by Jillian Hart
“You can hardly see much because of the storm.” His baritone vibrated pleasantly, invitingly. “But come dawn, you’ll open your curtains to the prettiest sight in these parts. Next to you, of course.”
“There you go, being charming again.” What was she to do about the bold man? Oh, he was a gentleman, she could tell that about him. He had been nothing but proper on their long, unchaperoned ride together. He had held her politely and cordially, always respectful, even if she was seated on his lap and pressed dangerously close to his chest.
And if a measure of warmth flushed across her face, probably reddening her cheeks, she decided to stay in firm denial of it. She certainly was not attracted to her prospective employer’s son.
Really, and there was no reasonable chance he would be interested in her. She thought of her carefully patched dress and coat, and felt shabby.
There was nothing shabby about the view spreading out before her. Buffeted by snow, cloaked by night, the forest gave way to a stunning sweep of fenced meadows and gardens on a gently rising hillside. On the crest of that hill glowed the lamp-lit windows of an impressive home with the hint of a veranda and gables and two stories. No curtains covered the glass, and from where she sat in Joseph’s arms she could plainly see a well-appointed parlor, a fire roaring in a river-rock hearth. A kindly looking salt-and-pepper-haired man reclined in a wingback chair, obviously enjoying the fire’s warmth, studying his open newspaper with great seriousness.
“Is that your father?”
“Yep, that’s my pa.” Love warmed his voice, revealing him.
This was not the kind of man she was used to, she suspected.
Although she hardly knew him, it was plain to see the honest affection for his sire. “I suspect you know enough about him to know he would spend all day just like that if he could get away with it, reading newspapers by the fire. He cares about politics and the nation’s happenings.”
“I remember reading in your mother’s letters that he receives quite a lot of newspapers by mail.” One of her duties, should she get the job, would be to keep the newsprint piled in the parlor to a minimum and to fetch the mail when she was in town on house errands, which would include several newspapers.
It was a lovely house, and she suspected it would be a pleasant job. When she’d read Mrs. Brooks’s letter of inquiry, she hadn’t imagined something so down-to-earth. The big house looked comfortable rather than fancy, a family home rather than a showy palace. This was not a wealthy family, she suspected, but they did prosper.
“You look disappointed,” he rumbled against her ear. “You were expecting something better?”
“You mean richer?” She blinked snow from her eyelashes, because the burn in her eyes could not be from emotion. “Yes. I was afraid of not meeting expectations. Of not fitting in. The last job I had was cleaning for several taverns near my house.”
“We’re normal folk. You’ll see that when you meet my ma.”
The seeds of hope within her took root. This was truly a chance for bettering her life, much more than she had dared to imagine.
She could see the polished, sensible dining table through the pristine windows, and candlelight flickering off gleaming crystal and silver.
What a boon to work in such a room, rubbing wax into the lustrous cherry wood and taking care of this family’s beloved home.
Maybe I have a chance here. Maybe I can find happiness here.
Her head felt fuzzy as she realized Joseph was pressed against her, his hands encircling her upper arms. Heat blazed through the layers of his gloves and her garments, and again she felt that strange blast of electricity telegraphing down her spine and into her toes.
“I won’t let you fall.” His promise shivered through her, and the icy chill fled from the wind as did the sting of the snow on her face. He lifted her powerfully from his lap and for an instant she was airborne, anchored only by his touch.
Chapter Two
Her patched shoes landed lightly in the snow, and she sank to her ankles. Joseph’s touch remained like a brand. His lips brushed her hair as he spoke quietly to her, as if they were in a crowded room instead of alone in the night. “Let me take you to your rooms. I should introduce you to Ma straightaway, but maybe you would rather get settled. You seem anxious, Clara.”
“I’m trying not to show it.”
“You have nothing to worry about here.” He dismounted, landing beside her, an impressive shadow in the deepening twilight.
“Aside from the occasional mountain lion or bear, that is.”
“That’s something I haven’t had to worry about before.” Her skin tingled strangely where his touch had been. She rubbed her arms, but it didn’t leave. Snow tumbled from her cap, however, and slapped against her cheek. “Are my rooms far?”
“Down the path on this side of the house.” He looped the horse’s reins around a garden post. “It’s hard to see from here.
Don’t worry. I will lead the way.”
“Thank you.” She felt breathless and her knees were strangely weak. When he touched her sleeve, a signal to follow him, her stomach flip-flopped and fell down to her toes. Surely she was not affected by the man. She had grown too sensible to be attracted to the male gender. Surely this was all simply the aftereffects of traveling long endless days on very few meals.
She trailed after him in the snow, stepping into the footprints he left. Snow soaked through her shoes, and the wind groaned and creaked through tall, dark trees, almost invisible in the storm.
Surely this was not a portent of things to come, a sign she had made a mistake.
“This is where we spent many a warm summer’s evening.” He paused, fondness warming his voice and chasing away the chill in the night. “My ma has a fondness for the roses that bloom here, up against the house. I like the cooling breeze off the mountains.
Keeps me comfortable while I whittle.”
