Stetsons, Spring and Wedding Rings. Jillian Hart

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СКАЧАТЬ 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 СКАЧАТЬ