“That’s nice to hear, dear.” Mrs. Davis smiled fully, and it was Lorenzo’s smile she saw, honest and good-hearted and kind. “Now, tell me a little more about your background.”
He’d timed it perfectly, he thought, grateful as he seized Poncho’s reins, thanked the horse for standing so long in his traces and gave the leather lines a snap. His heart twisted hard at the sight of Ruby slipping out of the front door and into the snow. Was he in love with her? He feared love was too small a word.
He loved a woman who hardly knew he existed. He’d pined after her whenever he’d seen her in town and long before that, during their final year of school together. Not once had she ever looked his way. Until today. She’d accepted a ride from him, she’d smiled at him, she’d given him the faintest ghost of a hope.
Time to put his heart on the line and see if the lady rejected him or if he had a chance with her.
That was one chance he wanted more than anything on this earth. The marrow of his bones ached with it, the depth of his soul longed for it. He snapped the reins, sending Poncho out of the shelter of the barn and into the fierce beat of snow and wind. But did he feel the cold? Not a bit. Not when he kept Ruby in sight, slim, petite, as sweet as those snowflakes falling.
“C’mon, Poncho,” he urged. “Don’t lose her.”
She walked at a good clip, bent into the wind. Her blue dress flashed beneath the hem of her coat and twisted around her ankles, trying to hamper her. But she kept on going without looking back. He saw nothing more of her as the gusts shifted, stealing her from his sight. The storm couldn’t stop the longing in his soul to see her again.
This was his chance to be with her. To try to get past her shyness and see if she could like him. His stomach knotted up with nerves as he snapped Poncho’s reins, urging him to hurry, although he could barely see his horse’s rump in the whiteout conditions. Surely Ruby couldn’t have gotten far.
Poncho seemed to understand the importance of the mission, for the mighty gelding pushed into the storm, parting the thickly falling snow. He walked right up to Ruby and stopped of his own accord. Lorenzo grinned. It was nice having his horse’s support.
“Poncho? Is that you?” Ruby’s whimsical alto drifted to him through the storm. He could see the faint outline of her, already flocked white. “It is you. So that means…” She hesitated. “Lorenzo? What are you doing out in this weather again?”
Her words may be muffled from the wind and snow, but they carried a note of surprise. As if she truly had no idea what he was up to.
“I have an errand, which will take me by your place.” He pulled aside the buffalo robe he’d taken from the tack room. “Would you like a ride?”
“Well…” She wavered, considering.
“It will be an awfully difficult walk with this drifting snow.” He’d tried over and over to stop his feelings for Ruby. An impossible endeavor. He braced himself for her refusal and tried one more time. “You may as well let Poncho do the hard work.”
She edged closer, debating, her bottom lip caught beneath her front teeth.
“I appreciate Poncho’s offer.” The hint of a smile tucked in the corners of her mouth deepened. “I suppose his feelings would be hurt if I turned him down?”
“Very. He’s the one who insisted on stopping. Apparently he’s taken a shine to you.”
“Well, I think he’s a very nice horse. He’s as gentlemanly as my Solomon.” She disappeared, perhaps believing it was the horse who cared for her and not the driver. Although he could no longer see her, the faint murmur of her voice as she spoke with the gelding carried on the wind. Just a syllable and a scrap of a sentence, and then she reappeared at his side. “Poncho talked me into accepting.”
“He can be persuasive.” Lorenzo held out his hand to help her settle onto the seat beside him. Her hand felt small against his own, and the bolt of awareness that rushed through him went straight to his soul. He wasn’t used to feeling anything this strongly. “Besides, a storm like this can turn into a blizzard, something you don’t want to be out walking in.”
“It would be no less dangerous to a horse and sleigh.” She settled against the cushioned seat back. “I wonder why you would venture out. Surely there isn’t much ranching work this time of year?”
“I never said it was ranch work.” He tucked the buffalo robe around her, leaning close enough to catch the scent of honeysuckle. The vulnerable places within him tugged, defenseless against her nearness. He didn’t know why his heart moved so fast, determined to pull him along. He could not stop it as he gathered the reins, sending Poncho forward.
“In my worry over my shoe and my interview, I forgot to ask you. I heard your father was injured a while back. How is he?”
“He’s still recovering.” Lorenzo did his best not to let his anger take hold at the outlaws who had taken up residence west of town last summer and stolen a hundred head of cattle in a gun battle. “My father wasn’t as fortunate as the others the outlaw gang shot. He was hit in the leg bone and the back. He’s still struggling to walk with a cane.”
“I’m so sorry.” Sympathy polished her, making her inner beauty shine. Her outer beauty became breathtaking, so compelling he could not look away. Soft platinum locks breezed against the curving slope of her cheeks and the dainty cut of her jaw. “I noticed he wasn’t coming to church, but I didn’t know he was still struggling with his injuries. I don’t get to town much.”
“It’s not something Pa wants everyone to know. He’s a private man.” He adored his father. Gerard Davis was a proud and stubborn Welshman who could have lived leisurely on his inherited wealth but chose to put his life to good use by ranching on the Montana frontier. Lorenzo hoped he took after his pa.
“I won’t mention it, but I do intend to pray for him.” Her hands clasped together within the rather lumpy mittens made of uneven stitches. They looked twisted somehow, as if they had not faired well through a washing. But her earnest concern shone in her voice. “I hope he has a full recovery. I know how difficult it is for a man used to providing for his family when he is too injured to work.”
“It is tough on a man’s pride.”
“When I was little, Pa had an accident on our farm. A hay wagon overturned on him, and he was crushed. He was working alone and no one found him until my brother came with the mid-afternoon water jug. Rupert was too young to help free him. All he could do was run to the neighbors over a mile away.”
“I didn’t know. I’m sorry.” Interesting that they had this in common. He thought of the humble, quiet man who had begged him for a job. “He obviously recovered.”
“It took many years. We feared losing him at first. The doctor didn’t know how he survived. A true proof of grace,” she added, staring down at her misshapen mittens. “God was very good in letting us keep our pa. I don’t know what Rupert and I would have done if we’d lost him, too, so I understand what you might have gone through.”
“Worry, mostly. For a while we feared Pa might not walk again. Doc Frost said it was grace, too, that he’s up on his feet.”
“Grace is everywhere, when you look for it.”
“And when you need it most.” It was so easy to talk to her about what really mattered. Did she feel the same way? “How long ago was your pa injured?”
“I was five years old.” The sleigh bounced in a rut as Poncho turned onto the country road. She lifted a mittened hand to swipe snow out of her eyes. She felt closer somehow. Like they were no longer strangers.