Acclaim for the authors of STETSONS, SPRING AND WEDDING RINGS

JILLIAN HART

‘Finely drawn characters and sweet tenderness tinged with poignancy draw readers into a familiar story that beautifully captures the feel of an Americana romance. Readers can enjoy sharp dialogue and adorable child characterisations while shedding a tear or two.’ —RT Book Reviews on HIGH PLAINS WIFE

‘Ms Hart creates a world of tantalising warmth and tenderness, a toasty haven in which the reader will find pure enjoyment.’ —RT Book Reviews on MONTANA MAN

JUDITH STACY

‘A fine writer with both polished style and heartwarming sensitivity.’—bestselling author Pamela Morsi

‘The characters and the story’s touching sentiments have a wonderfully warm appeal.’ —RT Book Reviews on THE HIRED HUSBAND

STACEY KAYNE

‘Well written…a delight to devour. Highly romantic, with just the right touch of humour, MUSTANG WILD is one for the keeper shelf. Stacey Kayne has penned a treasure.’ —Cataromance on MUSTANG WILD

‘Kayne’s latest is fast-paced, action-packed and filled with sexual tension…The heroine is an innocent, stubborn spitfire who can’t cook but knows a good man when she finds one. She’ll keep him, and you’ll want to keep this one for a good night’s read.’ —RT Book Reviews on BRIDE OF SHADOW CANYON

JILLIAN HART grew up on her family’s homestead, where she raised cattle, rode horses and scribbled stories in her spare time. After earning an English degree from Whitman College she worked in advertising, before selling her first novel to Harlequin® Historical. When she’s not hard at work on her next story Jillian can be found chatting over lunch with a friend, stopping for a café mocha with a book in hand, and spending quiet evenings at home with her family. Visit her website at www.jillianhart.net

JUDITH STACY fell in love with the West while watching TV Westerns as a child in her rural Virginia home—one of the first in the community to have a television. This Wild West setting, with its strong men and resourceful women, remains one of her favourites. Judith is married to her high school sweetheart. They have two daughters and live in Southern California. Look in on Judith’s website at www.judithstacy.com

STACEY KAYNE has always been a daydreamer. If the comments in her elementary school report cards are any indication, it’s a craft she mastered early on. Having a passion for history and a flair for storytelling, she strives to weave fact and fiction into a wild ride that can capture the heart. Stacey lives on a ranch near the Sierra Nevada, with her high school sweetheart turned husband of eighteen years and their two sons. Visit her website at www.staceykayne.com

Stetsons, Spring and Wedding Rings
Jillian Hart, Judith Stacy, Stacey Kayne

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Rocky Mountain Courtship

Dear Reader

You may remember the Brooks brothers of Moose, Montana Territory, from my last anthology story, ROCKY MOUNTAIN BRIDE, in the Western Weddings collection. This time Clara Woodrow arrives in town, hoping to find employment with the Brooks family, and is mistaken for a mail-order bride by youngest brother Joseph. Clara is immediately taken by the handsome Brooks brother, but is his profession of love and his tender courtship sincere?

I hope you enjoy accompanying Clara as she discovers true love. Oldest brother Gabe’s story is next!

Thank you so much for choosing ROCKY MOUNTAIN COURTSHIP.

Happy reading

Jillian

Chapter One

Montana Territory, 1882

The January snow beat with a fury against Joseph Brooks as he reined his trusty bay to a stop in front of the train depot. Gosh, it was coming down so hard he couldn’t see past Don Quixote’s nose. The stallion picked his way to the hitching post and Joseph swung down, swiping the snow from his eyes. How was he gonna see his new bride in all of this? He would bump into her before he ever set sight on her.

Don Quixote blew out his breath, as if he were warning his master to be cautious. Joseph looped one rein around the log post and rubbed his buddy’s nose. “Don’t you worry. Sure, I’m a sight overeager, but I sure would like a girl of my own. Watching my brother so danged happy is about to do me in.”

Don Quixote stomped his front hoof, as if he had an opinion about why brother Nate was so happy these days. Joseph gave his hat a good tug. The stallion wasn’t wrong. Sure, his brother was happy; he’d married the most beautiful woman in Mountain County and he went to bed with her every night. Not to be disrespectful, but at twenty-two, Joseph sure would have liked to be able to do the same with his own gorgeous wife.

And soon he would. He plowed through the deep snow on the platform steps and felt the rumble of the train through the soles of his boots. Hadn’t his ma and pa been real busy writing and receiving letters the last few weeks? That’s exactly the way it had gone when they had found his sister-in-law Savannah. Ma and Pa had been the ones to bring her out to marry Nate. Nate hadn’t known a thing of it. He thought he was picking up a package for the folks—that was until Savannah stepped foot off the westbound train.

And guess what? His ma had sent him to town to pick up a package. As he tromped closer he could see the faint splash of the train’s red boiler through the snowfall. The westbound train. He wouldn’t be surprised at all if an unbelievably lovely woman stepped off that train and into his arms. With no marriageable females his age in these parts, a person could understand why he was so eager.

“That you, Joe?” A voice called out from one of the package cars.

Joseph squinted. He could just make out a form in the shadowed compartment. “Howdy, Roberts. It’s good to see the train is still running.”

“So far.” The baggage man swung into sight with a box under his arm. “You never know what’s up ahead of us. The summit might be snowed over and we’ll be backing down the grade to spend the night here.”

“I hope you get through.” It was a problem whenever the snow fell so hard: the trains stopped coming until the tracks could be cleared. He thought of the “package” likely to get off the train. Good thing she hadn’t been stranded somewhere. He might not know anything about her, but he knew one thing. Ma wanted pretty grandchildren, so she was likely to pick out an awful pretty gal.

No complaint there. Joseph knocked snow from his hat brim. “Good luck to you, Roberts—”

“Don’t forget this.” He gave the box he carried a toss.

Joseph caught it. A package. How about that?

“For your ma,” the baggage handler explained. “Give her my respects.”

“Sure thing.” Joseph hiked the box under his arm. How about that for a coincidence? He hardly gave it much thought because he saw a slim shadow up ahead of him. The snow veiled her, but she was a petite, delicate lady with one of those fashionable ruffled skirts. She wore a bonnet that hid most of her profile from him. He knew it was her. Joy lit him up down deep.

Now, most fellas didn’t go about letting their ma pick out a wife for them, but he had bought one of those heart-in-hand magazines not long ago and read all the advertisements from women looking for a new life. He had scratched his head, not knowing where to start. Looked like now he wouldn’t have to puzzle it out.

“Howdy, miss?” He used his most polite voice. “Are you looking for the Brooks family?”

“Why, yes I am.” She turned toward him in one slow swirl. He made out the sweet oval shape of her face, a delicate chin and a rosebud mouth before the snow gusted between them, leaving her once again veiled to his sight. If she was half as pretty as her voice, then he was one lucky man.

His heart rocketed around his chest. He fumbled for his hat brim, but his fingers felt stupid and he had to reach for it twice. He swept it off, using what manners he had. “I’m Joseph Brooks. I’ve come to take you in to town.”

“Joseph.” She said his name with a smile.

He liked how that sounded. His blood warmed just thinking of hearing his name on her voice in the dark of night. His chest filled with satisfaction. Gee, but this kept getting better and better.

“I read about you in your mother’s letters.”

“I expect you have.” That pleased him. Ma was good at writing long-winded letters, so it had to be a good sign that this woman knew so much about him and was still glad to meet him. “I’m at a loss, miss, seeing as how I don’t know your name.”

“It’s Clara. Clara Woodrow.”

The snow thinned, allowing him a better glimpse of her face. Big, wide-set eyes stared up at him, unguarded and blueberry blue. A man could lose all common sense staring into those eyes. Air lodged midway in his chest, and he felt the earth tilt. “That’s a pretty name for a pretty lady.”

“You are a flatterer, Mr. Brooks, but I shall forgive you.” Her voice was gentle with a smile in it. “I can see I will have to have my wits about me whenever you are near.”

“Yes, but I am harmless, I swear it.” A cold arrow of snow slapped against his cheek. He shook his head, suddenly realizing he was standing in the middle of the train platform in a snowstorm. The rumbling idle of the engine, the crunch of passersby in the snow and the bite of the wind had faded and remained in the far distance. All his thoughts and senses seemed held by her.

