Miss Howland didn't appear to notice anything amiss. “Hurry back, will you Rosy? We've got several important deliveries for you that will take most of the afternoon."
Rosalyn's mouth cracked into a smile. “I will.” Alice nearly bowled her over with an unexpected hug. Rosalyn managed a laugh. “Good grief, Alice, I'm not going for good!"
"I know, Rosy, just be careful.” The worried young shop clerk followed this advice with a meaningful glance.
Wisely, Rosalyn opened the door and made her way to the waiting carriage, aware without looking that Christian stood ready to give her a hand. Well, he could wait all day, for all she cared. She didn't need his help.
To prove this, she greeted Willis, ignored Christian's outstretched hand, and climbed inside, scooting to the far side of the seat. With slow deliberation, she placed the basket between them.
Maybe the third time was a charm, she thought, recalling the previous times she had placed a basket between them.
The moment Christian followed her inside and shut the door, Willis sent the seasoned horse on its way with a cheery order that crackled across the frozen world around them. Rosalyn pretended a deep interest in the ice-encrusted trees as they headed out of town. It had rained in the night and near morning the temperatures had dropped drastically, freezing the moisture on every available limb and bush.
It was like awakening to find oneself in a world surrounded by diamonds, Rosalyn thought with a touch of awe. What had begun as a pretense became genuine as she viewed the glittering scenery.
"Beautiful, isn't it?"
The low, drawling voice nearly caught her off guard. Rosalyn stopped the automatic turning of her head in the nick of time, and swallowed the words on her lips. She wouldn't respond. She didn't have to respond. She would speak to him if he asked her anything concerning the factory, but other than that, he would have to entertain himself.
"I'm looking forward to seeing a little of the countryside."
Good for you, Rosalyn thought, suppressing a sniff. They were passing the Town Common, where once upon a time a grave yard stood. If Christian were a true historian, he would be interested in knowing about the tombstones buried beneath the ground right in the center of Worcester. Years ago, the townspeople decided the graveyard was an eye sore, and covered the graveyard and many of the grave markers as well. Rosalyn thought the story was gruesome, but interesting.
She doubted the historian would be interested.
"How far are we going?"
There was the slightest edge to his question. Rosalyn shrugged and continued looking out the window, watching a little boy as he slid gleefully across his ice-slick lawn. When she found herself wondering if Christian liked children, she gave herself a stern mental shake. It didn't matter. He was a rogue, and even a naive girl like herself knew about rogues. A pity she didn't see through his disguise earlier.
"Do you have many valentines to deliver today?"
This time, Rosalyn couldn't mistake the warning tone. She suspected she had ignored Mr. Garret long enough, and she had to remember she was basically alone and at his mercy. And she knew how merciless he could be. Besides, he had asked a question that concerned her work.
But she didn't have to look at him while she answered. In fact, the scenery was quite interesting...
"I believe I have several to deliver this afternoon, yes.” There, her voice held just the proper amount of chill, she thought. Not enough to challenge, but enough to inform him he wasn't forgiven. Then she went and blew her resolve all to heck by taunting, “Don't you need to write this down?” She glanced at him, long enough to note the mocking quirk to his lips. Her own mouth tightened. She had amused him.
Again.
Softly, he said, “I've got a good memory."
Knowing she danced close to the flame, Rosalyn said just as softly, “So do I.” Oh, he got her meaning all right. His mocking chuckle proved that. Drats! Why couldn't she just keep her mouth shut? Because ... because she had too much to say. Too much she wanted to know.
She didn't need to know, and that was that. Setting her jaw, she repeated the wise reminder until her head began to pound.
"Miss Howland has a head for business,” he commented casually.
"Too bad she doesn't have a nose for scoundrels."
He laughed. “Touché. You are quick this morning."
They were heading out of town. Rosalyn fastened her longing eyes on the last gas lamp at the end of Main before it passed from view. On the road just ahead, overhanging trees bowed with the weight of the ice crusting their branches made the country road look like a tunnel; a beautiful, glistening tunnel. Rosalyn's eyes widened. She wished someone other than Christian sat beside her, for she ached to share the breathtaking phenomenon.
