“Joseph, the water?” A shiver rolled through her, and he could feel every nuance, every worry and wish.
With her fingers between his, he put some muscle into it, and the pump handle gave. Water splashed, drumming into the tin pail as he savored her summery scent. He fought the need to press against her more tightly, enfold her in his arms and never let her go. For whatever reason, she affected him deeply and he was grateful. He’d taken to her from first glance, but every time they met his affections for her expanded like stars in the night sky.
“I’ve got it now,” her gentle alto reminded him, but instead of notes of censure in her voice, there was something hidden.
Something only his heart heard. He did not move. “Maybe I want to help you, Clara.”
“Maybe you are trying to charm me again.”
“Charm you…no longer. My aim is to show you the man I am.” The pail was full, and it was like dying a little to release the handle and take his hand from hers. To step away from her softness when every instinct he owned shouted at him to get closer until there was no way to know where he ended and she began.
“Joseph, surely you know we cannot be friends.” Her plea sounded frail on the inclement wind, as fragile as the ice forming at his feet, cracking beneath his boot as he took a step.
“I do not wish to be friends, pretty lady. Wait here.” He took the pail from her, tossed her a grin and left her standing alone in the star shine. The world around her transformed. Ice crusted the snow and shone like diamond dust. Icicles dangled overhead as he hurried up the icy path to leave the water bucket on the top porch step. He would take it inside later. But for now, he had more information to gather. Did he have a chance? Was he right, did she have hopes and feelings for him, too?
As predicted, she did not wait as he’d asked. She followed him as far as the trail’s fork, one leading to the stables and the other to the maid’s quarters. “I never asked what brought you out in the cold this time of evening.”
“I intended to pay Don Quixote a visit. He and I haven’t gotten in as much talking as we usually do.” All he could see was her. The swish of her skirt. The sway of her hips. The pearled light on her skin. “I was also thinking of sledding.”
“You? Aren’t you too old to play in the snow?”
“Playing in the snow is ageless.” He matched her pace, taking the unbroken edge of the trail and leaving her the cleared pathway. “Surely even a lady as proper as you, Miss Clara, knows that.”
“I’ve rarely indulged in such silliness.” She tried to hold back a smile and failed. “The truth is, I’ve never had much time for play.”
“You have always had a serious life?”
“I ran errands for several businesses in town, swept store floors and boardwalks and cleared snow for most of the day when I was a child.”
“What about school?”
“I never made it past the third grade. I was kept out, to help make what living I could. But one of the hurdy-gurdy dancers at one of the saloons liked to read and taught me what she could. I doubt you can understand how I was brought up.”
“With little to hope for, so it seems to me. With a ma you couldn’t count on, a pa who’d abandoned his responsibilities. I can see why you don’t believe in me, Clara.” His hand settled on her shoulder, drawing her around. He towered over her, both a stranger she did not know and a dream she’d never been brave enough to wish for, all at once. His thumb brushed the dip in her chin. “But you will.”
How did she tell him she was beginning to believe? She felt dazzled by his caring gaze, captivated by his branding touch. This man could enchant her, when no one ever had. His fingers blazed on her skin like the first star in a winter sky, bright enough to light her way. His gaze settled on her mouth and lingered, and the contours of his rugged face changed. His mouth softened. His eyes darkened.
Alarm tripped through her veins. She bit her bottom lip, afraid in a way she didn’t understand. Surely he wasn’t thinking about kissing her. She steeled her spine, gathering up her will. How easy it would be to throw off caution and lean ever so slightly toward him, let her eyes drift shut and know the feel of his kiss.
The wind gusted hard, slicing through her layers of clothing like a blade. Her head cleared. You do not know this man enough. You have not seen enough of his character. The commonsense reminder whispered through her mind, giving voice to her doubts, which life had reinforced. Men did not stay. And if they did, they did not stay for her.
Again she withdrew from his touch and the allure of his intent gaze. Whatever he was asking, she could not agree to. Something deeper than disappointment and darker than regret slammed against her rib cage, but she ignored it. “If you will excuse me, it’s time I went home.”
“Your workday is done?”
“Yes, although there is much to be done in the cabin.” Minor things, like refilling the kerosene lamps and darning her socks, which had worn through again. But he did not need to know that. Let him think she had pressing tasks that could not wait. It would be best for both of them, best for her heart. Her shoes slipped a bit on the icy path, and the crunch of her footsteps echoed in the great hush of the night.
“Are you settled in all right?” His question followed her when he did not. “Are you liking the place?”
“Liking is too small a word.” Her confession rose across the platinum span of snow separating them. Heat flooded her face and embarrassment across her heart, for she was not only speaking of the cabin. Afraid he knew that, too, she continued on, walking as fast as she dared until the shadows surrounding the garden hid her from his sight.
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