by Jillian Hart
“Usually that’s old Opie’s job, but I told him I would do it this once. Remember I wanted to take you on a drive today?”
“How could I forget?” The intimacy from last night stood between them, both exciting and a little awkward. Blushing, she looked away, focusing on the black horse hitched to the fancy, covered buggy. “I don’t think I can be responsible for something so fancy. What if something happens?”
“What could happen?”
“Let me think. A landslide. A hungry mountain lion. Something could break on the buggy. The horse might become ill or injured or realize I’m new at driving and run away with me.”
“Life is full of risks. Besides, Bucky is twenty-three years old.
He’s happy enough to take you to town, but trust me. When you turn him toward home, he’ll go there on his own. He’s of the age where a horse just wants a warm comfortable stall and a bucket of sweet rolled oats. I thought I would escort you today and make sure you know the way.”
“That was mighty thoughtful of you, considering the only time I was on the road to town it was blizzarding. All I could see was the snow hitting my face.”
“The least I could do. I’ve been looking forward to this all morning.”
“You best be careful, Joseph, or I’m going to start believing you.”
“Good. That’s exactly what I intend.” He held out his hand, both an offer to help her into the buggy and something more.
What did he intend? She was afraid to ask him, afraid to know.
Remembering the words he had uttered to her after they had met.
I’m already sweet on you. I know it in my gut. I just know. We are going to be the happiest married couple in these parts.
Last night had felt like a dream, fondly invading her thoughts all morning. As she went about her work cleaning and dusting, that dream had began to be less real and more fantasy. But now it all came back the moment she accepted his hand. Tendrils of adoration and need twined through her and took hold. She settled on the seat, hardly aware of him climbing in beside her. All she knew was that he was with her, and they were alone together. Just like last night.
Desire she’d never felt before skittered through her veins, and as the clear curtains closed, cutting off the wind and the rain, she was aware of every part of him. His granite thigh pressed against the length of her leg, his unyielding arm against her shoulder. Memories of being held by him and kissed by him left her dizzy.
“Tomorrow is Sunday.” He laid his arm across her shoulder and drew her closer. “It’s your day off.”
“Yes, I’m aware of that.”
“Any plans I should be aware of?”
“Why are you asking?” She leaned a little more against him.
The way he looked at her, spoke to her, the warm regard in his voice made her feel special again. More like the woman she had always dreamed of being. She no longer felt plain when his gaze roved her face as if he could not get enough of looking at her.
“My family always has a big Sunday dinner,” he went on to explain. “It’s a bigger event now that my brother is married and Mary Grace was born. Would you like to come?”
“But it’s a family dinner.”
“Yes, it surely is.” Gone were all traces of charm and good humor. Deadly serious, he reined the horse around a grand sweeping corner, bringing a deep forest of nodding, enormous evergreens into sight. The craggy, rugged sides of mountains speared up into the fluffy gray clouds, peaks lost in the rain. “I’m courting you, Clara. It’s official.”
Her stomach plummeted, as if the buggy had taken to rolling right down one of those mountainsides. It wasn’t only a frightening sensation. Delight ribboned through her, brighter than summer sunshine. “You simply decided this on your own?”
“After last night, I figured it was a good step. After all, we shared more than one kiss. You weren’t exactly fighting me off.”
Heat stained her cheeks, making her skin tight. Was she smiling? She shouldn’t be. “Kissing a lady before you are engaged to her is highly improper.”
“See? That’s why I made the assumption. If you weren’t sweet on me, then you never would have kissed me back.” His arm around her tightened gently, reminding her of how good it felt to be at his side. Of how very much she wanted to stay with him.
A wise woman would be practical. A man like Joseph could have his pick of women. He might be as serious as stone at the moment, but she well remembered the easygoing charmer who had scooped her onto his horse at the train depot. Fear lashed at her, striking quick and deep.
Lars had been this way. Charming and too serious too fast.
Oh, Lars had never been truly interested in her, she could see that now. Not the way Joseph was; he was hewn of something wonderful and masculine she had never seen before.
You’re going to get hurt, the voice of experience whispered to her. He will lose interest and move on, and you will lose your heart. Your whole heart this time, and not just a piece of it.
True, she realized, but hope grew within her like a young bud ready to open. The hope for this man was something she could not give up on. Even if he broke her entire heart, she wanted more time with Joseph. She had to know what being loved by him would be like.
“But we haven’t known each other very long, Joseph, for you to be making assumptions.”
“Sure, but the moment you drive through town and every lonely bachelor gets an eyeful of your beauty, sweetheart, you’re going to be the most popular person in town. Now, I’m ready to beat every single one of those would-be suitors off to keep you all to myself, but I would rather they kept away because you have vowed to be mine.”
“What an imagination you have, Joseph Brooks. I’m just an average girl. The way you go on makes me feel like someone else entirely. Don’t get me wrong, I like it, but you’re simply being charming again.”