“Are those your bags?” he asked of the shadows slumped a few paces beyond. When she nodded, he squared his shoulders and did the manly thing: he took care of her. “Let me fetch those for you. I suppose you’ll be staying at the hotel here in town?”

“The hotel? Why, no. I was led to believe Mrs. Brooks had a separate living area for—” She hesitated. “For me.”

“A separate living area?” He hefted up the two rather tattered satchels, careful not to drop Ma’s package. “She must mean the maid’s quarters.”

“Yes, that’s it.”

“Well, if that’s what she said, I had best get you home.” He flashed her a grin. “Come with me. I have a horse waiting. It’s too bad it’s so late or I could hire a sleigh from the livery stable. Is horseback all right?”

“Yes, I am simply grateful that you have come, Mr. Brooks. I had fixed in my mind that I would have to ask directions of some kind soul and simply walk until I found your home.”

“Walk? No, it’s much too far. We live miles out of town.”

“Then I’m doubly grateful you are here.” She bowed her head against the resistant wind and followed the wide-shouldered, strapping Mr. Brooks through the drifted snow on the wide platform, a question troubling her. “How did you know I would be here?”

“My mother knew.” He held out his hand. “Careful here, the snow is deep and it’s hard to see the steps.”

“Thank you.” What a kind man. She was not used to this brand of treatment. Her gloved fingertips brushed his broad palm, and through the leather of his driving glove and the wool of her mitten, electricity jolted up her arm and straight to her heart. The step beneath her shoe felt strangely buoyant and she was glad for his steadying hand helping her to keep her balance.

“Are you okay there?” he drawled in his pleasant, smoky baritone.

“Y-yes.” She had no explanation for what had happened. The moment passed and she was on the ground without remembering getting down the rest of the steps. All she could register was Joseph Brooks taking her by the elbow. He guided her through the hail of driving snow and into the wind shadow next to a big bay horse.

“Ma should have told me to bring one of the geldings for you.”

Now that she was close enough without the snow between them, she could see he was charmingly handsome. The broad rim of his Stetson framed his rugged face to perfection. He had a high intelligent forehead, or at least she imagined so behind the fall of his longish brown hair. His eyes were dark and full of good humor. His nose was a masculine slope, not too sharp and not too big, just right for his granite face.

He would look imposing, she decided, if not for the warm ready grin that seemed to permanently shape his mouth. A dimple sat in his chin like a cherry on a sundae, topping off what was perfection. Not that she should be thinking this way about her possible employer’s son.

At least, she hoped she had a chance for the job. Desperate was a word she didn’t like to use, but with less then ten dollars in her pocket she could not be called anything else. She had come here on chance alone, and she wasn’t the most optimistic of girls.

He hung the handles of her satchels over the saddle horn. “Do you know how to ride, Miss Clara?”

“No, sir.” There had been no need living in Chicago, where she could easily walk wherever she needed to go. Walking was probably not something she could easily do here. There had been so many tiny towns along the railroad line through the western territories, she had done her best to imagine what it might be like to live in a place like this, remote and wild, surrounded by nature instead of people and buildings. Trees were everywhere she could see, tall, white-mantled sentries guarding the street.

“Do you at least know how to keep your seat?” His eyes had slight, pleasant crinkles in the corners as if he spent a lot of his life laughing. He must be the sort who looked on the bright side of things.

She liked that in a man. “Mr. Brooks, I have to confess. I’ve never been on a horse. I don’t know how to drive, either.”

“Then I shall teach you.” He secured the satchels and package to his saddle. “You are going have to get used to riding and driving if you plan to spend any time with me.”

“Then I’ll look forward to it.” Why she said such a thing, she couldn’t rightly say, but he didn’t seem to think less of her for agreeing with him. She wasn’t flirting, although it felt that way when Mr. Brooks grinned at her. Surely the fine man was not interested in a housemaid or such a plain girl. She had no illusions about that. Her mother had told her often enough, and there had been Lars who—

She tamped down that thought. Do not think of him, she ordered herself.

“Give me your hand.” Mr. Brooks had swung up into his saddle and looked mighty imposing on the top of his powerful horse. He removed his boot from the stirrup. “Put your foot here and I’ll help you up. We’ll make a western girl out of you yet.”

“How do you propose to do that? Surely there is more to it than horseback riding.”

“Why, who knows? I just might have to marry you.”

That surprised her. She gasped, not knowing what to say. Perhaps he felt this, too, this unusual and instant pull between them. She blushed furiously. “You must stop teasing. I’m not the kind of woman who just accepts any man’s proposal.”

“No, I don’t suppose you are.” He laughed, and the warm rich sound was as cozy as butter melting. He held out his hand. “Proposals aside, think you would like to come home with me?”

“I suppose. I need to stay somewhere.” She tried to keep a straight face but somehow they were laughing together.

Snow tumbled against her face as she laid her hand against his palm. His fingers wrapped around hers, vibrant with strength and vitality. Longing filled her as she hiked up her skirt ruffles and slipped her toe into the leather stirrup. Suddenly she was airborne, the ground falling away and the snow blinding her. She settled on Mr. Brooks’s lap, safely tucked in his arms. His grin was wide and tempting and her heart gave a little flip-flop.

This was not what she had in mind when he’d offered to share his horse with her. She shifted, but that didn’t seem to improve the situation. Surely this was not the way to impress her future employer, by showing up in her son’s embrace. Perhaps it would be prudent to push him away, but something prevented her. Maybe it was the worsening beat of the storm making it impossible to speak, or the howling wind that would drown out her voice.

A warm sweep of rightness wrapped around her. She had been lonely for so long, and what a relief it was to finally feel in safe hands. There was something about Joseph Brooks she liked very much. It was almost as if she knew him from somewhere before. She didn’t, of course. It was quite an odd sensation, but not as strange as the rock of the horse’s first step that jarred through her. She gasped and reached out for something—anything—to hold on to.

Mr. Brooks. His arms held her tight and kept her from falling. “You’re safe with me, Clara.”

She didn’t doubt that one bit. She blinked the snow from her lashes, leaned against the hard plane of his chest and felt the smallest seed of hope. The snow sharpened, driving at her like needles, and the wind blasted ice all the way to her bones. Let the wind blow, she thought, for here in his arms she felt as if no amount of cold or storm could diminish her chance for a new start.

“Look up and tell me what you think of your new home.” His voice rumbled through her intimately, as his warm breath brushed her temple.

Home. Coziness bubbled through her, and she couldn’t rightly say if it was due to the notion of having a place where she might belong. Perhaps it had more to do with the handsome man who was kissing-close. Her heart lurched. Her lips tingled, simply from his nearness.

“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 riverrock 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 light, 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 to 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.

“I want this to work out, I truly do.” Her confession rolled off her tongue before she could stop it. She winced, hearing the ring of her far too honest words in the stillness between them. Now she was the one being too forward, speaking as if she already had the job.

Joseph did not seem to mind. His leather gloves gripped the back of her neck. His was a tender touch; his voice when he spoke was like satin. “I have a good feeling. I want this to work, too.”

They must be sorely hurting for a maid. And Joseph Brooks was too charming for his own good. There was something amiss, something out of place she could not put her finger on because of his touch. He smoothed her long hair out of the way, his touch almost like a caress. Very inappropriate, and she opened her mouth to say so, but not a single word emerged.

As he tugged her coat off her shoulders, she was aware of every solid inch of him. The strange jolt returned, zinging through her like a lightning strike. Her pulse screeched to a halt, and it was as if her heart would never beat again.

Whatever this strange, emotional pull was, she had to resist it. She pressed away from him just a tad, steeling her spine. Her face heated and she didn’t know where to look. It would be very easy to come to care about Joseph.

“Are you blushing?”

“I’m not used to such attention.”

“Then you had best get used to it, pretty lady.” His baritone knelled rich and intimate. “I know you are worried, but I’m not. I’m glad you came, Clara. I can’t think of anyone better.”

How sweet. “Except for the fact that you don’t know me at all. I could be a laze-about.”

