Stetsons, Spring and Wedding Rings: Rocky Mountain Courtship / Courting Miss Perfect / Courted by the Cowboy. Judith StacyЧитать онлайн книгу.
toe into the leather stirrup. Suddenly she was airborne, the ground falling away and the snow blinding her. She settled on Mr. Brooks’s lap, safely tucked in his arms. His grin was wide and tempting and her heart gave a little flip-flop.
This was not what she had in mind when he’d offered to share his horse with her. She shifted, but that didn’t seem to improve the situation. Surely this was not the way to impress her future employer, by showing up in her son’s embrace. Perhaps it would be prudent to push him away, but something prevented her. Maybe it was the worsening beat of the storm making it impossible to speak, or the howling wind that would drown out her voice.
A warm sweep of rightness wrapped around her. She had been lonely for so long, and what a relief it was to finally feel in safe hands. There was something about Joseph Brooks she liked very much. It was almost as if she knew him from somewhere before. She didn’t, of course. It was quite an odd sensation, but not as strange as the rock of the horse’s first step that jarred through her. She gasped and reached out for something—anything—to hold on to.
Mr. Brooks. His arms held her tight and kept her from falling. “You’re safe with me, Clara.”
She didn’t doubt that one bit. She blinked the snow from her lashes, leaned against the hard plane of his chest and felt the smallest seed of hope. The snow sharpened, driving at her like needles, and the wind blasted ice all the way to her bones. Let the wind blow, she thought, for here in his arms she felt as if no amount of cold or storm could diminish her chance for a new start.
“Look up and tell me what you think of your new home.” His voice rumbled through her intimately, as his warm breath brushed her temple.
Home. Coziness bubbled through her, and she couldn’t rightly say if it was due to the notion of having a place where she might belong. Perhaps it had more to do with the handsome man who was kissing-close. Her heart lurched. Her lips tingled, simply from his nearness.
“You can hardly see much because of the storm.” His baritone vibrated pleasantly, invitingly. “But come dawn, you’ll open your curtains to the prettiest sight in these parts. Next to you, of course.”
“There you go, being charming again.” What was she to do about the bold man? Oh, he was a gentleman, she could tell that about him. He had been nothing but proper on their long, unchaperoned ride together. He had held her politely and cordially, always respectful, even if she was seated on his lap and pressed dangerously close to his chest.
And if a measure of warmth flushed across her face, probably reddening her cheeks, she decided to stay in firm denial of it. She certainly was not attracted to her prospective employer’s son. Really, and there was no reasonable chance he would be interested in her. She thought of her carefully patched dress and coat, and felt shabby.
There was nothing shabby about the view spreading out before her. Buffeted by snow, cloaked by night, the forest gave way to a stunning sweep of fenced meadows and gardens on a gently rising hillside. On the crest of that hill glowed the lamp-lit windows of an impressive home with the hint of a veranda and gables and two stories. No curtains covered the glass, and from where she sat in Joseph’s arms she could plainly see a well-appointed parlor, a fire roaring in a riverrock hearth. A kindly looking salt-and-pepper-haired man reclined in a wingback chair, obviously enjoying the fire’s warmth, studying his open newspaper with great seriousness.
“Is that your father?”
“Yep, that’s my pa.” Love warmed his voice, revealing him. This was not the kind of man she was used to, she suspected. Although she hardly knew him, it was plain to see the honest affection for his sire. “I suspect you know enough about him to know he would spend all day just like that if he could get away with it, reading newspapers by the fire. He cares about politics and the nation’s happenings.”
“I remember reading in your mother’s letters that he receives quite a lot of newspapers by mail.” One of her duties, should she get the job, would be to keep the newsprint piled in the parlor to a minimum and to fetch the mail when she was in town on house errands, which would include several newspapers.
It was a lovely house, and she suspected it would be a pleasant job. When she’d read Mrs. Brooks’s letter of inquiry, she hadn’t imagined something so down-to-earth. The big house looked comfortable rather than fancy, a family home rather than a showy palace. This was not a wealthy family, she suspected, but they did prosper.
“You look disappointed,” he rumbled against her ear. “You were expecting something better?”
“You mean richer?” She blinked snow from her eyelashes, because the burn in her eyes could not be from emotion. “Yes. I was afraid of not meeting expectations. Of not fitting in. The last job I had was cleaning for several taverns near my house.”
“We’re normal folk. You’ll see that when you meet my ma.”
The seeds of hope within her took root. This was truly a chance for bettering her life, much more than she had dared to imagine. She could see the polished, sensible dining table through the pristine windows, and candlelight flickering off gleaming crystal and silver. What a boon to work in such a room, rubbing wax into the lustrous cherry wood and taking care of this family’s beloved home.
Maybe I have a chance here. Maybe I can find happiness here. Her head felt fuzzy as she realized Joseph was pressed against her, his hands encircling her upper arms. Heat blazed through the layers of his gloves and her garments, and again she felt that strange blast of electricity telegraphing down her spine and into her toes.
“I won’t let you fall.” His promise shivered through her, and the icy chill fled from the wind as did the sting of the snow on her face. He lifted her powerfully from his lap and for an instant she was airborne, anchored only by his touch.
Chapter Two
Her patched shoes landed lightly in the snow, and she sank to her ankles. Joseph’s touch remained like a brand. His lips brushed her hair as he spoke quietly to her, as if they were in a crowded room instead of alone in the night. “Let me take you to your rooms. I should introduce you to Ma straightaway, but maybe you would rather get settled. You seem anxious, Clara.”
“I’m trying not to show it.”
“You have nothing to worry about here.” He dismounted, landing beside her, an impressive shadow in the deepening twilight. “Aside from the occasional mountain lion or bear, that is.”
“That’s something I haven’t had to worry about before.” Her skin tingled strangely where his touch had been. She rubbed her arms, but it didn’t leave. Snow tumbled from her cap, however, and slapped against her cheek. “Are my rooms far?”
“Down the path on this side of the house.” He looped the horse’s reins around a garden post. “It’s hard to see from here. Don’t worry. I will lead the way.”
“Thank you.” She felt breathless and her knees were strangely weak. When he touched her sleeve, a signal to follow him, her stomach flip-flopped and fell down to her toes. Surely she was not affected by the man. She had grown too sensible to be attracted to the male gender. Surely this was all simply the aftereffects of traveling long endless days on very few meals.
She trailed after him in the snow, stepping into the footprints he left. Snow soaked through her shoes, and the wind groaned and creaked through tall, dark trees, almost invisible in the storm. Surely this was not a portent of things to come, a sign she had made a mistake.
“This is where we spent many a warm summer’s evening.” He paused, fondness warming his voice and chasing away the chill in the night. “My ma has a fondness for the roses that bloom here, up against the house. I like the cooling breeze off the mountains. Keeps me comfortable while I whittle.”
“What do you carve?” She caught a glimpse of the shadowed railing of a wide porch before they passed beyond the house. She imagined a family pleasantly gathered there. “How many of your brothers are still at home?”
“I’m