Andrew stifled his smile. Though the memory left a bittersweet residue, he didn’t want to remember.
“Am I a bother to you?” Harriet’s question came out of nowhere.
“What?” He sat up straight and looked down at her, surprised.
“It’s just…” her gaze drilled downward, “It’s obvious to see you don’t want me here. You didn’t ever want me here. I—I don’t know what I could do, but I could maybe find something else in town. I just…I don’t want to be in your way.”
Her words were surprisingly direct for such a petite, gentle thing. He frowned, staring out ahead of them and composing his response.
“Let’s get one thing straight,” he said, trying to keep this tone even. “I didn’t know about you until yesterday. I’d hardly say I don’t want you here when I haven’t even had a chance to get used to you being here.” Was he making sense? He hoped so. “I’m likely not what you expected either. Would you prefer to be in town?”
As he said the words, he realized a small part of him hoped she would say no.
“I—I don’t know.”
He let out a breath. What was the right thing to say here? “Look, my Ma is a good, well-meaning woman. I know that she was thinking the best for us both when she brought you out here.” Say it, he thought. Say that you want her to stay. “I know she’d like you to stay around.”
He grimaced. He’d taken the coward’s way out.
“And what about you?”
He felt heat shoot up his neck. She’d called him out. “I think you should stay.”
There, he’d said it though he wouldn’t justify why he thought so. Hopefully she wouldn’t ask.
He could feel her looking at him for a few moments before she said, “Then I’ll stay.”
Harriet walked through the general store. She’d already picked out the fabric that she wanted, going off the hastily scribbled list Mrs. Williams had given her. But her mind wasn’t on her task. It was on what Andrew had said.
He thought she should stay.
What did he mean, exactly? Why did he want her to stay? It had been on the tip of her tongue to ask, but the firm set of his jaw and the determined way he stared out in front of him at nothing—and away from her—made her hesitate. He didn’t want to elaborate.
Calm down, you’ve only just moved here.
The voice of reason in her head always sounded like her mother’s voice. No doubt it was greatly influenced by her as well. And the voice was right. It was enough for now to know that Andrew wanted her to stay, even if his reasons remained to be seen at this point.
The front door opened and she turned to see a handsome man, likely a cowboy by his dress, walk into the store. She turned around, hearing his footsteps halt, then start toward her.
“Howdy, ma’am,” a deep voice boomed behind her.
Turning around, her eyes collided with the man’s. Half of his face was covered in a thick beard, but his eyes shone bright with interest. Interest in her.
She felt her cheeks flush. “Good day,” she said, dipping her head slightly.
“You’re not from around these parts, are you?” His winsome smile shone with confidence.
“Um, no.” She shook her head. What did this man want?
“Would you care to join me at the hotel for a cup of coffee?”
Surprised by his bold invitation, she was stunned into silence for a moment. Had he really asked her to coffee upon first meeting her? He didn’t even know her name. No man had even paid her attention when she worked at the factory. She’d merely slipped into the crowds of women workers, invisible and unwanted.
“I—”
“Thanks for the offer,” Andrew’s voice startled her from her stupor, “But she’s with me, John. Enjoy that coffee though.”
The man’s eyes flicked to Andrew’s behind her. “I didn’t realize she was here with you.”
“Well, she is,” Andrew, said. Harriet watched the two men, her eyes traveling back and forth between them.
After a tense moment John said, “Pardon me.” Then he turned and left.
Andrew watched after him before turning back to her. “He doesn’t have the best reputation.”
She wondered if that were the only reason Andrew had stepped in. If a man who did have a good reputation had come up to her, would he have intervened as well? Maybe she was searching for affection where there was none.
“Are you ready to go?” Andrew was already half way up to the front of the store.
“Yes,” she said, following quickly behind him.
He settled the bill, then helped carry the few items she had chosen. After placing them in the wagon, he helped her back up then pulled himself into the seat as well.
“Unless there was somewhere else you needed to go, I think I have everything I need.”
“I do as well,” she said, catching one more glance at his sharp profile. He was a hard man to read, but something in the way he’d stepped in between her and John made her wonder.
Could it be…could he have affections for her? And if not now, could they possibly develop in the future?
Chapter 5
Andrew rode hard, the cold rain pummeling him and his horse. The visibility was dim, but he thought he was about fifteen minutes from home. Fifteen minutes until a warm fire, dry clothes…and Harriett.
She had been with them for two weeks now, and he was beginning to look forward to seeing her, to sharing new things with her, and anticipating her response. She loved the recipes his mother shared, often commenting on how they were drastically different from what she used to make in England.
The rain pelted his hat and coat with increased velocity. If the temperature dropped it would soon turn to snow. The storm that had been brewing was long overdue, but he hoped it would hold off a few more days. There were still things to finish up with their preparations for winter.
Once inside the haven of the barn, Andrew made quick work of wiping down his horse and feeding him before jogging across the yard to the house. A swell of gusty wind and freezing rain followed him and he rushed inside before the next bout could assault him.