“Beauty and wit, too. I think you and I are going to get along just fine.” His hand brushed her cheek. “I will be good to you, I swear it. I’ll build us a place of our own.”

“What?” A place? As in, a house? Had she heard him correctly? And why was the floor spinning? The cabin seemed to tilt at an odd angle. “A place of our own?”

“Yes, I know it’s soon to talk of such things, but we both know why you’re here, Clara.” His gloved finger folded a lock of hair behind her ear, the gentlest of all touches, and he towered over her, pure gentleman and dazzlingly tender. “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.”

“M-married?” she stuttered. No, surely there was something wrong with her hearing. Perhaps it was the aftereffect of train travel or from choosing to skip the noon meal to save the cost of the food. Any moment now her mind was going to stop sloshing around and settle down to working correctly, and Joseph was going to start making sense to her. “Why would you think that?”

“You’re right. I’m getting ahead of myself. It’s a fault of mine.” He took her coat from her; bits of melting snow shook loose and fell to the floor. “I promise to give you all the time you need. If I’m not mistaken, here’s Ma now. I’ll let you two get acquainted while I stable my horse. He shouldn’t be left standing in this weather.”

“No, of course not, but—” The long last look he threw at her felt like stardust’s gentle glaze. She felt a magical warmth surround her, something she could not touch or see but felt all the same. Places in her heart came alive, places she never knew were there before.

Transfixed, she watched the wide-shouldered man hang her coat on a peg by the door and open it to a pleasant, apple-faced woman with her hair piled loose and tall on her head. The two exchanged words; Joseph strode out into the dark. Clara stood as still as an end table in the parlor, her pulse thumping bizarrely. His bold comments rang in her mind. I just might have to marry you. I’ll build us a place of our own. We both know why you’re here, Clara.

“Miss Pennington? Hello, there. I’m Mary Brooks.” The pleasant woman tapped closer, wrapped in a fine cashmere shawl and wearing a tasteful brown velveteen dress. Nothing but kindness and happiness marked her round, pretty face. “I saw Joseph walk past the kitchen window with you in tow. I’m delighted you decided to come a bit early. How lovely to meet you.”

Miss Pennington? Suddenly it all made sense. They were expecting someone else. Someone else had already been hired for the position and, by the sound of things, had some relationship with Joseph. He’d simply mistaken her for Miss Pennington. That was why he behaved far too familiarly. Her ears began to buzz, disappointment settling like a weight in her chest. “Mrs. Brooks, I’m so pleased to meet you, but my name is—”

“That Joseph, putting you in the maid’s quarters. What was he thinking?” Mary Brooks threw out both arms and wrapped Clara in the sweetest, tightest hug she’d ever imagined. A mother’s embrace, welcoming and comforting. “You must come to the main house with us immediately. I’ve had the cook set an extra plate at the table. Your room should be ready in a bit, as we are currently without a second maid. How were your travels? My, you are such a dear thing. As pretty as a picture.”

Overwhelmed, Clara could only search in vain for words. A terrible falling began somewhere in her midsection, and it felt as if it took all her hopes with it. Mary Brooks was not expecting a maid. No, not at all.

“What did you think of my Joseph? Isn’t he a dear?” Mary squeezed Clara’s hands gently, telegraphing both need and joy. The mother’s love sparkling within her was impossible to miss. “I think you two would be perfect together.”

“I’m sorry, but you were expecting a bride for him?” She couldn’t say why she felt desolate, but at least some of the pieces were starting to fit.

“Yes, dear. Of course. Isn’t that what those months of corresponding between the two of us were about?” Mary’s face drew into a perfect visage of concern. “Don’t tell me we are not what you expected, that you’re disappointed in us? I know you are used to many conveniences, Boston is surely a fine city, but I assure you, a remote location like this has much to offer. And there is no finer man anywhere than my son.”

“I’m sure that is all true.” Her voice sounded wooden. All Joseph’s kindness toward her and this woman’s motherly concern would vanish as soon as she said the words. But they must be said. “I am not Miss Pennington. My name is Clara, and I’ve come for the maid’s job, if it’s still open.”

“The maid’s job? I don’t understand, child.”

Her knees wobbled, and beneath her mittens her palms went damp. She refused to let herself wonder what Joseph would think. She refused to acknowledge any feelings toward him at all. This was the moment of truth. The reason she had sold everything she owned to travel far from everything she knew. “Nan Woodrow is my mother. You had been corresponding with her about a position in your home.”

“Yes, of course. Where is she? Did something happen to her?”

“You could say that. My ma isn’t the most reliable of people. I’m afraid she ran off.”

“Ran off? You’ve come all this way, and alone?”

She nodded miserably. What Mrs. Brooks must be thinking! Shame crawled through her, but she firmed her chin. “I assure you I am nothing like my mother. I work hard and I need this job. Please, would you consider hiring me?”

Chapter Three

Joseph swiped the towel one last time across Don Quixote’s withers. “What do you think of Clara?”

The stallion stomped his right hoof and tossed his head.

“That’s what I think, too. Woo-wee.” He patted his horse’s neck. “Looks like there are going to be a few changes around here.”

Don Quixote whinnied low in his throat as if in complete understanding.

“I wonder how things are going up at the house.” He closed the stall gate and pried open the grain barrel. He grabbed the scoop and filled it, pleasantly recalling just how good it had felt to cradle his betrothed against his chest. Mighty fine, indeed. “I bet Ma has Clara warming by the fire and talkin’ her ears off.”

Don Quixote didn’t comment as he dove into his trough and gobbled up his tasty grain. After all, first things first.

“Yep, I bet that’s how it’s going. Clara and Ma are probably fast friends by now.” He hardly remembered tossing the scoop back into the grain barrel and getting the lid down tight. Because every thought in his head centered on Clara—his wife-to-be. Emotion filled his chest, a feeling that was too embarrassing to say out loud. Recalling how she looked with the firelight caressing her skirts and the melted snow in her hair glistening like diamonds made the emotion in his chest double. Was he already in love with the girl?

“See you later, buddy.” He couldn’t remember ever being so eager to get back to the house and it wasn’t because his stomach was grumbling, either. He buttoned up and grabbed Ma’s package before heading outside. The cold blast of night air hardly troubled him as he closed the stable door tight and started the hike up the hillside. He felt as if he walked in summer sunshine. That’s what love could do to a man.

Why, he couldn’t remember a better evening. Hazy moonlight penetrated the thinning clouds and threw silver across his path like a hopeful sign. This late-season storm had nearly blown itself out. New leaves rustled on tree boughs as he trekked past, and snow dropped in chunks to the ground. He followed the darkly gleaming snow along the garden gate toward the house, knowing Miss Clara was inside.

Clara. What a fine lady. His chest puffed up with pride and something buttery warm and too wonderful to name. He couldn’t say his boots touched the ground as he hiked along the wind shadow of the house. He almost turned around to see if he left any tracks in the snow behind him, but his attention turned toward the lit windows. Already his eyes hungered for her. His whole body tingled, remembering how dandy it had been to hold her in his arms. He sure would like to do that again.

He took the porch steps two at a time, already making plans in his head: the log house he intended to build with an appealing view of the Rockies’ peaks and the mountainside below; all the fineries he wanted for his wife. No doubt she would want a fancy kitchen and a sewing room with a newfangled sewing machine and all the pretty things a woman required. He shook the snow off his clothes and stomped his boots, determined to take the best possible care of Clara, when he spied her through the kitchen window.

Golly, but she made a pretty picture standing there at the counter. He drank in the sight of her, as fragile as a porcelain doll but all woman. No doubt about that. Not to be disrespectful, but she had a very fine bosom. He tried not to think overmuch on her bosom for his face heated and he fumbled with the doorknob. He tumbled into the mudroom, losing sight of her. His heart, however, clutched the image of her close. As he peeled off his boots and coat and hung his hat up to dry, every fiber of him ached to see her again. The low melody of her voice rumbled pleasantly through the wall as she spoke with the cook.

