“I hope you have a room. I’m beat,” he continued.
“Well, actually, we’re full this weekend. People come up for the turning of the leaves,” she explained, when he gave her a surprised glance tinged with a bit of annoyance, from those dark eyes so at odds with the usual Dalton sky-blue, to-die-for color.
“What about the single room?”
“It’s taken, too. A lone hiker showed up earlier this evening. About an hour ago,” she added as a frown formed a line between those thick, black masculine eyebrows.
Seth heaved a sigh and nodded. “I guess I’ll go on to the ranch then.”
Nicholas Dalton, who had taken in the orphans when his two younger brothers were killed in a freak avalanche some twenty-two or so years ago, lived on the original Dalton homestead, which was thirty miles from the tiny town of Lost Valley.
On country roads that wound into the Seven Devils Mountains of Idaho, the trip would take an hour in the pouring rain. If the road was washed out somewhere along the way, it might be impassible. Seth would be stranded for the second time that night.
In the rain. In the mountains. In the chilling cold.
Amelia glanced at the furniture in the great room, consisting mostly of tables and chairs, with a Victorian sofa and divan for period ambiance in front of the fireplace, and made a decision. “There’s a sofa bed in my sitting room. You can sleep there if you like.”
“I would,” he at once agreed.
His grin flashed in the dim light, his teeth brilliant in contrast to his dark hair and swarthy skin tones. Seth’s mother had been Latino or Native American—Amelia wasn’t sure which—and he’d inherited his dark good looks from her.
An inch under six feet, he was a bit shorter than his male cousins, but his build was the most muscular. In his senior year in high school, he’d played quarterback in football, and, with the strength in those broad shoulders, he’d become known for long, accurate passes that often saved the game for the home team. All the girls had had terrible crushes on him, including Amelia.
“Lead the way,” he suggested, picking up the duffel bag and giving her an expectant glance.
Rebounding to the present, she locked the door and led him along the hall to the back of the house and into her quarters, which consisted of a sitting room looking out on the garden, a bedroom and a bath. She’d converted the butler’s pantry into a walk-in closet, so there was ample privacy for her and space for her personal belongings.
“Would you like to take a warm shower?” she asked. “Or dry your hair? There’s a blow dryer in the bath.”
“That would be great.”
“Through here,” she said, going into her bedroom and pointing out the bathroom door. “Towels are in the basket beside the tub.”
While he disappeared into the other room, she quickly collected sheets, blankets and a pillow, took them to the sitting room and made up the bed for him after unfolding the mattress part of the short sofa.
She wondered if she should offer him her bed, since it was queen-size and the sofa wasn’t. But then, she would have to get to the bathroom and her clothing in the bedroom closet and would probably wake him in the morning, while from her bedroom she could quietly dress and sneak out through the sitting room without disturbing his sleep.
The shower stopped, and the whine of the hair dryer came on a minute later.
Amelia crossed the hall to the kitchen. There, she made a cup of hot cocoa, then prepared one for herself just to be companionable. She warmed muffins in the microwave and returned to the sitting room, tray in hand.
“That smells delicious,” Seth told her.
He stood in the doorway to the bedroom, dressed in gray sweatpants but no shirt. Dark hair formed an enticing pillow on his chest. He placed his shoes and duffel beside the bed. His long, narrow feet were clad in thick socks. Her heart fluttered a bit as it had when she was a girl.
“Banana-nut muffins. I thought you might be hungry after the long trip,” she said.
“I wasn’t, but I am now.”
His voice seemed deeper, somehow darker and more mysterious suddenly. She wondered if she imagined it. She set the tray on the coffee table and took a seat in her favorite chintz-covered rocker near one corner of the brick hearth. Drawing a deep breath, she picked up a mug and invited him to help himself.
He pulled on a sweatshirt, then sat in the chenille easy chair and propped his feet on the bricks close to the fire. Behind them, the sofa bed beckoned the weary to stretch out and relax. The clock on the mantel ticked in its friendly fashion.
Amelia became aware of the lateness of the hour and the intimacy of the setting as a fresh assault of wind and rain hit the windows.
“Not a fit night for man or beast,” Seth said, peering out at the wet landscape lit by carriage lamps and tiny spotlights along the paths and among the foliage.
“True,” she said, sipping her cocoa since she couldn’t think of anything else to say.
His laughter caused her hand to jerk. The hot liquid splashed over the rim of the cup. She quickly licked it away before it could drip on her robe.
“Sorry,” he said softly, amusement still in his eyes.
“That’s okay.” She wondered what he found funny. Since he’d been looking at her, and continued to do so, she self-consciously wiped her mouth and chin. Her fingers trembled ever so slightly.
“Relax,” he murmured. “I know we Dalton boys have questionable reputations, but Uncle Nick doesn’t allow us to pounce on women, especially those who come to our aid and give us refuge during storms.”
For a second of insanity, Amelia wished he would do just that, then was appalled at herself. The Daltons were a prominent family in this part of Idaho. Other than during one long-ago incident, Seth had never displayed any attraction to her—a vagabond child who’d been shipped to Lost Valley to stay with her grandparents each time her parents had quarreled and split up. She’d spent most of her high school years here, but in two-to six-month stretches as the marriage waxed and waned.
The despair and resignation of that child rose in her, reminding her that, other than her grandparents, she’d never been able to depend on anyone in her life….
She stopped the morbid thoughts and wondered what had brought such gloom to her spirits. The storm, she decided, observing the torrents of rain against the window. Summoning a smile, she murmured in a teasing tone, “It would never occur to me that you would act less than a gentleman.”
The dark eyebrows rose. “Don’t be too sure of that,” he warned, a thread of humor in his voice, but something more, too—an edginess that had nothing to do with the long trip and fatigue, but everything to do with being a man alone with a woman at a late hour, with a bed tantalizingly close.
His eyes swept over her, pausing at the ridiculous pink fuzzy scuffs that had been a gift from her mother last Christmas. Her mom liked frivolous things and thought Amelia was much too staid.
Thinking of her mother’s cute, flirty ways that so intrigued men and drove her dad crazy with jealousy, Amelia wished she could think of a sassy comeback. Unfortunately, she never could until long after the opportunity had passed.
Her face warmed, and she hoped the blush wasn’t noticeable. With her red hair and fair skin inherited from her grandmother, Amelia found her emotions seemed to lie too close to the surface for her personal comfort.
The wind caused the flames to dance wildly in the grate. She realized she felt the same way inside—sort of wild, as if her spirit wanted to dance, and hot, as if a fire burned in a secret furnace inside her.
“Wasn’t that once a wood fireplace?” he asked.