at the crest of the wave was unstable and gave. Big Jack sank all the way down past his knees, stuck.
And so were they.
"Oh, no. Poor Jack." Truly distressed, worry for the horse puckered up her adorable mouth. "What can we do to help him?"
"I'll get out the shovel." He'd thrown one in the back just in case, although this hadn't been the kind of trouble he'd anticipated. A smart man would have stopped the horse first, then got out and shoveled a path through the drift that blocked the road. But no, he wasn't smart enough for that because he had sex on the brain. Sex with Maggie.
"What can I do to help?" she asked anxiously, blissfully unaware of his daydreams.
"Nothing," he growled out, both embarrassed and angry at himself. He was a better driver than this. He was a better man.
"I thought for sure you were going to stop," she said as he climbed out from beneath the warm robes. "You were looking right at it and I started thinking, oh, he knows what to do, don't go giving him advice, but then you didn't stop. It was almost as if you didn't see it at all."
"True, I didn't," he said, clipped, abrupt, not wanting to elaborate. He turned on his heel, sinking into the snow up to his ankle as he went, relieved to put some distance between them. He did not want to have to admit she was right. He should have been watching where he was going. True. But how could he explain he'd been imagining her naked and laid out before him, ready to take him to the hilt?
Hell, Miles, you've got to stop imagining that. He was a writer, he had a good imagination. Too good of one. Frowning, he grabbed the shovel in back, stopped to give Big Jack an apology, and started digging. His swollen hand protested, but he paid it no heed. Maybe hard physical labor would keep his mind off naked Maggie. Although he doubted it.
The snow was hard-packed from last night's high winds and didn't want to budge. He put muscle into it, heaving a shovelful of the frozen stuff off to the side and digging in again. At least the crest of the drift hid Maggie from his sight. He was a man of steel-will. He'd never had this much of a problem staying in control with Bethleigh—not that she would have let him touch her before the wedding. Oh no, but then thoughts of her hadn't tor
tured him, not at all.
"Miles?" Maggie's melodic, sweet voice penetrated his thoughts, brushing over him like a touch. His body reacted with a kick of heat. His mind zipped right back to her standing up in her bath, water on her skin. She had to know she was teasing him as she stood there on the crest of the drift with one hand on her hip and bundled up so well against the cold that only her sparkling blue eyes showed. "Do you need help? Is there something I can do?"
"Yeah. Get back in the sleigh." He turned away so he couldn't see her, but that didn't help. He knew she was there as he tossed another shovelful of snow aside, watching him, looking more amazing than ever.
"I saw a perfect tree," she explained, her voice tempting him to turn around, maybe come a little closer.
"Yeah? So what. I see a lot of trees." He wisely kept his gaze on his work. In went the shovel, scooping up the glittering snow. One toss, and it went flying out of the way. His muscles burned but he pushed harder, went faster.
"I mean for a Christmas tree." She sounded amused, a hint of a tinkling laugh, the kind of fun, throaty sound a woman made in a man's bed.
Miles felt his groin kick, felt his blood react. What was wrong with him? He frowned. He was trying to stop thinking about her and his bed.
But unaware of it, she went right on talking. "I noticed there aren't any decorations in your house. Not a single one. And tomorrow is Christmas Eve."
"I don't celebrate Christmas. I'm not in the mood." He added some growl to the words to keep her from arguing, to make it clear he was the man and he was in charge. Celebrating Christmas would only remind him of what he didn't have—a wife of his own. That last year at this time, he'd been looking forward to his life, looking forward to love. How he'd changed since, huh? "If Pops and my father want Christmas, they can build their own house."
"Now, see, you wouldn't last long at my home." She ambled closer, her dress swirling in the wind. She pulled her scarf down to her chin, exposing a gentle smile, her heart-shaped face aglow. "My sisters know how to do Christmas. Even Emma, who is the most serious of the bunch. Abby and I would go out and find a tree every year. Since it was only the two of us and no horse to drag the tree back, it had to be a small tree. But we didn't mind, mostly because we lived in a really small shanty. This was my last year to cut a tree with Abby. We went out together last week after work. It was both happy and sad, because we knew things would be changing with me leaving and Callie already married. But maybe this time next year all five of us will be married. I'm not giving up hope for Emma, even if she's mostly unmarriageable."
"I don't like Christmas trees." He felt it important to say because he could see where this was headed. He didn't want to do anything that would make him feel closer to her. He added a disgruntled tone, so she wouldn't even think about asking. "Trees cause too much of a mess, they're too much trouble and you just throw them out a week after Christmas."
Maggie smiled sweetly, not derailed in the slightest. "So we decorated the little tree like we always did. We've made handmade ornaments through the years, adding some new ones every year. We brought them out and fussed over where to put them while we sang Christmas carols, just like we did when we were little girls and our parents were still alive."
"Our servants put up the tree and decorated it when I was a boy." He was out of breath from the hard work and leaned on the shovel for a moment. "This will go a lot faster if you stay quiet and go back to the sleigh."
"I'm beginning to see what your problem is." She tilted her head to one side, looking more adorable than ever.
"I don't have a problem," he informed her firmly. He grabbed the shovel and bent back to digging. He'd made a lot of progress but the faster he got Big Jack out of the snow drift, the sooner they could get her to the depot and this ordeal would be over.