What a fine lady, to be so polite to the help. She was down-to-earth. He liked that about her. That, and every single thing he knew about Clara Woodrow. Sure, he was falling awfully fast, but he had been looking forward to this day for a while. He hadn’t expected an instant attraction to her; he had never experienced the like of it before. As he pushed open the door and burst into the kitchen, his gaze went only to her, to his Clara, turning from the steeping teapot to offer him one perfect smile.

His heart squeezed so hard it brought tears to his eyes. He had never beheld such perfection. In full light, her beauty paled next to the gentle goodness he saw shining within her. It outshone her significant outward beauty and made the faded pink calico dress she wore look like the finest gown. His entire being changed in that instant, heart and soul forever surrendered to her.

So this is what love is. He closed the door behind him, his world forever changed. Commitment and devotion filled him like water in a well, rising up until he brimmed with it. Fierce protective urges rolled through him, making him feel ten feet tall. He would do anything for her, give his life for her if he had to. He set the brown-wrapped package on the counter, a stone’s throw from Clara. “I can’t believe Ma let you escape her. I expect she’s waiting for you in the parlor?”

“Yes, I believe she’s taken up her needlework.” Her shy smile touched her soft mouth, and she averted her eyes, turning to fuss with the tray on the counter in front of her. “Would you like some tea to warm you?”

“Why, I surely would.” He was touched that she would be offering. Already she had slipped into the woman-of-the-house role. His chest swelled with happiness. That had to mean she felt this attraction, too. “Let me carry the tray for you.”

“Oh, no. I couldn’t let you do that. Let me wait on you.” She might be soft-spoken, but she was no wilting flower. Determination deepened her blue eyes and sharpened the dainty curve of her finely carved chin.

“Fine. Have it your way.” He would do anything to please her, and he liked that she wanted to take care of him, too. He could see their future, each taking care of the other. “I aim to please, pretty lady.”

“There you go, flattering yet again.” She added a third cup to the tray.

“I can’t help myself.” He chuckled, following her through the kitchen. “You bring out the worst in me.”

“I suppose I shall simply have to get used to it.”

“Yep, because I reckon it isn’t going to get any better.” For instance, there were plenty of flattering things he could offer as they strolled through the house together. The sway of her hips, subtle and terribly feminine, drew his gaze. She had tied back her hair into a single loose braid, and it framed her face like a golden cloud. She held herself with an inner grace, which made the serving tray she gripped with both hands look out of place. She was like a thoroughbred in a herd of donkeys.

“You seem more relaxed than when I first spotted you on the train platform.” He had a thousand questions for her. He wanted to know everything about her. “I hope you come to feel at home.”

“I already do,” she confessed.

“Now that you see my folks are good people, and you’ve met me, you have to know—” He caught her elbow and drew her to a stop. “I’m going to do my best to make you happy.”

“Happy? No, not me,” she denied gently with a shake of her head.

“I would like to take you for a sleigh ride tomorrow.” He kept right on talking. “Just you and me. Now, I know for your reputation, it is best if we’re chaperoned, but I think we need to get to know each other better. After all, we have a future together, you and I—”

“Mr. Brooks, there’s something I must tell you.” The tray she held quaked enough to rattle the cups in their saucers. “I’m not who you think I am.”

“What do you mean?” Tenderness rang in his voice. “You think I can’t see who you are? A fine lady, fallen on hard times. The same thing happened to my sister-in-law, as I told you. I care about you, Clara, and I—”

“Joseph!” Mary interrupted, calling loudly from the next room. “Is that you? Have you finally come in from the stable? I’ve been waiting for you.”

“I’m finally here, Ma.” He rolled his eyes, looking sheepish. “She still scolds me as if I’m twelve. She can’t help it. Come, let’s go sit with her.”

“Yes, she’s no doubt waiting for her tea.” She had no time to explain as he had already started in the direction of the parlor, only a few steps away. His fingertips around her arm seared through her garments like flame.

Why did this man affect her so? Whatever the reason, she would do best not to consider it. Joseph was now her employer’s son, and the moment he realized it, his charming nature toward her would vanish. The bright admiration would dim from his eyes. She may as well brace herself for it.

She broke from his touch and carried the tray straight to the table beside Mary’s rocking chair. The china clattered; the tea sloshed. As hired help, she tried not to listen to the con-

versation between parents and son. She lifted the teapot with wooden fingers and poured.

“…what luck Clara came instead,” Mary was saying.

Her face heated. She was not ashamed to work as a maid for her living; it was a far better job than her last one, which for all the long hours she worked barely paid the rent. Stubborn pride held her up as she set down the pot and carried the full cup, without sweetener as ordered, to the older Mr. Brooks, who gazed over the top of his newspaper, listening to the story.

“Come all the way from Illinois, did you?” he asked, peering at her through his reading spectacles. He was a man who worked hard for his living with callused hands, a burly frame and a weathered face.

“Yes, sir,” she murmured, trying not to listen to Mary’s final explanation. She returned to her tray and stirred two sugars into the woman’s tea.

“So that’s how Miss Woodrow has come to work for us.” As quietly as those words were spoken, they thundered like dynamite in Clara’s mind. “She will be a fine addition. You mind your manners, Joseph. We haven’t had a young lady on staff for quite some time.”

“Yes, of course, Ma.” His baritone sounded strained and hollow.

Was that his disappointment she felt, or simply her own? And why was she disappointed? She did not come here looking for a charming man to romance her. She served Mrs. Brooks her tea, careful to keep her back to the man standing near. Was it her imagination or could she feel his gaze scorching her?

It’s your imagination, Clara. It has to be. Now that he knew who she was, he would not be trying to charm her. She stirred honey into the final cup, per Mary’s orders, hurting strangely. She was not interested in a courtship. Love had not treated her well. It was certainly not a consideration here. So, why was her heart aching? Why couldn’t she keep her head down and her attention fixed on the cup and saucer she served him, instead of meeting his gaze?

Because a tiny, forgotten part of her wanted the fairy tale. Deep down, there lived a kernel of hope that there might be a true love meant only for her, a man who could see something special in the plain girl she was.

That man could never be Joseph, she reasoned. Surely, for now all he saw was a serving girl.

That’s what she was, and she was proud of it. She grasped the empty tray, curtsied and padded out of the room. Glad for this job, she closed her ears to the rising conversation behind her. Sure, she liked Joseph. He was a likable man. But she had to be practical. She could not believe in impossible and foolish fairy tales.

She gladly left the room and bustled into the kitchen, ready to help with the rest of the meal preparations. It wasn’t disappointment eking into her like frost in the night. She wouldn’t let it be.

Joseph couldn’t get over his shock. As he blew on his tea to cool it, his mother’s words taunted him. “After all the letters I wrote to her mother, you’d think the woman would have shown more courtesy. That poor girl, with a mother like that! I’m sure Clara will suit us just fine.”

So that’s what all the writing and mailing of letters was about. A slight wind could blow him over. Stunned, he retreated to the sofa and settled on a cushion, stretched out his feet and took a swallow of hot tea.

“Seems like a girl in need,” Pa said as he set down his paper with a crinkle. “I noticed three patches on her dress, and I was hardly looking.”

“That’s why I hired her on the spot, the poor dear. I didn’t even check her references.” Ma took up her embroidery hoop from her lap and began to stitch. “Can you believe she came the entire way by herself? And just eighteen years old.”

“A shame she has no one to look out for her.” Pa shook his head from side to side. “You did right in hiring her. She has an honest look. She’ll do fine.”

“I think so, too. She makes an excellent pot of tea.” Ma squinted at her needlework, fussing with thread and needle before fastening her all-seeing gaze on him. “You will behave yourself, Joseph? Don’t think I didn’t notice you speaking alone with her.”

“I will be nothing but a gentleman.” His vow was a sincere one, but he wasn’t sure if he had masked the disappointment weighing on him. Gosh, but he had been sure Clara had come to marry him. Well, the joke was on him. He had leaped to the wrong conclusions—him, and no one else.

“I hope you didn’t leave my package in the barn again.” Ma glanced up at him, censure still on her face, but a smile, too. “I have need of the embroidery thread I ordered.”

His ma was a softy. Which was good luck for him. “I’ll go fetch it from the kitchen. I—”

“No need.” Clara’s melodic voice surprised him. She padded nearly soundlessly into the room and set the small box on the table next to Ma’s chair. Her skirts swirled at her ankles as she turned neatly. “Your cook said supper is ready for the table.”