“I thought you might be soaked through.”
He turned from draping his dripping jacket and hat on the pegs by the front door to find Harriet waiting with a cup of hot coffee and a towel.
“Thank you,” he said, accepting the beverage. It warmed him through and he dabbed at his damp face and neck with the towel.
“Are you done for the day?”
He looked down into her upturned face. He still marveled at how short she was in comparison. Her delicate chin tipped up toward him, giving him the perfect view of her vibrant green eyes.
He blinked, trying to remember what she’d said. It had been a question.
“Um. Yes. Done—I’m done for the day.” He stuttered out the answer and took a step back, bringing much needed space between them.
“I’m making your favorite dish for supper tonight. That is, according to your mother.”
His smile appeared easily in anticipation. “Chicken pot pie?”
“Oh, is that your favorite?” She looked crestfallen and he was quick to reassure her.
“Whatever you make will be fine.”
“I’m teasing,” she said, laughing. “I’m making chicken pot pie.”
He laughed with her. Her personality was starting to shine through, and he enjoyed it.
“Aren’t you the trickster?”
“You should go change out of those wet clothes.” She eyed the shirt that clung to him from the rainwater.
Was she blushing?
Without thinking through what he was doing, he took a step closer to her. “I should.” His voice came out low, and he relished the deepening red color that saturated her cheeks.
“Ye-yes, you’ll c-catch your death of cold.” She leaned back.
A sudden desire to kiss her perfect, ruby lips overtook him and he leaned forward. Inching his way closer, his hand moved of its own
accord and picked up a long, black curl that had escaped her loose bun. He fiddled with it, his eyes moving from her lips back to her eyes.
He saw surprise there, and warning bells went off in his head.
He was on dangerous ground. In unknown territory. Though, if he were honest, he’d thought about kissing her several times.
Leaning forward again, he heard her soft intake of breath. She wasn’t backing away, but looking at him expectantly.
“Was that you I heard, Andrew?”
His mother’s voice shattered the moment and they both stepped back, the instant space like a douse of cold water.
“Yes, Ma. I’m going to change.” With a parting glance over his shoulder he ran up the stairs to his room.
When the door shut behind him he leaned back against it, letting out a long breath. He’d been so close to stepping into a situation he wanted no part of.
Then again, was that true? Part of his heart wanted to risk it—for Harriet. For the feeling of her lips on his. The sweet scent of her close to him.
He was being a fool and he knew it. He just needed to remember his father, and feelings of love and romance would flee. With apprehension, he realized they were slower to leave then they used to be.
Harriet busied herself, draping Andrew’s coat over a drying rack in the corner of the sitting room near the fire. The heat of the flames rivaled the heat in her face. He’d almost kissed her.
She stood up, a hand resting against her abdomen. Overwhelming feelings gushed through her, making her slightly unsteady on her feet. She had wanted him to kiss her. When his mother had called out she hated the fact that he’d pulled away, but the look of resignation in his eyes told her he regretted how close he’d been.
It had been a momentary idea on his part. A poor decision and nothing more. Maybe he’d gotten caught up in their teasing or…
No, she didn’t know what else it could have been. For her, it was affection. She liked Andrew, despite his brooding moments and the chip of responsibility he wore on his shoulder, following him around the ranch like a dark rain cloud. There were times when she wanted to speak up and tell him he didn’t have to take care of everything all the time. That he worked too much and was missing valuable time with his mother, but she didn’t know how to tell him that.
“Dear, what are you doing in here?”
Harriet jerked upright, her face flaming yet again. “I was just…just putting Andrew’s things up to dry.”
“How thoughtful of you.” His mother came into the room, walking with slow, purposeful steps. How could Andrew not see that her health was failing? His focus on matters that he thought were more important frustrated her.
“I thought he would need a dry coat in the morning.” She came to the woman, her hands outstretched.
“Come and sit by the fire while I finish dinner.”
“You’re too kind, dear. I really should help you.”
“Of course not,” Harriet said, directing Mrs. Williams to the chair by the fireplace. “Sit here and rest.”
The woman sat saying, “Thank you, Harriet. It does feel nice to rest.”
Harriet knelt at the woman’s feet and looked up into her eyes. There was strength and determination written there, but fatigue as well.
“Ma’am,” she said.
“Now what did I tell you? You call me Ma if nothing else.”
“Ma,” Harriet said, smiling, “won’t you tell him?”
The woman’s features clouded. “You know I can’t burden him like that right now. He’s got so much on his plate as it is. He doesn’t need one more concern.”
“But…he’d want to know.”
“No you listen here, sweetheart.” The woman considered her words, but she looked set in her ways. “You leave the worrying to me, you hear?”
“Yes—Ma.” Harriet loved this woman already.
“Now, go make that delicious dish and put the pie I finished in to bake soon. It’ll take at least forty five minutes.”
Standing, Harriet kissed the woman on the forehead and turned toward the kitchen. “Rest, I’ll get the pie in just fine.”
