Читать книгу Stetsons, Spring and Wedding Rings: Rocky Mountain Courtship / Courting Miss Perfect / Courted by the Cowboy - Jillian Hart, Judith Stacy - Страница 9

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.