Читать книгу Stetsons, Spring and Wedding Rings: Rocky Mountain Courtship / Courting Miss Perfect / Courted by the Cowboy - Jillian Hart, Judith Stacy - Страница 10

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.