“Excellent. Thank you, Clara.” Ma’s needle dove through the fabric. “We’ll be right along. Joseph, go—”

He knew that his mother was speaking to him, but could he make his ears work? No. They had seemed to malfunction right along with his eyes. His every sense felt harnessed to Clara as she waltzed from the room. The rustle of her petticoats, the lamplight turning her hair to spun gold, the remembered feeling of her in his arms and protecting her from the brunt of the arctic winds. He knew her skin smelled like freshly budding roses.

“Joseph!” Ma’s admonishment was pure warning. “What did I say about that poor girl?”

“My thoughts were gentlemanly, Ma. Honest.” Gee, a guy couldn’t win. Was it his fault he was already sweet on her? He pushed off the sofa. “What did you want me to do?”

“Go fetch your brother. He’s in the library.”

“Figures.” When he was in the house, Gabriel was hardly ever anywhere else. Joseph strode from the room, just as his father muttered, “Five patches, Mary. That girl is in hard straits.”

Why hadn’t he noticed the patches? And why was it bothering him? He couldn’t accept that Clara wasn’t meant for him. The steely devotion in his heart was real. The lightness he felt from her smile was no fabrication. Instead of heading down the hall, he back-trailed and pushed open the kitchen door. The clatter of pots and the clink of dishes met him, along with a lot of steam as the cook poured the water off a kettle of boiling potatoes.

“Hurry, girl!” Mrs. O’Neill, the cook, screeched. “I’ll not get blamed if the potatoes are mealy!”

“Yes’m.” Clara was a flash of pink as she raced toward the basin with a bowl for the potatoes.

He let the door swing closed. He doubted she’d noticed him. Doubted she would appreciate an interruption. Pa was right. Judging by the look of things, she needed the work. He remembered how anxious she’d been when she’d asked about his mother and the letters of application. It all made sense now as he trekked down the hallway. Maybe he had imagined Clara’s sweet interest in him right along with everything else.

His knees went weak, and he grabbed the wall for support. His senses, attuned to her, made out the pad of her nearby gait. Probably carrying the potatoes to the dining room. More footsteps joined her. The other maid and the chef’s assistant, both hurrying.

Maybe now was as good a time as any to pull her aside. He poked his head around the doorway. The sight of willowy Clara placing a second bowl on the table next to the steaming potatoes made the devotion residing within him double. Yes, there were tidy patches on her dress made of the same fabric, and the cuffs of her sleeves were threadbare and the edge of her collar starting to fray. He could see that now.

But there was something else. Something he could not deny. He had never seen a lovelier sight. She stuck a serving spoon into the bowl, positioning it just right. Lamplight framed her like a blessing, and his heart gave one final, slow thump before it tumbled out of his chest, falling endlessly.

She was the one. He wanted to earn her love. He wanted to be the man who took care of and provided for her, who made her smile all the day long. And as for other things he wanted to do with her, well, that made him blush. As he’d promised his mother, he would be a gentleman. And he would, even in his thoughts. But that didn’t stop his blood from heating or the tenderness from doubling within his soul.

Clara whirled on her heels to return to the kitchen, but she must have sensed his presence. Her eyes went wide and her rose-pink mouth shaped into a surprised O. High color swept across her porcelain features. Was she angry with him? Could she somehow know what he’d been thinking—or, rather, trying not to think? Dark nights spent together, tucked cozily beneath the bedclothes, peeling off her nightgown and leaving a trail of kisses—

Hell, that is not gentlemanly, Joe. He squared his shoulders, drawing himself up straight. He could control his thoughts better than that, right? He focused on her pale face, weary with exhausting travel. She appeared vulnerable and more fragile than he’d realized. He wanted to brush a stray curl behind her ear and gather her in his arms. She was a mere slip of a woman, petite and frail-boned, and he tried not to notice her lush womanly curves. Gosh, it wasn’t easy to stay mannerly when it came to her.

“Perhaps we could talk.” She broke the silence, circling around the table with a swish of her skirts. “I think it would be best to clear the air between us.”

“Gee, that doesn’t sound good for me.”

“No, and I’m sorry for it.” As she waltzed nearer, he spotted the tremble of her chin, and her hands, terribly small when compared to his, clenched into fists.

Perhaps she had been able to sense the direction his earlier thoughts had been taking. Embarrassed, heat stretched tight across his face and he let his chin sink a notch. He couldn’t say he didn’t notice the gentle curve of her neck, lovely and elegant, and the rise of her bosom which was deeply fascinating, or the tiny cinch of her waist—

“Joseph, I know what you’re thinking.” Her hushed alto caressed over him, as if with understanding and not censure.

“I doubt it.” If she did, she wouldn’t be so calm. He fought the urge to reach out and stroke his thumb along the satin of her cheek.

“I can only apologize. I knew something was amiss.” She stopped, her hands uncurling at her sides in a helpless gesture. “You were there to meet the train, for one thing. I knew your mother wasn’t expecting me, but I let myself think perhaps you met prospective employees at the train as a matter of course. Perhaps I was unsure of being alone in a strange town, and you were—”

“Accommodating? Friendly? Eager to help?” He offered her a smile.

“Yes.” Relief slipped off her in a visible wave. “I’m relieved it’s all been straightened out, and you know the truth about me. I know I’m just the hired help, but I don’t want any strain between us. You have been kind to me, even though you thought I was someone else.”

“I only ever thought you were you.” He shrugged helplessly. “I’m glad I was there to fetch you from the train, Clara. I would hate to think you would have made that long walk here alone and in the cold. I’m sorry for how forward I was. I reckon you think the worst of me.”

“Not even close. I understand.” Her shy smile said more than words ever could. The pinch of sadness around her eyes, the way she took a step backward, putting distance between them, the hitch in her words as she turned away. “Goodbye, Joseph.”

She didn’t mean goodbye, as in she was leaving. But in that she thought there would be no further contact between them. She had a job to do and a position within the house. And his mother would not be happy if he started courting the hired help.

But his heart had already chosen. When she walked away, she took his whole world with her. Standing as if in the dark, he had never seen his path in life more clearly.

Chapter Four

This was truly a good job, Clara realized as she stopped scrubbing the outhouse floor—the fifth of the morning—to dunk the brush into the nearby bucket of sudsy water. While this wasn’t the most pleasant of tasks, she was happy working for Mrs. Brooks. She stretched her back as she dunked the brush again, taking a moment to glance over her shoulder at the white-capped mountains spearing straight up into a cloudy sky. Truly a beautiful sight. Tiny snowflakes danced and swirled nearly weightless to the ground. A great peace filled the vast spaces of mountainside and valleys. Joseph had been right when he’d told her it was the prettiest sight.

Joseph. Her chest gave a strange hitch whenever she thought of him. He had charmed her with his kindness, in spite of her better judgment. She grasped the brush, bent over and returned to her work, rubbing circles on the floorboards until her shoulder hurt.

You don’t want romance, Clara, she reminded herself, so why was she missing him? There was nothing left to say. His flattery had always been meant for another woman. No doubt the mysterious Miss Pennington was an accomplished, lovely young lady from a good family. Just as she should be, for Joseph was a kind man. He deserved a nice wife. That’s what she wanted for him. Really.

So why did loss weigh inside her, as cold as the morning’s wind? On her hands and knees, she backed out of the outhouse, scrubbing as she went. Her shoes hit snow, then her shins, then her knees. When visions of Joseph Brooks entered her mind, she polished them right out the same way she buffed the floorboards with a clean towel.

Her work done, she gathered up her supplies. The scent of soap and the dried lavender sprigs she’d hung on the wall made it pleasant. Pleased with a job well done, she reached for the door to close it. This was the life she had, and she was glad for it. She wasn’t lonely for a certain man’s low-throated chuckle, she thought as she turned on her heels and heard the steely clink-clop of horseshoes.

Through the snow-laden evergreen boughs she caught sight of a bay horse and a small black sleigh. Her spine melted vertebra by vertebra even before the driver came into sight. Joseph with his brawny shoulders and dependable smile.

