by Jillian Hart
“You were acting strangely, Joseph. As if everything you said on that first night were true. We both know it isn’t. It can’t be.”
“I admit I thought you were someone else. Is that what you wanted to hear?”
“Yes, thank you.” The crack of pain within her carved deeper into her tender heart. Why was she hurting? It made no sense.
She was not sweet on the man. She had not been charmed by him.
And if she said that enough times, she was sure to make it become true. “And what is it you wanted to hear, Joseph? That when I met marriageable men like Aiken and Lew, I would try to gain their interest?”
“I’ve hated knowing you were delivering their meals without me there.” A corner of his mouth twitched, but he remained as if in darkness. The only hint of levity was the lilt of his voice.
“Maybe I was mistaken. You’ve come back each time without an engagement ring.”
“You’re teasing me now?”
“No. Just myself.” He eased closer, one step at a time, a solemn man of strength with a faint hint of humor crinkling the corners of his eyes. Moonlight graced him, hinting at the straight blade of his nose and his square-cut jaw. “I don’t understand how any man can take a first look at you and not see what I see.”
“What do you see?”
“A cozy fire in the hearth when I come through the front door after a hard day’s work and you waiting for me. A meal on the table and you to talk and laugh with over it.” He pulled the basin from her fingers and tossed it in the direction of the steps. It landed with a distant thud somewhere in the deep shadows.
“You see your own personal maid to tend fires, keep house and cook for you?” Her eyes pinched with honest emotion. “This is why I came for a job, not for a husband. I feel sorry for your betrothed.”
“There is no betrothed. Not yet.” He bit his tongue to keep from telling her the truth. He had already found his bride. Telling that to her only seemed to make her push him away. He laid his gloved hand against the side of her face, and immeasurable adoration glowed within him like the silvered moonlight. “You think I’ve been insincere.”
“Yes. Perhaps you didn’t mean to be.”
“No.” He had been telling her his heart. He let her step away from him, breaking his touch. Nothing could break the emotion glowing within him like an eternal flame. “I haven’t been around a lot of single women my age. I’m short on experience, but you have to know I meant no disrespect.”
“That I do.” Her eyes looked impossibly dark and deep. Her beauty must have enchanted the moon, for its pearled light followed her. “I suppose I can stop trying to avoid you?”
“Good idea, since the house isn’t that large. I might not see you, but I can hear you in the next room. I reckon you can do the same with me.”
“Perhaps.” Noncommittal, she dipped her hands into her coat pockets and pulled out home-knit mittens. She seemed to concentrate overly on the task of fitting her fingers into the warm wool.
Her silence was revealing. A whole range of feelings had moved through him from the moment she had taken Don Quixote’s reins and left him looking like a fool. Humor had been the first one, striking him hard. Impossible not to like a woman who could hold her own against a man. The others had chuckled, calling out advice to him on how to handle a woman, all good-natured stuff about how complicated they were and how smart the city girl was compared to a high-country mountain man like him.
But more feelings, ones easily hidden at the time, had crawled to the surface. Rejection was one, reinforced whenever he heard but didn’t see her in the house. Sure, he might have caught sight of the swirl of her skirt as she left the room or the hint of rose water in the air when he entered the parlor. But emptiness was another emotion troubling him, carving out a hollow place within him that hadn’t been there before.
Hurt—that was something else he’d felt in the dark of night, in his room at the end of the hall. He’d sat at the window and looked out over the garden where Clara’s front window shone with lamplight, and he’d wondered if she felt as lonely as he did, more than she had ever known before. She had changed everything in his world—what he wanted and what he thought about.
His sense of well-being was gone, blown to bits as if with a rifle’s bullet. He couldn’t lay his head on his pillow without wondering what it would be like to have her lying beside him or how sweet it would be to draw her into his arms and love her fully, the way a husband ought to love his wife.
He’d come to realize what he had done wrong. Romancing a woman was harder than it looked. The one thing he did not want was to be the reason she kept turning away from him, the way Lara had done long ago in his school days. That had stung at the time, sure, but this pain he felt right now hit powerfully enough to bring him to his knees. The one thing he couldn’t stand would be to lose the chance to love Clara for all the days of his life.
“I’m not looking for a housekeeper, just so you know.” He fell in stride beside her as she crunched and slid along the worn path away from the house. “I said it all the wrong way. I’ve got to get better at that. I meant I would be eager to come home to the woman. Her coziness, her laughter, her presence.”
“Oh.” She said the single word low and hushed, making it hard to know what she meant, if she understood or if she still thought him insincere. The wind tugged loose airy curls from her coiled-up braids to swirl invitingly against her face.
Everything within him ached to capture those fairy curls in his bare hands, to cradle the dear curve of her chin in his palm and taste her kisses. He longed to savor her heat and her every texture, to unbutton her, layer by layer, and lave kisses down her long, graceful neck and farther still. Blushing, he tried not to think about how much he craved to know more of her, to know all of her. The softness of her bosom, the flare of her hips, and what it would be like to lie intimately with her, to feel her legs entwined with his, to be joined as one.