“No. In my view, you are the most beautiful woman. I have the suspicion that every day I know you, you will become more cherished to me.” He reined the horse to a stop, his gaze colliding with hers, revealing his sincere vulnerability. There was no smile teasing his lips, no jaunty bracket of dimples around his mouth and no shields around his feelings. He was offering her his heart.
His words made her want to blush, but the man seated beside her, honest to the core, humbled her. A tiny voice within her, the one so used to being sensible, whispered to her, This is too good to be true. Caution! But as his gloved hand cupped her chin, drawing her into his reverent kiss, love seeped through her, tiny and new at first, like clear sparkling light. She shimmered with it as their lips brushed again. It was as if his love for her wrapped around her like sunshine, enfolding her in a brilliant, protective glow.
“I was fixing to build a house on that south-facing slope there.”
His words rumbled comfortably through her, his lips brushing her hair, his arm around her shoulder nudging her tight against his side.
“A house?” He overwhelmed her. He was all she could see.
What was happening to her? She felt carried away and grounded all in the same moment, joyful and solemn in the same breath.
With every passing second, she felt transformed, as if she would never be the same again. The tiny petals of hope opening within her began to bloom like blossoms beneath a summer sky.
I love him. The power of it twisted painfully in her chest and burned in her eyes. She blinked, but her vision remained blurry.
There was no hillside and no world beyond the rain-specked curtain.
Only Joseph, with love alight on his rugged face—love for her.
“I bought this section of land last year.”
“This isn’t part of your family’s ranch?”
“It borders up against it, but no. I’ve built my own herd alongside Pa’s, and for years I’ve worked afternoons from fall to spring in my brother Nate’s feed store. I saved up and worked hard to make it on my own, not to have my pa hand me what is his.”
More love sh
immered through her, buoyed by respect for this man. Could he be any more perfect? In the moments of silence, as they peered at the land together, was he imagining the house he would build? The life they would have there?
And yes, she was imagining it, too. Doing her housework with the sun streaming in through wide windows while children played in the fresh mountain grasses. Joseph’s warm chuckle and his arms holding her close. Sitting together at night by the fireplace, she with her needlework and he with his newspaper, talking amicably and laughing together over this and that. Putting their children to bed and being alone together.
Her face flamed hot as fire, and she couldn’t imagine anything she wanted more than spending the night with Joseph and knowing his lovemaking.
Could this really be happening to a girl like her? She rested her head against his shoulder, basking in a closeness she had never felt before. She didn’t have to ask to know that Joseph was pondering these same things. The promise of it was tender on his handsome face.
“I want you to know I have a lot to offer you.” He cradled her head, holding her against his chest. “I’m a serious man down deep, Clara. I want to take care of you. I want to spend all of my days with you.”
“I believe you, Joseph. I see the man you are.” Her old fears told her to move away, to put enough distance between them to keep her safe from disappointment. A new part of her, someone she didn’t recognize, did not want to let go of this dream.
“That means a lot to me, sweetheart.” Immeasurable love vibrated in those words. “I’ll hire a few carpenters in town to help me. We can order lumber from the train yard. Or if you would rather have a log house, we can start cutting timber. You tell me what you want.”
She thought of the cozy, wonderful cabin she lived in with the stout walls of honey-gold wood. “A log house. Something with lots of windows.”
“As you wish, my lady.” His thumb traced the outline of her lips, his eyes hazy with desire, his words rough with devotion.
“From this moment on, I live for you.”
And I, for you. She lacked the courage to say the words, afraid that his could not be true. She was afraid of so many things, but not this man. He could be her everything, if she let him, the very reason she drew air each day.
Rain tapped at the curtains and drummed overhead, and the hillside was gray with melting snow and puddled water. But in her dreams she envisioned colorful wildflowers, a happy home and a happier life as Joseph’s wife.
His thumb traced her bottom lip, sending shocking little bolts of pleasure through her. Apparently he wasn’t through romancing her yet, for he caught her in an ardent embrace, sealing his pledge with a flawless kiss.
Yep, things were going pretty well in his view of things.
Joseph couldn’t say he wasn’t proud as he navigated through town. Word must have spread, because everyone who waved from horseback or from boardwalks looked pleased to see a beautiful young lady on the buggy seat beside him. A few folks called out a good day, and more than one married man shook his head as if to say, boy, you don’t know the trouble you’re getting in to.
Marriage was surely a big step, but by golly, he had wanted to be a married man for some time now. He just never figured he would wind up with such a beautiful and down-to-earth girl.
One who could have found herself a husband instead of working hard to make her way on her own. He admired her for that. And after the kisses they shared, he couldn’t wait for the wedding night. He’d best get their house built lickety-split.
“That’s Poles’ Mercantile.” He spotted a good-size space along the hitching post and directed Bucky into it. The gelding came to a placid halt and Joseph pulled the brake. “You’ll likely find most things on Mrs. Baker’s list in there and across the street at the grocery. There’s a mail office inside the mercantile.
Come on in and I’ll introduce you.”
“That would be a great help, Joseph.” She looked up at him as if he hung the moon, taking his hand to step down from the buggy with grace. Everything about her filled him with pride.