There wasn't a breath of wind stirring, and now that they had passed out of town, a hushed silence surrounded them, broken occasionally by the crackling noise of the horse's hooves breaking through the ice.
When they entered the ice tunnel, Rosalyn let her breath out in a stunned gasp as the daylight turned to twilight, interspersed with tiny shards of brilliant sunlight. It was the most beautiful, the most amazing sight she'd ever seen! Surrounded by solid ice ... why, it was like stepping inside a house made entirely of glass! Overcome by the beauty of it, Rosalyn forgot her animosity and turned to see if Christian had finally noticed.
He was watching her with a thoughtful, soft expression. Rosalyn blinked in disbelief. When she opened her eyes again, the expression was gone. Surely she had imagined it ... She cleared her throat. “Isn't it...” Oh, what was she doing?
"Yes, it is.” His voice was a caress, filled with a subtle heat that threatened to melt the ice around her heart. “An unforgettable sight."
Rosalyn suspected he wasn't talking about the ice. Determinedly, she returned her gaze to the window, shivering inside her heavy coat. “You never give up, do you?"
He shifted in the seat, the sound sliding along her nerves and lifting goose bumps on her arms. She pressed against the door, hoping he would think she merely sought a closer view. The basket was between them, he couldn't get closer—
"I don't give up when I want something,” he whispered alarmingly close to her ear. “Rosalyn, I—"
A sharp, cracking noise shattered the silent hush of the icy world outside the carriage. Rosalyn instinctively cried out, gripping the door handle for dear life as the horse whinnied in fright and tried to bolt. The carriage swerved to the left, then to the right, throwing her against the door before thrusting her into Christian's arms. A rumbling thunder shook the carriage, followed by another shrill whiny.
Rosalyn clutched his shoulders, watching in astonishment as a cascade of ice tumbled past the windows in a seemingly never-ending avalanche.
What on earth was happening?
Chapter Thirteen
Crystal Clear and Shining Through
This Love I Feel for Only You
If Not Returned What Shall I Do?
How Shall I Know...
An ice avalanche.
In a daze, Rosalyn became aware of the strong beat of Christian's heart beneath her ear, and the firm tensing of his muscles where she gripped his arm. With a final tinkling sound, the world grew still around them once more.
Too still.
"Willis?” Her voice rose as she pushed away from the hard wall of Christian's chest. “Willis? Are you all right up there? What happened?"
"Damned ice fell on my head, that's what happened! Scared my horse out of her wits!"
Rosalyn smiled at his disgruntled tone. “But you're all right?"
The carriage rocked as Willis climbed down. His face appeared in the window on Rosalyn's side. Slivers of ice lay trapped in his wooly toboggan and clung to his eyelashes. He looked frozen.
"I reckon I'll live.” With a rueful grin, he rubbed his head with a mitten-covered hand. “Mighty hard ice, though."
"I might be able to help with that.” Rosalyn grabbed the basket from the sea
t and carefully emptied the contents onto her lap. She handed the sturdy, empty basket to Willis through the window. “Here, put this on your head.” When Willis opened his mouth to protest, she gave him a stern look. “I won't tell anyone, you have my word."
Willis hesitated, looking past her to Christian. Rosalyn followed his gaze and frowned at his amused features. “Mr. Garret won't either, will you?"
Christian took his time answering. Just when Rosalyn thought to give him a piece of her mind, he nodded. “My lips are sealed."
Willis apparently decided protecting his scalp was worth the risk. He took the basket and climbed onto the driver's seat, mumbling to himself, but loud enough for Rosalyn to make out the words. “Never thought I would see the day I had to wear a basket on my head. Yep, I'm convinced now that the Good Lord has a sense of humor."
Their pace slowed considerably now as the carriage moved through the heavy, ice-laden trees. Rosalyn arranged the valentine items on the seat, avoiding Christian's heated gaze. She wouldn't be drawn in again by his smooth talk and knee-weakening smile. Her eyes were wide open.
"Who delivered the valentines before you came along?” Christian asked after a few moments of uncomfortable silence.
Rosalyn returned her gaze to the window, wishing things that could never be. Under different circumstances, the trip on a day like today would be romantic and memorable. “Miss Howland's niece."
"And what happened to her?"