Need, both sweet and vital, punched hard until it hurt. Just take it slow, Joseph. He veered off the broken path when she did, following the iced-over trail to the water pump. The moonlight fell at her feet, as if privileged to light her way. Feeling the same, he grabbed a bucket from the stack before she could, hung it on the notch and covered her hand when she reached for the pump handle.
She stiffened at his contact and his closeness. “I ought to do this, Joseph.”
He stood his ground. “It might be frozen. Let me get it started for you.”
“It does seem to be stuck.” Her words sounded strained.
Strained or affected? He had to find out. He pressed closer to her until her shoulder blades brushed his chest. The luxury of her hair tickled the underside of his jaw. Please feel what I do, he wished, gathering up all the forces of his soul. Please want me the way I want you.
Was it his imagination or had her fingers nudged his? He relaxed his hand, waiting spellbound and breathless for the smallest movement. It came quietly and sweetly, the tiniest acquiescence as her fingers widened to allow his to entwine with them. His breath caught and held, his heart tumbling irrevocably. In the kiss of moonshine, she was exposed. Wide-eyed, she watched him with both fear and hope, emotions he could feel hovering in the crisp air between them and with his every breath.
“Joseph, the water?” A shiver rolled through her, and he could feel every nuance, every worry and wish.
With her fingers between his, he put some muscle into it, and the pump handle gave. Water splashed, drumming into the tin pail as he savored her summery scent. He fought the need to press against her more tightly, enfold her in his arms and never let her go. For whatever reason, she affected him deeply and he was grateful. He’d taken to her from first glance, but every time they met his affections for her expanded like stars in the night sky.
“I’ve got it now,” her gentle alto reminded him, but instead of notes of censure in her voice, there was something hidden.
Something only his heart heard. He did not move.
“Maybe I want to help you, Clara.”
“Maybe you are trying to charm me again.”
“Charm you…no longer. My aim is to show you the man I am.”
The pail was full, and it was like dying a little to release the handle and take his hand from hers. To step away from her softness when every instinct he owned shouted at him to get closer until there was no way to know where he ended and she began.
“Joseph, surely you know we cannot be friends.” Her plea sounded frail on the inclement wind, as fragile as the ice forming at his feet, cracking beneath his boot as he took a step.
“I do not wish to be friends, pretty lady. Wait here.” He took the pail from her, tossed her a grin and left her standing alone in the star shine. The world around her transformed. Ice crusted the snow and shone like diamond dust. Icicles dangled overhead as he hurried up the icy path to leave the water bucket on the top porch step. He would take it inside later. But for now, he had more information to gather. Did he have a chance? Was he right, did she have hopes and feelings for him, too?
As predicted, she did not wait as he’d asked. She followed him as far as the trail’s fork, one leading to the stables and the other to the maid’s quarters. “I never asked what brought you out in the cold this time of evening.”
“I intended to pay Don Quixote a visit. He and I haven’t gotten in as much talking as we usually do.” All he could see was her. The swish of her skirt. The sway of her hips. The pearled light on her skin. “I was also thinking of sledding.”
“You? Aren’t you too old to play in the snow?”
“Playing in the snow is ageless.” He matched her pace, taking the unbroken edge of the trail and leaving her the cleared pathway.
“Surely even a lady as proper as you, Miss Clara, knows that.”
“I’ve rarely indulged in such silliness.” She tried to hold back a smile and failed. “The truth is, I’ve never had much time for play.”
“You have always had a serious life?”
“I ran errands for several businesses in town, swept store floors and boardwalks and cleared snow for most of the day when I was a child.”
“What about school?”
“I never made it past the third grade. I was kept out, to help make what living I could. But one of the hurdy-gurdy dancers at one of the saloons liked to read and taught me what she could. I doubt you can understand how I was brought up.”
“With little to hope for, so it seems to me. With a ma you couldn’t count on, a pa who’d abandoned his responsibilities. I can see why you don’t believe in me, Clara.” His hand settled on her shoulder, drawing her around. He towered over her, both a stranger she did not know and a dream she’d never been brave enough to wish for, all at once. His thumb brushed the dip in her chin. “But you will.”
How did she tell him she was beginning to believe? She felt dazzled by his caring gaze, captivated by his branding touch. This man could enchant her, when no one ever had. His fingers blazed on her skin like the first star in a winter sky, bright enough to light her way. His gaze settled on her mouth and lingered, and the contours of his rugged face changed. His mouth softened. His eyes darkened.
Alarm tripped through her veins. She bit her bottom lip, afraid in a way she didn’t understand. Surely he wasn’t thinking about kissing her. She steeled her spine, gathering up her will. How easy it would be to throw off caution and lean ever so slightly toward him, let her eyes drift shut and know the feel of his kiss.
The wind gusted hard, slicing through her layers of clothing like a blade. Her head cleared. You do not know this man enough.
You have not seen enough of his character. The commonsense reminder whispered through her mind, giving voice to her doubts, which life had reinforced. Men did not stay. And if they did, they did not stay for her.