The youngest Mr. Brooks, she reminded herself stubbornly. Seeing him again was like the daylight bleeding from the sky, leaving only darkness. She straightened her shoulders, digging deep inside for as much dignity as she could muster.

“‘Morning, Miss Woodrow.” He drew the horse to a halt and tipped his hat brim. “How are you on this fine Saturday morning?”

“Miss, now, is it?” She gripped the pail’s handle tightly and waded in his direction. “A little more than twelve hours ago you mentioned marriage.”

“True. I’m the sort of man who likes to get right to the point.” How dashing he looked seated in a small sleigh. A black wool coat hugged his magnificent shoulders and emphasized the manly strength of his chest. His Stetson caught tiny, airy snowflakes, and his dimpled smile shone as confidently as it had last night. It was just as well that everything between them had changed.

“A mistaken point,” she corrected him, coming to a stop beside his sleigh. “As I was not your betrothed.”

“Not yet.”

Why was she laughing? “So, is that why you’ve come? To practice your charm on me until your fiancée arrives?”

“Am I charming you?”

Only by the flash of his midnight eyes. Clara steeled her spine and set her jaw with determination. “I don’t find you charming in the least.”

“Oh? Then I shall have to try harder.” He hopped to his feet, so that all six feet of him towered over her, impressive and breath stealing. “Are you wondering what I’m doing here?”

“Yes, as I’ve sure you have plenty to keep you occupied. Don’t you help your father with the ranch?”

“Yes, and my morning work with him is done. I have some spare time.” He strode toward her, taking from her the bucket heavy with brushes and soap. “You said you didn’t know how to drive a horse, and I vowed I would teach you.”

“You promised a lot of things I hardly expect you to keep.”

“Why not? Do I seem like a lout to you? A liar?”

“No.” She smiled shyly.

“Then let me help you, Clara.” He set the bucket behind the seat, where covered baskets sat, huddled together.

“We should not be on a first-name basis, Mr. Brooks.” The wind chose that moment to catch the placket of her unbuttoned coat and ruffle the skirt of the full apron she wore, issued by the housekeeper. A reminder, of sorts. “I have work to do.”

“Yes, and do you know what that work entails?” The charm faded, leaving only kindness on his chiseled face. Goodness radiated from him unmistakably as he held out his hand. “You are to deliver the noon meal to Pa and the ranch hands. Three times a week you must drive into town for the errands and the mail.”

“Oh.” Things she could not do, for she had never handled a horse. She had never been able to afford one. “You have come to help me, and I thought you were trying to—”

“Flirt with you? You have the entirely wrong impression of me, Clara.” His gloved hand caught hers, cradling it as if tenderly. Maybe it was nothing more than kindness. “I know how I seemed to you last night, practically proposing to you, a complete stranger, in a snowstorm.”

“You thought I was your Miss Pennington.”

“Who?” He blinked, surprise twisting across his forehead. He helped her onto the sleigh seat, his touch powerful and gentle at the same time.

“Perhaps it’s not my place to say.” She thought of what his mother had told her, and could not remember if the older woman had shared that information in confidence. “You should speak with your ma.”

“I tried, believe me. She has been very quiet on the subject.” He leaned closer, bringing with him a winter wind and warm man scent. She shivered, stunned at her reaction, as he drew the warm bear fur and spread it over her lap. “There is no reason why we can’t be friends.”

“Are you always friends with your household maids?”

“No.” Humor stretched his mouth into an amazing smile.

She didn’t remember settling farther over on the seat to make room for him, only that suddenly he was beside her. Her skin tingled with awareness of him. His big, capable hands were gloved, and when he took up the reins she did not feel a shiver. Really. She did not remember how his touch had been as hot as a branding iron. Honest.

Fine, maybe she remembered a little. Okay, more than a little. Sometimes hope was a terrible thing, making you want something you couldn’t have—something you were afraid to have.

“This is a first for me, Clara. You have to believe it.” His big hands gathered the thick leather straps. “You have to understand. Surely this has happened to you before.”

“What has?”

“Captivating a man so he can’t see anything else save for you.”

“Why, yes. It happens constantly. It’s such a bother, really, how men fall at my feet. I can hardly walk for tripping over them.” How could this man be serious? “I know what your problem is. Your mother has to write to larger cities to hire household help and to marry off her sons. You aren’t used to being around women your own age.”

“Not true. In school, there were three girls in my grade. The trouble was, they fell in love with other fellows and married before I could snatch any of them up.” Although he tried to hide it, she could sense a hint of sadness. He inched closer and presented her with the thick leather straps. “You take the reins. Go on, grab them right behind my hands.”

“You have never beaued a girl?” She leaned closer into his heat and breathed in his fresh man-and-winter-wind scent. Her fingers closed around the reins inches behind his, and her shoulder bumped the warm iron of his arm.

“Got turned down when I tried.” When he tried to grin, it didn’t reach his eyes. “Lara turned around and let Chuck Thomas court her. They married right after she graduated from school. I guess that smarted for a while.”

“Being cast off by someone you care about hurts.”

“You sound like you know something about that.”

“Yes. Of course. There have never been any men falling at my feet. Only one, and he was not falling, believe me.” The big bay stallion shook his head, as if he did not approve of the switch of drivers.

“Don’t worry about Don Quixote. He’s a gentleman, too. You want to tell me what happened?”

“No, but I have a feeling you will pester me until you have the truth.” Dimples framed her mouth, a hint of the smile she held back. She nodded toward the horse. “I can feel him through the lines.”

“Yep. See how I keep the reins light, but not too light? That’s the tension you want. Each horse is different, but my boy likes a gentle hand.” He did not want to talk about his horse. She captured his interest. He had to know why she held herself back, as if reserved, as if she were even more wary than before. Her heart was a puzzle he intended to solve. He gave the reins a quick snap and the horse and sleigh shot forward. “Feel how I did that?”

“Yes.” She nodded, her wool cap brushing against the side of his jaw. “This is like flying!”

“I take it you haven’t been in many sleighs?”

“Not once.” Wispy tendrils escaped from her knit hat and framed her face perfectly. If sweetness could be caught in an image, hers would be it. Bright blue eyes sizzling with excitement, her petal-pink mouth stretched into a tantalizing smile, her cheeks rosy. But there was more. A beautiful joy radiated outward from her heart. She could have been a winter sprite soaring with the snowflakes.

“You surely are a city girl. Hold on.” He snapped the reins lightly, clicking to Don Quixote. The stallion swiveled his ears, nodded his head and stretched out into a fast trot. The sleigh felt airborne, hardly deigning to touch the top layer of snow. “What do you think now?”

“We should slow your horse down. We could crash.”

“Hardly.” He kept hold of the reins long enough to direct Don Quixote toward the next hillside, nestled with snowmantled trees. “See how I tugged on the right rein?”

“Yes, I see. You would do the same to turn left.” A crinkle of worry cut into her porcelain forehead. “How do you slow down?”

“No more worrying.” He released his grip, leaving her in charge of the horse, and settled back, relaxing against the seat. “You’re driving, Clara. It’s that easy.”

“Sure, you can say that because you know how to stop.” But she was laughing, beginning to see that they were as safe as could be. Don Quixote, well aware of where they were headed, obliged by cantering along the cut trail. The fence line rolled by, a foraging moose looked up in disgust as they blew by and her musical laugh rang as clear as the truest bell. “I think I’ve stepped off the train into a wonderland. Storybooks are this magical—not real life.”

“Glad to hear you like this corner of Montana.”

“Oh, I do. It’s like a slice of heaven dropped to earth. I’ve never heard such peaceful quiet or breathed in cleaner air.”

“There’s no one back in Chicago who would miss you? A few old beaus, perhaps?”

“I thought we had already been plain about that. There were no beaus. Just one. Once.”

“Sometimes that’s all it takes.” He didn’t need to read the sadness that slipped across her face, for he could feel it square in his heart. That man, whoever he was, had hurt her. “What was his name?”

“Lars. He worked at the livery stable close to where I worked.” She set her delicate chin, a show of strength and not defeat. “And because you seem to think it’s your business, no, I don’t miss him, and I doubt he even remembers me.”