Questions, questions. Rosalyn sighed. Unfortunately, the questions he asked pertained to the job. “She met someone special while delivering a valentine. They married and moved to Philadelphia."
Christian propped his booted foot on his knee, sliding his arm along the back of the seat. Rosalyn tensed. “You're saying she stole someone's beau?"
She looked at him, noting the lazy amusement on his face. She kept her own expression bland. “No. She didn't steal anyone. According to Miss Howland, Rudolph was crying his eyes out over another—after Chastity delivered the rejection. One thing led to another and..."
His lips twisted. “And he suddenly fell out of love with the other woman, and into love with—this niece?"
Rosalyn bristled at his cynical implications. She lifted her chin. “Obviously he never loved the other woman. Don't you believe in fate? Or is that something else you don't believe in?” Tilting her head to one side, she added softly, “Is there anything you do believe in, Mr. Garret?"
He held his smile, giving Rosalyn no warning to his next move. With startling swiftness, he grasped her chin and held her face still. “You're beginning to change my beliefs, Rosalyn. And if you call me Mr. Garret again, I'm going to take you over my knee—"
"You wouldn't!"
"Yes, I would.” He leaned close. “I'll leave the rest to your imagination, which I know is quite active."
Slowly, he dropped his hand. Rosalyn drew a deep breath, fighting the weakness threatening to crack her resolve. He lied. Every word that came out of his firm, kissable mouth was a lie. She couldn't change his beliefs—no one could.
So why did he try to convince her she could? So she could continue to make a fool of herself? No. No, no, and no. She wouldn't again. He couldn't be trusted, not Mr. Chris Christian Brown Garret. Yes, she had to tolerate his presence, but she didn't and wouldn't believe his lies.
She kept her wary eyes on him as he settled back onto the seat and regarded her through lowered lids. Like a cat observing a mouse he had already injured and knew couldn't escape. The thought straightened her shoulders. He'd like to see her crumble, so she was determined he never would—again.
"Is that why you took the job? To find a husband?"
"I told you I'm going to college,” she replied frostily.
"Can't you go to college and get married?"
"Can't you mind your own business?” The sharp retort slipped out. He seemed amused by her outburst. Heat flushed her skin. Turning away, she resumed her vigil at the window, determined not to speak to him again unless he asked her a direct question concerning the factory. He was either being cruel, or he wasn't aware she had fallen in love with him. Of course she would be willing to have both a career and a husband, if only ... if only he really was Chris Brown.
If only he loved her in return, and she could forget and forgive, and he could forget and forgive. Oh, it was hopeless!
As unobtrusively as she could, she inched her hand up to wipe a stray tear away before his eagle gaze saw it.
Dratted man.
* * * *
After a half-hour of uncomfortable silence, the carriage turned left onto a slick, rutted road. Rosalyn leaned forward, spotting their destination a few yards ahead through the trees. The Dillon's log home looked cozy, tucked among a sheltering grove of deciduous oak, hickory, and maple trees, now barren and covered with a sheer glaze of ice. Smoke rose from two massive chimneys, one on either side of the house, and a sudden rise of the roof suggested a loft, or perhaps an attic for storing. Rosalyn rubbed her cold nose, hoping for an opportunity to warm herself before starting out on the journey home.
Willis halted the carriage before the hearty oak door and jumped down, handing her the basket through the window. As Rosalyn replaced the blanket, scarf, and the chocolates inside the basket, the door opened and Mr. Dillon stepped onto the porch. His ruddy cheeks and beaming smile made her feel instantly welcome.
"Well, I see you made it.” He rushed forward and helped Rosalyn from the carriage before Willis could climb down from his perch. “Come inside where it's warm. The missus made a fresh batch of hot apple cider just today."
Rosalyn balanced the basket and took his arm, resisting the urge to turn her nose up at Christian. “Does she know?"
"No ma'am, I wanted it to be a surprise."
Nodding her approval, she followed Mr. Dillon inside. The house was warm, thank goodness. A large, open room contained the kitchen area on one side, and a cozy family section on the other. Two closed doors leading from the main room suggested bedrooms, and a ladder attached to the wall led to an open loft above. Rosalyn grinned at the two wide-eyed faces peering over the railing from the loft. Small boys, she thought, and most likely supposed to be napping.