Again she withdrew from his touch and the allure of his intent gaze. Whatever he was asking, she could not agree to. Something deeper than disappointment and darker than regret slammed against her rib cage, but she ignored it. “If you will excuse me, it’s time I went home.”
“Your workday is done?”
“Yes, although there is much to be done in the cabin.” Minor things, like refilling the kerosene lamps and darning her socks, which had worn through again. But he did not need to know that.
Let him think she had pressing tasks that could not wait. It would be best for both of them, best for her heart. Her shoes slipped a bit on the icy path, and the crunch of her footsteps echoed in the great hush of the night.
“Are you settled in all right?” His question followed her when he did not. “Are you liking the place?”
“Liking is too small a word.” Her confession rose across the platinum span of snow separating them. Heat flooded her face and embarrassment across her heart, for she was not only speaking of the cabin. Afraid he knew that, too, she continued on, walking as fast as she dared until the shadows surrounding the garden hid her from his sight.
Chapter Six
“I’m tellin’ you, I think she just might like me more than a little.” Joseph’s steps echoed in the stable as he wrestled his sled out from behind Gabriel’s collection of saddles. “She had a look on her pretty face, one I’ve seen before. Back before Savannah married Nate and she was sweet on him and didn’t want him to know it. That was the same look Clara had tonight.”
Don Quixote inhaled the last granules of grain from his trough, swiveling his ears as if he were listening intently. He whinnied his opinion low in his throat.
“I’m glad you think so, too.” He dragged the old sled out of the tack room and squinted at it.
Don Quixote lifted his head from the grain box and did the same.
“Not too impressive, all covered in hay dust like that.” He hadn’t reckoned on their boyhood sled looking neglected and battered, but the runners were in fair repair. “Good thing it’s dark out. With a lick of luck, she won’t be able to tell.”
Don Quixote whinnied with a shake of his head, sending his sleek black mane swinging. It was plain to see the stallion didn’t agree.
“It’s the only plan I’ve got. If you have a better one, speak up.”
Joseph stopped to run his hand down the horse’s nose. “You and I have a trip to make into town tomorrow. Things ought to get interesting with the snow melting, so rest up. You might need all your energy. Then there’s always the Johnsons’ filly in town to impress. Either way, it’s bound to be a big day.”
He intended to time things right so he could volunteer to escort Clara on her first drive to town. Whistling, he yanked the sled by its rope out into the night. Don Quixote nickered a cozy good-night. He closed the doors tight against the cold wind and high-mountain predators.
Clara’s light drew him across the hillside, with heart pounding and his palms damp beneath his gloves. Dang, but he was nervous.
Courting a woman was sure tough on a man. By the time he got up the courage to rap his knuckles on her front door, his nerves were atumble. He could hardly suck in enough air waiting for her to answer. A thousand rejections took form in his imagination.
Clara saying a fast and very adamant “No!” Clara slamming the door in his face. Clara looking horrified at the thought of spending time with him. Clara laughing in mirth at his tender assumptions.
His knees were knocking as he waited. He knew down deep that she would never treat him that way, but what a man knew and what he feared were two different things. A wolf howled in the nearby forest and others answered, echoing across the mountaintops, nearly masking the sound of the door opening. Lamplight spilled over him like hope, and she looked beautiful as always with her braids uncoiled and without her proper white apron. He couldn’t help but notice how her green calico dress made her look like summer in full bloom, lush and ripe and tempting.
“I know you said you had things to do,” he began, trying to banish the nervousness plaguing him. “But I thought you might like to try your hand at sledding.”
“How
did you know I’ve never been?”
“Just a guess, from what you said.” It stood to reason. She’d worked as a child, instead of learning to read and cipher at school, and hadn’t had much time for play. “It’s a lot of fun.”
“More so than sleigh riding?”
“I promise you the time of your life.” Was that interest sizzling in the blue of her eyes? He surely hoped so.
“The time of my life? My, that is a big promise.”
“One I intend to keep.” He unhooked her coat from the peg by the door. “This might be your last chance until snow flies again, probably in October. That’s a long spell to wait for some of the best fun you will ever have on a downhill slope.”
“You are outrageous, Joseph, claiming such things. I have a suspicion you are not only speaking of sledding.”
“It takes one to know one.” He held out the garment for her.
A challenge dazzled in his eyes along with something else, something far too serious and too frightening to believe in. So why was her arm sliding into her coat sleeve as if of its own accord?
“And what if my sledding experience is not as stellar as you claim?”
“Life’s experiences come with no guarantees,” he answered smoothly, easing her coat over her shoulders. So close, she inhaled the fresh air, hay and his pleasant male scent. Awareness tingled through her. His lips brushed her hair as he spoke. “But you will never know if you don’t give it a try.”
Why did it feel as if he were no longer talking of the act of sliding down a hillside in the dark, but something much more perilous? When he circled around to catch her top button in his callused, working-man hands, his humor was gone. His easygoing friendliness vanished. The lamplight found and caressed the intensely masculine muscular curve of his shoulders bulging beneath his coat. She felt every inch of his power to protect, to defend and to provide. She recognized an immeasurable tenderness as he worked the first button through the buttonhole, his knuckles grazing her chin.