Jillian Hart - Stetsons, Spring and Wedding Rings

“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.

This was truly a good job, Clara realized as she stopped scrubbing the outhouse floor—the fifth of the morning—to dunk the brush into the nearby bucket of sudsy water. While this wasn’t the most pleasant of tasks, she was happy working for Mrs. Brooks. She stretched her back as she dunked the brush again, taking a moment to glance over her shoulder at the white-capped mountains spearing straight up into a cloudy sky. Truly a beautiful sight. Tiny snowflakes danced and swirled nearly weightless to the ground. A great peace filled the vast spaces of mountainside and valleys. Joseph had been right when he’d told her it was the prettiest sight.

Joseph. Her chest gave a strange hitch whenever she thought of him. He had charmed her with his kindness, in spite of her better judgment. She grasped the brush, bent over and returned to her work, rubbing circles on the floorboards until her shoulder hurt.

You don’t want romance, Clara, she reminded herself, so why was she missing him? There was nothing left to say. His flattery had always been meant for another woman. No doubt the mysterious Miss Pennington was an accomplished, lovely young lady from a good family. Just as she should be, for Joseph was a kind man. He deserved a nice wife. That’s what she wanted for him. Really.

So why did loss weigh inside her, as cold as the morning’s wind? On her hands and knees, she backed out of the outhouse, scrubbing as she went. Her shoes hit snow, then her shins, then her knees. When visions of Joseph Brooks entered her mind, she polished them right out the same way she buffed the floorboards with a clean towel.

Her work done, she gathered up her supplies. The scent of soap and the dried lavender sprigs she’d hung on the wall made it pleasant. Pleased with a job well done, she reached for the door to close it. This was the life she had, and she was glad for it. She wasn’t lonely for a certain man’s low-throated chuckle, she thought as she turned on her heels and heard the steely clink-clop of horseshoes.

Through the snow-laden evergreen boughs she caught sight of a bay horse and a small black sleigh. Her spine melted vertebra by vertebra even before the driver came into sight. Joseph with his brawny shoulders and dependable smile.

The youngest Mr. Brooks, she reminded herself stubbornly. Seeing him again was like the daylight bleeding from the sky, leaving only darkness. She straightened her shoulders, digging deep inside for as much dignity as she could muster.

“‘Morning, Miss Woodrow.” He drew the horse to a halt and tipped his hat brim. “How are you on this fine Saturday morning?”

“Miss, now, is it?” She gripped the pail’s handle tightly and waded in his direction. “A little more than twelve hours ago you mentioned marriage.”

“True. I’m the sort of man who likes to get right to the point.” How dashing he looked seated in a small sleigh. A black wool coat hugged his magnificent shoulders and emphasized the manly strength of his chest. His Stetson caught tiny, airy snowflakes, and his dimpled smile shone as confidently as it had last night. It was just as well that everything between them had changed.

“A mistaken point,” she corrected him, coming to a stop beside his sleigh. “As I was not your betrothed.”

“Not yet.”

Why was she laughing? “So, is that why you’ve come? To practice your charm on me until your fiancée arrives?”

“Am I charming you?”

Only by the flash of his midnight eyes. Clara steeled her spine and set her jaw with determination. “I don’t find you charming in the least.”

“Oh? Then I shall have to try harder.” He hopped to his feet, so that all six feet of him towered over her, impressive and breath stealing. “Are you wondering what I’m doing here?”

“Yes, as I’ve sure you have plenty to keep you occupied. Don’t you help your father with the ranch?”

“Yes, and my morning work with him is done. I have some spare time.” He strode toward her, taking from her the bucket heavy with brushes and soap. “You said you didn’t know how to drive a horse, and I vowed I would teach you.”

“You promised a lot of things I hardly expect you to keep.”

“Why not? Do I seem like a lout to you? A liar?”

“No.” She smiled shyly.

“Then let me help you, Clara.” He set the bucket behind the seat, where covered baskets sat, huddled together.

“We should not be on a first-name basis, Mr. Brooks.” The wind chose that moment to catch the placket of her unbuttoned coat and ruffle the skirt of the full apron she wore, issued by the housekeeper. A reminder, of sorts. “I have work to do.”

“Yes, and do you know what that work entails?” The charm faded, leaving only kindness on his chiseled face. Goodness radiated from him unmistakably as he held out his hand. “You are to deliver the noon meal to Pa and the ranch hands. Three times a week you must drive into town for the errands and the mail.”

“Oh.” Things she could not do, for she had never handled a horse. She had never been able to afford one. “You have come to help me, and I thought you were trying to—”

“Flirt with you? You have the entirely wrong impression of me, Clara.” His gloved hand caught hers, cradling it as if tenderly. Maybe it was nothing more than kindness. “I know how I seemed to you last night, practically proposing to you, a complete stranger, in a snowstorm.”

“You thought I was your Miss Pennington.”

“Who?” He blinked, surprise twisting across his forehead. He helped her onto the sleigh seat, his touch powerful and gentle at the same time.

“Perhaps it’s not my place to say.” She thought of what his mother had told her, and could not remember if the older woman had shared that information in confidence. “You should speak with your ma.”

“I tried, believe me. She has been very quiet on the subject.” He leaned closer, bringing with him a winter wind and warm man scent. She shivered, stunned at her reaction, as he drew the warm bear fur and spread it over her lap. “There is no reason why we can’t be friends.”