“What do you carve?” She caught a glimpse of the shadowed railing of a wide porch before they passed beyond the house. She imagined a family pleasantly gathered there. “How many of your brothers are still at home?”
“I’m surprised Ma didn’t tell you. There’s just my oldest brother and me, now that Nate has moved out and married.”
If every one of them were as nice as Joseph, then what a lucky girl she would be. If she got the position. She tried to picture what it would be like working in the comfortable house.
Much better than in a saloon, that was for certain. “Could you tell me if there have been many other applicants?”
“Applicants? That’s a funny way to put it.” He continued along the pathway, with the tall house on one side and tall trees on the other. “I don’t rightly know, as my ma is the one managing all this. But you are the only woman who’s shown up.”
“Truly?” What a relief. She released a pent-up breath and swiped a cold snowflake from her forehead. Perhaps not many women would want to travel so far into the remote wilderness for a job.
That might work in her favor when she approached Mrs. Brooks for employment. “I’ve come so far. You have no notion what good news that is. I feel like the luckiest person on this mountain.”
“No, that can’t be true. I’m the lucky one. I’m lucky because you’re here.”
Now that was truly puzzling. Her step faltered. Why, it was almost as if he thought she was someone else. How strange.
“Me? Mr. Brooks, surely you are not trying to charm me again?”
“Can’t blame a fellow for trying, can you?” His boots thudded on wooden steps and scuffed across a snowy porch. The darkness was too thick here, where a porch roof blocked even the hardest snowfall. “Come on in. Careful of the steps. They are a tad slick.”
A match flared, guiding her way. She hardly noticed the quaint little porch before she glided through the opened doorway, drawn by the sight of Joseph touching the flame to a crystal lamp’s wick. The light caught and grew, tossing a golden glow over the snow-dappled man. In full l
ight, he was highly pleasing.
His hair was raven, not brown as she’d first thought, and his eyes a dazzling midnight blue. He stood straight and strong, tantalizingly manly and crowned by his Stetson. His wide shoulders cut an impressive line.
All reason slid right out of her head at the sight. A lifetime’s worth of vocabulary vanished. A strange longing blew into her as if borne on the wind. Never had she been affected by a man like this. Not even Lars, whom she had once hoped would propose to her.
She would be wise to remember how that turned out.
“Don’t stand there in the cold.” He replaced the crystal chimney with a clink. “Come in out of the draft and explore a bit.
I reckon you will want to look around while I get a fire started.”
“Yes. Thank you kindly.” Perhaps she sounded so breathless because she was worried. What if coming here out of the blue was a mistake? What if Mrs. Brooks didn’t want her? Then where would she go? How would she be able to improve her life? If only those worries would fade as easily as the shadows. Joseph lit a second lamp, bathing the room in a golden glow.
What a cozy cabin. She gaped in wonder at the smooth honeyed log walls and the green gingham curtains at several large windows. A horsehair sofa looked deliciously comfortable and faced a well-cushioned wingback chair. Either would be a perfect place to do her needlework at the end of a long day. A small round oak table, sporting one of the gleaming lamps, tossed light into the recesses of a tidy kitchen, where a cookstove sat dark and silent in the corner. Sunshine ought to come in through the window, making it a good place to sit and read in the morning.
She closed out the remembered image of the dirt-floor shanty she and her mother had rented last. It was hard to believe that she might be able to live in such a fine and pretty cabin.
Joseph knelt by the stone hearth in the sitting area and struck another match. She couldn’t explain why her eyes kept him in sight as she spun in a slow circle, taking in the empty shelves on one wall and the cushioned window seat next to the open door. It was as if her senses wanted to stay firmly on him and against her will.
“It won’t take long until the cabin is toasty warm.” Joseph stood, blowing out the match. Fire crackled in the hearth and the orange light danced over him playfully, accenting his high cheekbones and carved jaw. “You stay here and thaw, and I’ll go fetch your things.”
“No, I’m fit as a fiddle and perfectly able to—”
“Miss Clara.” His reprimand came kindly. “Do I look like a man who lets a woman do the heavy lifting to you?”
“No.” The truth was, she thought he looked like the best kind of man, who stood for what was right. Maybe that’s why her pulse pitter-pattered as she watched him tip his hat politely and hike into the bitter cold. She circled around the sofa toward the fireplace to keep better sight of him. Hard not to notice his good-natured stride as he shouldered into the dark storm and disappeared into it.
Fine, so I like the man. There was no harm in liking him. She stripped off her gloves, hardly aware of the blessed heat, and held her hands out to the growing fire. But liking him was as far as she was prepared to go. She was too practical a woman these days to believe in love.
While greedy flames pressed away the icy cold air, she took time to study the room. There were details she hadn’t noticed at first glance. Now with the firelight, she could see empty shelves along the inside wall waiting to be filled with knickknacks and books. There was a window seat beneath the nearby window.
When she peeked into the bedroom, she spotted a real feather mattress on a carved, four-poster frame. A mirror attached to a bureau reflected faintly back at her.