Devotion to her hammered through him, growing with each beat. As he offered his arm to escort her up the steps, he knew it always would. Sure, he may have fallen for Clara at first sight, but the love expanding within his soul was a rare and everlasting thing. He knew it. He would move mountains for her, trade his life for hers, utter his last breath saying her name. The thought of making her his wife caused emotion to lump in his throat, so he didn’t talk much as he led the way along the boardwalk.
When he held the door for her and she swished by with a rustle of her skirts and sweetness, he noticed only her. Not the other folks, not the noise and bustle on the street and inside the store.
Just Clara Woodrow, daintily tugging off her mittens and cap, looking up at him with love in her gaze.
Love. Yessir, all he could see was his lovely Clara, unbuttoning her coat. His adorable Clara smiling in greeting as Mrs. Pole circled round the counter with her hand extended. The two began to chat, but he still couldn’t speak, overwhelmed. Clara was simply his end and his beginning.
“Looks like you’ve got yourself sweet on your Ma’s new maid.” Elderly Mr. Pole ambled over, a pipe stuck between his teeth and tugging on his suspender straps. “Which would be all right, if your bride wasn’t waiting for you.”
“My what?” He couldn’t have heard Mr. Pole right. “Clara is my bride.”
“No, that would be Miss Pennington. She’s the one seated on the bench by the window. I was just about to send the box boy over to the feed store to fetch your brother. She’s a real pretty thing, too. A real shame none of your kin thought to pick her up from the train.” Mr. Pole winked. “You wouldn’t know it to look at me, but I had a way with the ladies back in my day—”
“Wallace, don’t you go telling tales,” his wife scolded with a shake of her head as she took Clara by the arm. “I’ll help Mary’s new maid shop for her supplies, if you introduce our young Romeo to his betrothed.”
It was all happening too fast, and his brain was like a wagon wheel stuck in the mud. He didn’t know any Miss Pennington.
Surely there was some confusion. His ma hadn’t said a thing about writing away for a bride.
The moment he saw the shock on Clara’s face, draining away her joy, leaving her stunned-looking and pale, he realized the truth. His ma had been searching for a bride for him. She had simply wanted to keep it a surprise—and she was too late.
“You had best go greet your bride-to-be,” Clara said quietly, gently.
He watched her heart break, piece by piece. Amid the noise and crush of midmorning shoppers, and the street noise as the door opened with a jingling bell, he saw her smile fade and her love close up like a new spring bud against a cruel frost.
“Go to her, Joseph.” Clara turned her shoulder to him and walked away with small, dignified steps. She didn’t look back, as if she had written him off for good.
Chapter Eight
“Mary Brooks is quite specific when it comes to her teas,”
kindly Mrs. Pole explained, unaware of the roaring in Clara’s ears, making it near to impossible to concentrate on the fact that her every hope was broken.
“Is that right?” she found herself saying as if from a great distance. Although she kept her back firmly turned, she could pick out the confident knell of Joseph’s gait amid all the other noises in the mercantile. Her skin tingled with the memory of being in his arms, and pain split through her like lightning hitting a tree, leaving her as if cleaved right down the center.
She blinked hard against the pain, determined to give the store owner all her attention. “Mrs. Baker only put tea on the list.
Nothing specific.”
“That Mrs. Baker knows better. She does this with all the new employees to the Brooks household. She’s a queer sort, but a good housekeeper, so I hear. She runs a tight ship. That’s why I aim to help you out, dear. You seem like a sweet girl. Here, let’s take this ba
sket and get it filled right up for you. Starting with the breakfast tea Mary enjoys in the morning.”
“Thank you.” Was it her fault her eyes were smarting? She could sense him from two aisles away, and the low murmur of his voice ought to have been indistinguishable in the busy store.
But her stubborn ears searched fondly for the sound, taking in his every word.
“Are you looking for the Brooks family?” he asked with a smile in his voice.
Are you looking for the Brooks family? The words echoed in her mind, the same words he had said to her when he’d approached her on the train platform. Her knees weakened, pain slicing through her. Why did it hurt so much?
“Yes, I am,” answered a cultured, modulated tone.
A beautiful voice for a beautiful lady, no doubt. Weakness trickled down her limbs, and she hardly was aware of the basket she held or Mrs. Pole placing two different tins of tea into it. One step further brought the newcomer into view. Clara saw a satin skirt trimmed in brushed velvet and the brim of a matching velvet hat. One more step and the delicate lady came into view, more beautiful than a princess, standing tall and slim and regal. Joseph tipped his hat, speaking with the woman, Miss Pennington. They looked good together, her frail good looks and his rugged handsomeness. A good match.
She felt every patch on her faded gingham dress and every scuff on her shoes.
You knew this was going to happen, she scolded herself. Her vision blurred and she blinked stubbornly, determined to focus on her shopping list. People left her. That was simply the truth.
She had to be strong and face facts. She had been carried away by his courtship. Down deep she should have known that Joseph Brooks had never been truly going to stay with her.
She wasn’t the kind of girl to inspire grand passion in a man, the kind that could bind his love to her for a lifetime.