Читать книгу Stetsons, Spring and Wedding Rings: Rocky Mountain Courtship / Courting Miss Perfect / Courted by the Cowboy - Jillian Hart, Judith Stacy - Страница 8

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?”