Why, I look a fright. She hardly recognized herself. Her wool hat drooped with melting snow, her hair was falling from her pins and tangled dreadfully, her face chapped pink from the hard cold and rough winds. Wet patches of snowmelt clung to her threadbare coat as if someone had tossed a bucket of sludge at her. Her shabbiness showed. She could not expect to be hired looking like a ragamuffin on a street corner.
Ashamed, she removed her hat and her hairpins. Her honey-gold hair tumbled past her shoulders in disarray. Her fingers itched for her brush and comb, but they were tucked safely in one of her satchels. She pocketed her pins and ran her fingers through her hair. Maybe she would have enough time to freshen up and look more presentable before—
The door banged open, answering her question. Joseph tromped in, snowy and strapping, her satchels in hand. He closed the door with his foot, his gaze raking over her with such force it was hard not to feel self-conscious. Her hand went to her hair and she blushed.
Breathless again and her knees going weak, she had nothing else to blame it on this time. Nothing, that was, save for Joseph.
“You have to forgive me,” she found herself saying, stepping away from the bedroom. “I’m a bit windblown.”
“That happens a lot around here, too.” He lumbered closer, his gaze never leaving her face. “I hope that doesn’t change your mind. I would hate to think you’re eager to catch the next train out of here and head home.”
“I cannot do that. I have no home to return to.” Too honest, she admonished, but it was too late to take back the words.
Spoken, they hung in the air between them like the crackling cold.
“I’m sorry to hear that. My sister-in-law, Savannah, came out here to marry my brother because she had lost her family and her home. I reckon something like that has happened to you?” Caring gleamed in his dark blue eyes like a rare jewel.
Compassion. That wasn’t something she found often in her world. That made her like Mr. Joseph Brooks even more. He clearly had a big heart. “My ma ran off the day before our rent was due. I had to sell everything she left behind, even my best clothes.”
“That had to be difficult.” He set the satchels down near the bedroom door, but he only had eyes for her. “Were you put out on the street?”
“A neighbor lady took me in, although I paid her in trade.”
“What kind of trade?” he asked.
“She needed dishes, and Ma hadn’t taken the ironware with her.” She hung her hat to dry on a nail on the mantel. Firelight washed over her, highlighting the worn places on her coat. “If not for your mother’s letters, I’m not sure what would have become of me. Work is hard to find these days, and to have a place to come to, why, I can’t tell you what that means.”
“I’m glad, too.” He couldn’t remember anything meaning so much. His heart had surely never ached like this before. The trip home had certainly affected him. Nothing in all the world could ever be nicer than holding Miss Clara Woodrow in his arms. If he had ever known anything closer to perfection, then the memory of it slipped from his mind, paling in comparison. He was close enough to see the melting glisten of snow in her silken hair and to breathe in her feminine, rosewater scent. She had perfect creamy skin, delicately formed cheekbones and a cute sloping nose. Eyes sad with hardship met his.
He’d caught enough of a glimpse of her on the shadowy platform to know she was pretty, but right here in full light, he was arrested. Captivated as if she had cast an enchantment upon him. The most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, beyond all doubt.
No, in fact, beautiful was too mild a word to use. Amazement left him speechless; all he could do was to drink in her splendor.
A wisp of honey-blond hair caressed the remarkable curve of her cheek. Her lips looked as soft as rose petals, and, why, the rest of her! Not to be disrespectful, but she sure made a lovely figure with the firelight caressing her womanly curves. The air whooshed out of his lungs. A whole bushel full of caring tied around his chest like a great big red ribbon. By golly, he was the luckiest man in all of Mountain County. There was no doubt about that.
“That was one cold ride.” He liked being close to her. The fire’s warmth licked at his trouser legs. “Are you getting warmer?”
“A little.”
“Let me help you with your coat.” He reached t
o loosen her top button. “I want you to be comfortable here.”
“Thank you, Mr. Brooks.” Her voice was breathy and tremulous.
“Call me Joseph.”
“Joseph. Aren’t you being a little—”
“Improper?” His knuckle grazed the coat’s fabric, not far from the swell of her bosom, and he blushed and carefully worked at the next button. “I’m simply trying to take care of you. Least I can do, because you came so far. I’m glad you’re here, Miss Clara.”
“I am, too,” she admitted. He mesmerized her, that’s what was going on. This man had so much wholesome charm and manly charisma that a girl like her with little experience would, of course, be captivated by him. Who wouldn’t be? Judging by his easy manner, he probably had beautiful women falling at his feet right and left. It was a wonder he wasn’t married. Perhaps he was the sort who enjoyed being a bachelor with many girls on a string.
That explained why he was a tad forward. “I desperately want your mother—Mrs. Brooks—to like me.”
“No need to worry.” He loosened another button.
Why was she breathing so fast? Her heart fluttered behind her ribs as if it had dissolved into a dozen butterflies. “You sound awfully certain. She must have gone through many letters of application.”
“That’s a funny way to put it, but I’m sure she did.” He loosened another button. “Ma will be enchanted with you.”
“You sound far too certain. She hasn’t met me yet.” That’s what she should be concentrating on, getting this job and not on the man before her. She stepped away, intent on breaking his strange effect on her, and worked the last button free.
“Ma is the kind of lady who loves everyone.” He circled behind her, unrelenting.