“How can that be?” He couldn’t imagine it, for he would never forget her. This moment, with the warm softness of her arm against his, was emblazoned on his soul forever. He would always recall the faint scent of roses, the silk of her hair against his jaw and the beat of desire rising in his blood. The desire for something he knew not—he might not know much about love and all the intimacy that went with it, but he knew one thing. He wanted more than what could be found at night with her. He wanted to wake each morning with her in his arms and her cheek resting on his chest. He wanted to go about his day’s work with thoughts of their closeness keeping him warm. Coming home to her in the evenings, to her smile, her embrace, her kiss. “You are too beautiful to forget.”

“There you are, trying to charm me again.” She shook her head as if to scold him, but her words were falsely light. Perhaps she was trying too hard to hide her sadness. “Joseph, you should try telling the truth for once.”

“But I am.”

“You think you mean that.” Snow clung to her face like tears. “You shouldn’t call me beautiful. It’s not true.”

“Is that what this Lars fellow told you?” Now things were making sense. “If he did, then there was something wrong with that man.”

“He met another woman, who was actually very beautiful, and he proposed to her instead.” She blinked hard, as if troubled by the snowflakes caught in her eyelashes.

He wasn’t fooled. “You fell in love with this man?”

“I cared for him very much. A huge mistake, as it turned out.” She nodded up ahead, where the trees lining one side of the slope gave way to snowy meadow and fence line. “Are we here? You never told me how to stop your horse.”

“That’s easy.” He covered her hands with his, not because it was necessary but because he wanted to. She was much smaller, her bones and muscles fragile when compared with his own. Stinging tenderness bruised him from the inside out, both a painful and a healing emotion at once as he gently tugged at the reins.

“Whoa, boy,” he crooned, and the sleigh slid to a halt. His heart went right on soaring. Clara turned to him, glowing with accomplishment.

“Thank you, Joseph. Driving was a lot more fun than I thought it would be. Don Quixote was a true gentleman.”

The stallion nickered, as if pleased with the compliment. All Joseph could hear was what Clara hadn’t told him about the man who had left her for another. He knew what that felt like. What it was to be found wanting, and how it could knock the starch out of you.

“Grub’s here!” Pa’s right-hand man, Grobe Sutter, called out over the sounds of hammering and sawing. The half-dozen ranch hands put down their tools, left their fence mending and started to amble over.

He had no more hopped out of the sleigh and offered Clara his hand to help her, than he caught sight of the men nearly running. They were mighty quick for fellows who had been at work before sunrise. Aiken Dermot shook the snow from his hat brim, ran his fingers through his hair and drew himself up full-height. His old school buddy had eyes only for the willowy woman in the worn gray coat. Jealousy nearly blinded him.

“Let me get the baskets,” Joseph told her. Not his job, but he didn’t like the way Aiken was sizing up the woman and nodding slowly, as if he thought he might try to nose his way in. “They’re mighty heavy. You wait for me in the sleigh.”

“I should be doing this, Joseph.” She paid him no heed, unaware of the way another hand, Lew Burton, tossed her an interested wink. With a smile and interest glinting in his eyes, he beat Aiken to the back of the sleigh.

“‘Afternoon, miss.” Lew tipped his hat as if he were the finest of dandies. “You must be new around here. I heard word that Mrs. Brooks had brought a new gal from back East. What I didn’t hear was that you were so darned pretty.”

Clara appeared shocked, as if she didn’t know what to say. Well, Joseph surely did.

“Enough of this.” He hadn’t anticipated every ranch hand they had making moon eyes at Clara. He stepped in between them. Red, racing jealousy flared through him like cannon fire. He jammed a basket in Lew’s direction. “You take this and get away from her.”

“Guess that answers my question. She’s his fiancée, boys,” Lew called out, looking danged disappointed. “Knew the rumors I heard from Zed at the depot couldn’t be right.”

“Yeah, Zed never gets it right.” Aiken’s chin went down. “Shucks. Why are the prettiest gals always taken?”

“I’m not—” She tried to explain.

“I’ll be back for the baskets,” Joseph interrupted, before his Clara could correct any of the men’s notions about her. There was no way he was letting a single one of them think she was on the market. No way in hell. Protective fury raged inside him, and he felt like a pawing bull ready to charge a rival. He handed off the last food baskets to Old Man Riley.

There. The meal was delivered. He whipped around, surprised to find Clara a few steps behind him. Shock marked her innocent face, and she took a step back.

“You interrupted me, Joseph. Why didn’t you tell them the truth?”

He seized her by the elbow, gritting his teeth and doing his best to ignore the flare of another emotion. Desire coursed through him like a newly sprung river. “Are you lookin’ to marry one of them?”

“What kind of question is that?” She tried to wrench her arm free.

Not going to happen. He could feel the curious stares of the men nearby, unable to take their gazes off Clara. He wanted to punch every one of them for it, but he couldn’t seem to let go of her. “Just get in the sleigh.”

“And who are you to boss me around?” She kept her voice low, perhaps aware, too, of those watching them. “Let go of me, Joseph. And no, I don’t want to marry any of them. I don’t want to marry anyone.”

“Why not?” He released her and held back the blanket so she could settle more easily onto the cushioned seat.

“Because I don’t want someone plying me with false compliments on one hand and commanding me on the other, trying to win my heart and then running off when someone better comes along.” Her chin went up, all fight, all pride. She gathered up the reins in her slender hands. “I’m here to work. I need this job, because I have nowhere to go and little money left to get there. You, why, this is all simply amusement to you, isn’t it? Biding your time until your mail-order bride arrives.”

“There isn’t a mail-order bride coming for me.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that.” Her eyes shadowed, growing darker, and for a moment he saw behind her anger to the hurt and the fears beneath. “You never did mean to be friends, did you? You meant to try to romance me for amusement, did you?”

“For amusement?” That was the furthest thing from his mind. How had things gone so wrong so fast?

“The next time we meet, Joseph, you had best stick to our agreement.”

“What agreement?” What in blazes was she talking about? And why was his head in such a muddle that he couldn’t make sense of anything? All he could read was her unhappiness, the pain pinching in the corners of her soft mouth, the pride that kept her slim back straight and her elegant chin set. How had this gotten so out of control? Why wasn’t she making a lick of sense to him?

“The one where we agreed I was simply the hired help?” She gave the reins a snap, and Don Quixote, the traitor, pricked his ears, nickered as if in apology and stepped out, drawing the sleigh away.

“I thought we were at least going to be friends.”

“This is an official end to our friendship,” she called over her shoulder.

He stood, boots planted in the snow, heedless to the men’s murmurs behind him and the buffeting wind and snow. All he saw was the sleigh growing smaller with distance, leaving him hollow inside. As if she were taking a piece of his heart with her, and there was not a thing he could do to stop her.

Chapter Five

Every time she thought about it, anger speared through her. Whether she was dusting Mary’s knickknacks in the parlor or drying dishes in the kitchen, any mention of Joseph by the other staff made her blood heat with fury. The mere sound of his footsteps in the hallway could make her remember the claiming brand of his fingers on her arm.

He’s not like Lars. She swiped the last dish dry and placed it carefully on the growing stack on the counter. If Joseph had known at the train depot that he was not speaking with his betrothed, he never would have said those things to her about marriage. He never would have charmed her or behaved so familiarly.

“Girl, you keep your mind on your work.” Mrs. Baker, the housekeeper, reached for a dry towel to wipe her hands. “Mrs. Brooks does not pay you to stare blankly off into thin air. Now go throw out the dishwater.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Clara draped the dish towel over the wall rack near the cookstove, her face heating. She had heard the censure in the woman’s tone. Mrs. Baker was the type of woman who enjoyed finding faults, but this time she was not wrong. Thoughts of Joseph had distracted her. She unhooked her coat from the peg by the kitchen door and heard a stair squeak in the stairwell behind her. She recognized Joseph’s gait. She wasn’t proud of it, but she already memorized the rhythm of his step.

Don’t think about him, Clara. She drew in a breath, fortifying herself. As she slipped into her coat, she did her best not to wonder if he was heading to the library to choose a book from the collection of leather-bound volumes, or if he would retreat to the parlor to chat with his parents.

