Stetsons, Spring and Wedding Rings. Jillian Hart

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      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 СКАЧАТЬ