When she looked back, Ma already had her eyes close, her hands resting on her middle. She looked peaceful, and Harriet hoped she would find just that.
Lord, heal the relationship between mother and son—soon, please.
Chapter 6
Several feet of snow covered the ground, and Andrew resigned himself to the fact that he’d be stuck inside most of the day. It would be enough of a chore to get to the barn to feed the animals, but nothing aside from that would happen.
The thought of spending the day inside with Harriet sent a thrill through him that was soon followed by dread. He didn’t know that he could hold out much longer if she continued to bake amazing meals, like the thanksgiving turkey she had crafted or the ginger cookies she’d made for dinner last night to celebrate the twelfth of December for Advent.
When he asked her why the twelfth, she’d said it was her favorite number and that, though they didn’t need a reason to celebrate, she thought Advent was as good a reason as any.
He’d just laughed, but he realized this scenario characterized Harriet. She was fun, spontaneous, and filled with joy at almost every turn. The only times he saw her distraught or concerned was over his mother. He was beginning to be more concerned as well, seeing as how she’d spent more days in bed of late. His first assumption had been that it was due to the cold weather, which had always been hard on her joints, but now he suspected it was more.
He lumbered downstairs, his steps taking him into the kitchen where he saw Harriet’s petite form leaning over the stove.
“Good morning,” he said, startling her. “Sorry.”
“You always have a way of sneaking up on me.” She shot him a playful glance but turned back to the stove.
He hadn’t been bold enough to try to kiss her again—or maybe it was the fact that he’d decided it wasn’t a smart move—but that hadn’t stopped him from thinking about it.
This morning, with her hair falling about her shoulders and her eyes sparkling in the dim morning light, the urge to draw her close and hold her assaulted him. He tried to push past the feelings, to overcome them with logic, but his mind played tricks on him.
She was single. She was available. She was right there in his kitchen. What harm could one kiss cause?
He couldn’t give in though. He wouldn’t.
“Mother isn’t feeling well. She’ll be eating in her room.”
Harriet’s words drew him out of his thoughts. “Again?”
She turned to look at him and he registered something underlying in her glance. “Yes.”
He’d caught her whispering with his mother a few days ago and they’d cut their conversation short when he entered the room. Were they keeping a secret from him?
“Harriet,” he said, stepping around the safety of the table sitting between them.
“Hum?” she murmured, her back still to him.
“What have you and mother been talking about when you think I’m not around?”
She shot him a glance but returned her gaze to the pot, which he could now see contained oatmeal.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I know one thing,” he said, stepping closer, risking his own emotions to get her to talk to him. “You two have a secret.”
“It’s your mother’s secret, and you’ll have to ask her about it.” She held up a wooden spoon covered with the glop. “I’m not at liberty to say.”
He grinned. “What will you do? Hit me with the oatmeal spoon?”
“I might.” Her eyebrows rose with the challenge and he grinned, poking her in the one spot he knew was most ticklish. Something he’d found out completely on accident.
“How dare you, Andrew Williams.” She giggled and dropped the spoon onto the floor. “Now look what you’ve done.”
They both reached for it, his hand covering hers as it wrapped a
round the spoon. They stood, his hand still covering hers. He took in a breath. The scent of cinnamon and vanilla wrapped around his mind and clouded his reasoning and judgment.
With slow, purposeful movements, he leaned in. Her eyes fluttered close and the next instant his lips were on hers, the spoon forgotten. She melted against him, and he wrapped his free arm around her, drawing her close.
His rational mind told him to pull away, to run away from the temptation that was Harriet Dunning, but his irrational heart told him to kiss her and never let her go.
She pushed gently against him, her heart pounding. “Oh my.”
He laughed, a grin overtaking his face. “Oh my is right.”
She felt the blush that ran deep, but kissing Andrew was the most glorious feeling. She had never wanted their kiss to end, though she knew it needed to. She had no right to kiss him, though she couldn’t think of anything she’d rather do.
“Andrew, I…” she looked down at their hands still holding the spoon, his fingers entwined with hers. She had to tell him.
“I’m sorry,” he said, bending down so their eyes would meet. “I shouldn’t have—”
“No, it’s not that.” She laughed, looking up at him. “I just…I need to tell you something but you can’t tell your mother I’ve mentioned it.”
He frowned and she hated how cryptic she was being.
“All right,” he said, “what is it?”
Taking a deep breath, she stammered, “Your mother’s very ill. She doesn’t want you to worry, but the doctor says it’s rather serious. She won’t tell you, but I think you should know and…”
She dissolved into tears, the weight of the secret she’d kept finally releasing. His strong arms pulled her toward his chest.
“Why?” he asked against her hair. “Why won’t she say anything to me?”
Harriet had asked the same question without a good answer from Ma. “She knows you’re busy, and she’s afraid it would be too much of a distraction.” That’s what she’d said, but Harriet thought it was more than that.
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