“After you bring in a bucket of water, you are done for the night.” Mrs. Baker lifted the stack of dishes without a single clink of porcelain and stowed them on overhead shelves.

“Thank you, ma’am.” Clara hefted the enormous washbasin from the counter, careful not to slosh dirty soapy water all over the front of her. The scorching sides of the basin seared her fingertips, but she kept going. Suds bubbled and frothed at the basin’s rim, and every step she took, she didn’t take her eyes from the water line. It sloshed with her gait, and a soap bubble lifted and popped in midair.

“Let me get the door for you.” Joseph’s baritone rumbled as if out of a dream.

Not that she had any. No, she had given up dreaming years ago. Her chin shot up, her gaze lifted and her breath caught at his grim expression. He towered over her, taller than she’d remembered, his face dark with shadows and his big, impressive body tensed, as if poised for a fight. This was a side of Joseph she had not seen and had never imagined was there. Gone was his easygoing charm and friendly good humor, replaced by a stoic strength she hadn’t guessed at.

“Th-thank you.” She feared her stuttering and wispy voice betrayed her. Head down, she slipped through the door he held and into the welcoming dark of the porch, but even that disappointed her. There were no shadows to hide in as the door shut with a crisp click. Frost crunched beneath his boots as he followed her to the top of the steps.

She had done her best to avoid being alone with the man. As she scurried ahead of him, her mind wandered. Why had it been him who had happened to be going outside at the same moment she was? How was she going to face him, after leaving him to walk the quarter-mile distance home in the snow?

Shame burned through her like a fire’s blaze, remembering what she had done. Acting more like a spurned schoolgirl than an employee. The water sloshed over the front of her apron, the hot water soaking through her coat, dress and corset to wet her skin. Shoot. She repositioned the basin, wishing she could refocus her concentration as easily. Her every nerve attuned to the man trailing down the steps behind her, his presence as unmistakable as the snowmelt dripping off the roof and onto the back of her neck.

Silence fell between them, uncomfortably loud. It drowned out the singsong dripping of buildings and tree branches. It muffled the watery munch of her shoes on the slushy snow. It penetrated her like an arrow, invading tender flesh. Her hands quaked, sloshing hot water everywhere, as she bent and placed it on the ground. With every breath, awareness of him ebbed through her. Wordless, he halted on the pathway and his big shadow fell across her, hands braced on his hips, emphasizing his magnificent shoulders, and planted his feet, legs spread.

The shadow before her on the moonlit snow drew her gaze, and she upended the basin, hardly aware of the water pooling too close to her shoes. What fascination held her to him? Why couldn’t she pretend he was nothing to her, nothing at all?

“I’m waiting for your apology.” The low notes of his voice struck with displeasure. “You left me standing in front of the other men like a fool.”

She hung her head, feeling the weight of an uncertain emotion, a burden she could not name. Yes, she certainly knew this moment between them would come. Why else would she have avoided him so well the last few days?

Her stomach twisted tight and she straightened, the empty basin banging against her kneecap. She did not feel the bite of that pain, since a greater one grasped her with sharper teeth. Any moment now Joseph was going to say the words she dreaded. The ones that would hurt like nothing she had known. This is what she had wanted to avoid.

“Your being a fool was not my fault.” She faced him, unable to see what was on his countenance, whether it was anger or dislike of her. “Leaving you behind, that was a mistake. I can only apologize. I am sorry. It was wrong.”

“You apologize, and yet you blame me.”

The perfect round of a blinding white moon climbed the velvet black sky behind him, casting him in silhouette. It was a kindness, because she would not have to see that his regard for her had vanished. A regard she had not been able to accept. “You acted as if—”

“As if I were sweet on you? As if I wanted to punch any man who looked at you the way I did?”

His use of the past tense was not lost on her. Pain cracked through her chest. She did her best to ignore it. To draw herself up straight and to pretend she felt nothing for him, nothing at all. “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 highcountry 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. Wideeyed, 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 easy-going 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.

Her body betrayed her, her heart hammering fast and hard, her breath coming in shallow, quick puffs. Could he feel her reaction as he drew the coat over her breasts and secured the button? His touch felt shocking, for all its properness and the layers of clothing separating her skin from his touch. She felt as vulnerable as if she stood naked before him. What was happening to her?

“You’ll need your muffler and hat.” He stole both from the wall pegs and draped the length of knit wool around her neck. His smile had changed. No longer jovial, intensely serious, it emphasized the sharp planes of his face, his high cheekbones and the firm square cut of his jaw. He plopped the knit cap on her head, and her hands caught his of their own volition, feeling the hard ridge of muscle and bone beneath his smooth, hot skin.

Little fires flared through her, an awakening of both body and spirit. A stirring of heat and gentle feelings she’d never known before. This is not love, she told herself, stubbornly willing it to be so. She defiantly fought down the strange new affections. But they were so overwhelming, she might as well have been butter melting on a hot stove.

“Will you come with me?” He held out his hand, palm up, waiting. His question rang low with a deeper meaning. A meaning that made her soul shiver and private places within her come alive. His baritone dipped, unfailingly intimate. “The night is waiting.”

This is not love, she repeated, caught between wanting to stay safe alone in her cabin and needing to find out what awaited her on the starlit snow and in the chambers of Joseph’s heart. How did she choose? Both were perilous. Both would end in heartache. She bit her bottom lip, aware that it drew his gaze there. Was he thinking to kiss her? Her stomach dropped at the notion of kissing him back. Her lips tingled, craving something she did not know.

Did she stay here and always wonder what if? To spend her days never sure what would have happened it she had accepted his offer? Or did she go with him, fearing it could not last? Did she seize what time she could, stealing happiness beneath the light of the moon?

She didn’t know what came over her. “Let’s not keep the night waiting,” she said, and took his hand.

Joseph steadied the sled at the crest of the slope, quaking in a way he never had before. Clara noted his every move. He could sense her gaze on him like a touch to his shoulders, to his back and to the side of his face. That she agreed to come was a hopeful sign. Kneeling down, he held the sled steady. “All aboard.”

“The hill looks steeper than I remember.” Her skirts swished against his knee. “And far too rugged. Are you sure we won’t crash like a runaway train?”

“No, I’m not sure at all. Crashing is a risk we are both going to have to take.” He took her hand, savoring the smile curving her mouth. “Sit right here. Feet forward, and hold on to the side here.”

“This can’t be comfortable. I’ll fall off.”

“I’ll hold you so you won’t.” He eased behind her, doing his best to keep the sled steady. “Are you starting to see how this goes?”

“You’re going to put your arms around me, aren’t you?”

“As long as you don’t object.” Sure, he could have let her slide down the hill all by herself, but how was he going to get closer to her that way? His legs embraced hers as he cradled her between his thighs. More intimate than on their horse ride the first evening they had met, and he couldn’t complain about that. No, not one bit. Her rosewater-and-soft-woman scent tantalized him as he wrapped one arm around her waist. The underside of her breasts rested against his forearm.

You’re a gentleman, Joseph, he reminded himself, but his blood heated anyway. He might be refusing to imagine having the right to unbutton her dress and worship her breasts, but his body responded anyway with a desire so strong, his vision blurred. All common sense fled.

“Are you ready?” he murmured against her ear. The silk of her hair and the satin of her skin captured him like a spell, binding him to her with a tie so fierce it could never be broken.

“You’ll hold on tight to me?”

“I won’t let go.” He pushed off with his free hand, and the sled bumped over sharp rises and dips before hovering on the brink of the hill’s edge.

“Maybe I’m thinking to change my mind about this.” She gripped the worn wooden sides tighter. “Could you stop?”

“I could, but then you would miss this.” His words puffed against the side of her face, intimate and tantalizing. “Look up.”

Silvered light drew a path down the hillside, making the snow gleam like a dark opal. Shades of navy blue and purple made the shadows mysterious and beautiful, transforming the landscape. Joseph’s arms around her could not be the reason she felt as if she’d walked into a fairy tale. Her world had never been so beautiful. Dark stands of snow-capped trees towered like watchful sentries as the sled dipped downward, gathering speed. Time paused right along with her heartbeat as the sled bumped upward and took flight.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.