Seeing the direction of her gaze, Mr. Dillon announced proudly, “Those varmints up there are Luke and Joseph."
Rosalyn winked at the boys, which set them to giggling, before turning her attention to the others in the room.
Seated in a rocking chair by the fire in the living area was a young woman, holding a blanket-wrapped infant in her arms. Curled on the sofa, a young girl of about seven or eight watched them with open curiosity. A discarded work of needle-point lay on the cushion beside her.
"And that's Mae, my first born. The babe, we call Anthony. My wife, Sara."
Mrs. Dillon recovered from her obvious surprise at being invaded by strangers and gave Rosalyn a weary, puzzled smile as she rocked the sleeping baby. “Please, warm yourself! I expect you're frozen, aren't you?"
Clutching the basket in her hand, Rosalyn moved to the blazing fireplace in the living area and removed her gloves. She rubbed them briskly as close to the flames as she dared. Without looking, she was aware that Christian and Willis had followed Mr. Dillon to the heavy oak table in the kitchen. She heard the scrape of chairs across the oak-plank floor, then the low sound of Christian's voice reached her, spreading warmth through the rest of her chilled body—a warmth she most definitely could do without.
Shifting the baby to the other arm, Mrs. Dillon craned her neck around to look at her husband. Rosalyn smiled at the blatant question in the woman's eyes, suspecting the poor woman was bursting with curiosity, and was too polite to ask. “Bring Miss—"
"Rosalyn, just Rosalyn, Mrs. Dillon,” Rosalyn supplied, her smile widening at the woman's frustration.
Mr. Dillon obviously enjoyed his wife's confusion. His gaze met Rosalyn's and he laughed, a boisterous, wonderful sound of pure enjoyment, laced with anticipation. Rosalyn suspected the man didn't often
witness his wife speechless.
Sara's polite smile slipped a little. “Well, bring Rosalyn a cup of that cider, Mr. Dillon.” Rosalyn was certain the ‘Mr. Dillon’ was intentional. With her free hand, Sara patted the haphazard bun at the nap of her neck and smoothed her plain, calico dress down over her knees. “I-I wasn't expecting company..."
Mr. Dillon ignored her, pouring apple cider for the men, then bringing a steaming cup to Rosalyn. His twinkling gaze reminded Rosalyn of a young, mischievous boy waiting for the teacher to find the frog in her desk. He plucked the basket from her hand, barely glancing inside.
Rosalyn took the cider and thanked him, inhaling the sharp, tangy scent of cinnamon and apple. She wrapped her fingers around its warmth and took a sip, closing her eyes in appreciation. When she opened them, she met Christian's heated gaze across the room. She licked her lips nervously, looking away, concentrating on the Dillons instead. Much safer.
"Dearest,” Mr. Dillon began without the slightest trace of embarrassment. He lowered himself to a crouch at her feet, gazing at his wife with such a deep expression of love on his face that Rosalyn blushed and looked away. “I know I don't show it often, but I do love ya with all my heart and I'm grateful to ya for giving me such fine children."
"Oh, Audrey!” Clearly, Mrs. Dillon was embarrassed. She looked wildly around at the three strangers witnessing her husband's passionate declaration, but Mr. Dillon reclaimed her attention by taking her free hand. The baby, probably sensing his mother's agitation, squirmed and let out a squeal of outrage, flaying tiny, reddened fists in the air.
Rosalyn stepped up and scooped the baby from its mother's arms. Mrs. Dillon didn't appear to notice, her wide-eyed gaze focused on her husband as if she suddenly faced a stranger.
With the crying baby now being shushed by Rosalyn, Mr. Dillon continued, his voice thready with emotion. He clasped her limp hand tightly and brought it to his breast. “When ya married this ugly, poor man, ya didn't get a ring, like ya deserve. When we had little Mae over there, ya didn't get a proper thank you from me, nor did ya when ya birthed Luke and Joseph. Ya stuck by me when I lost my job at the mill, and ya stuck by me when our first crop didn't make. Now, it ain't much, but I hope ya believe me when I say I'd give ya the moon if I could."
My Valentine Page 17