"Miles, you have a terribly huge problem. Enormous." She stopped in front of him, standing on the path he'd cleared for the gelding. She gazed up at him, peering at him through her thick, curly lashes. "You have no Christmas spirit. Perhaps no discernable good spirit of any kind at all."
"That's the way I want it." He tried to frown at her but failed. All he could manage was a sort of half-frown, half-grin because he was charmed by her. Very. It was all he could do not to reach out and run a fingertip along the porcelain line of her jaw, to trace the lush curve of her lips, wondering if they were as soft and as enchanting as they looked. "I had some good spirit once, but I didn't like it."
"I noticed you spent part of the morning closed up in your den. Your father told me you were working away." She peered at him, narrowing her eyes, as if she didn't approve. "In fact, he told me that's all you ever do. You know what they say about men who are all work and no play?"
"I like being dull. It suits me." He grinned. "It keeps the women away."
"Not this time."
"You're a temporary problem. You'll be gone as soon as the train comes." He drove the shovel into the snow, getting back to the task at hand. "Tell me I'm wrong."
"Oh, I will be leaving, but that's not the point. You are wrong about a lot of things." She moved in closer, so close her skirt hem brushed over the toe of his boot. She laid a hand on his arm. "But don't worry, I can help you."
"With what?" he asked, his breath coming in gasps.
"With your problem." Quick as a whip, she drew her arm back.
He only had enough time to realize she held a snowball cupped in her hand—had she been hiding it the whole time?—before she let it go and it sailed across the small distance, smashing across the span of his chest, breaking on impact. Shards of ice and snow sailed everywhere, hailing across his face.
What the hell? Shock raced through him and he stood there, sputtering, blowing bits of snow off his face. His first reaction was anger. Then he caught sight of the mischievous smile and the way she dipped quickly toward the ground, scooping up another handful of snow.
"Don't even try it," he warned her, moving without thinking. He abandoned the shovel, grabbed a glove full of snow and packed it, feigning sideways and backwards. A moving target was harder to hit. "The last time I threw a snowball I was seventeen. And the victor."
"I'm not intimidated." She squinted at him, lining up her shot and threw. "My grandfather taught me the best tactics. See? It's a hit. Two out of two."
"You just clipped my shoulder. That hardly counts." He planted his feet, relaxed his shoulder for the throw and his snowball went sailing straight for her. She ducked, but not fast enough. It plowed into her hood, knocking it off to expose the knit cap she wore beneath.
"Guess I'm a little rusty," he admitted, scooping up more snow. "But I can fix that."
"I'd like to see you try," she taunted, packing a snowball of her own. With the sunlight glossing her, her cheeks flushed and her laughter rising like a song in the air, she was spellbinding. Enchanting.
"Oh, I'm not just going to try. I'm going to succeed," he promised, breathless, happy. He almost forgot to breathe as she lunged back to keep out of his throw zone, skirts swirling, so full of life and somehow so much a part of him that he forgot who he was. His feet were moving, taking him closer, arm poised for the shot. Wisely she darted behind a nearby tree.
"Taking cover isn't going to save you." He gave a soft bark of laughter, feeling as light as the sun and fully alive. He breathed in the cold wintry air with great pants, making his lungs burn. "Or are you retreating?"
"No, just implementing my strategy," she sang sweetly, slipping behind the trunk of a lodgepole pine. "That's it, come a little closer."
"I'm well-armed," he told her, grabbing another handful of snow and compressing it, one-handed, since he had another snowball in his left hand. "There's no way you're gonna win this."
"Says the man destined to lose." She darted out into the open, peppered him with one snowball after another—she really was good, he had to admit it.
He ducked and dodged, running straight for her, tossed one ball at her shoulder, another at the top of her head. It knock
ed her hat askew and she laughed, raised one hand to catch bits of icy snow from slipping down her neck and he moved in, wrapped his arms around her and held her captive against the tree.
"I've got you," he said, laughter rumbling through him at the merry sparkle in her eyes. His gaze roved down to her mouth, curving into an amazing smile. Her happiness was contagious and he'd caught it completely. It seemed to fill him up as his gaze lingered on her mouth—that kissable, tempting mouth—and his emotions took over. All his defenses were down as he leaned in, slanting his mouth over hers, and hovered there as she gasped, aware of the kiss to come.
Chapter Ten
Maggie's lips felt shivery in anticipation, breathless as she watched Miles's eyes turn completely black, so intense her womb contracted, sending pleasurable little tremors through her entire body. She really should pull away, or at least put up a hand to stop him, but did she? No. Because she wanted his kiss. She wanted to know what it would be like to be wholly kissed—possessed—the way she instinctively knew only Miles could do.
Call her curious, that was why she tipped her head up a little, parted her lips just a bit in preparation. She tried to summon up pieces of information that Callie had given her about kissing, but she couldn't seem to gather her thoughts enough to remember a single thing. Her breath caught as Miles lowered his mouth to hers.
That first instant of contact was hot, firm, melting. Wow, he knew what he was doing. His mouth claimed hers completely. His lips gathered hers up to nibble, suck and then pull back and away. The caress left a soothing but exciting sensation blazing across her lips that made her sigh, that made her want more.
Much more. She reached up to grab him by the arms and haul him back to her when he descended again, pressing another kiss along the bottom curve of her mouth. He nibbled her upper lip ever so gently, dazzling her so much that she hardly realized he'd gathered her in his arm and was pulling her closer. She relaxed against the iron wall of his chest, excitement trilling through her like a song.