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.”
“Are you always friends with your household maids?”
“No.” Humor stretched his mouth into an amazing smile.
She didn’t remember settling farther over on the seat to make room for him, only that suddenly he was beside her. Her skin tingled with awareness of him. His big, capable hands were gloved, and when he took up the reins she did not feel a shiver. Really. She did not remember how his touch had been as hot as a branding iron. Honest.
Fine, maybe she remembered a little. Okay, more than a little. Sometimes hope was a terrible thing, making you want something you couldn’t have—something you were afraid to have.
“This is a first for me, Clara. You have to believe it.” His big hands gathered the thick leather straps. “You have to understand. Surely this has happened to you before.”
“What has?”
“Captivating a man so he can’t see anything else save for you.”
“Why, yes. It happens constantly. It’s such a bother, really, how men fall at my feet. I can hardly walk for tripping over them.” How could this man be serious? “I know what your problem is. Your mother has to write to larger cities to hire household help and to marry off her sons. You aren’t used to being around women your own age.”
“Not true. In school, there were three girls in my grade. The trouble was, they fell in love with other fellows and married before I could snatch any of them up.” Although he tried to hide it, she could sense a hint of sadness. He inched closer and presented her with the thick leather straps. “You take the reins. Go on, grab them right behind my hands.”
“You have never beaued a girl?” She leaned closer into his heat and breathed in his fresh man-and-winter-wind scent. Her fingers closed around the reins inches behind his, and her shoulder bumped the warm iron of his arm.
“Got turned down when I tried.” When he tried to grin, it didn’t reach his eyes. “Lara turned around and let Chuck Thomas court her. They married right after she graduated from school. I guess that smarted for a while.”
“Being cast off by someone you care about hurts.”
“You sound like you know something about that.”
“Yes. Of course. There have never been any men falling at my feet. Only one, and he was not falling, believe me.” The big bay stallion shook his head, as if he did not approve of the switch of drivers.
“Don’t worry about Don Quixote. He’s a gentleman, too. You want to tell me what happened?”
“No, but I have a feeling you will pester me until you have the truth.” Dimples framed her mouth, a hint of the smile she held back. She nodded toward the horse. “I can feel him through the lines.”
“Yep. See how I keep the reins light, but not too light? That’s the tension you want. Each horse is different, but my boy likes a gentle hand.” He did not want to talk about his horse. She captured his interest. He had to know why she held herself back, as if reserved, as if she were even more wary than before. Her heart was a puzzle he intended to solve. He gave the reins a quick snap and the horse and sleigh shot forward. “Feel how I did that?”
“Yes.” She nodded, her wool cap brushing against the side of his jaw. “This is like flying!”
“I take it you haven’t been in many sleighs?”
“Not once.” Wispy tendrils escaped from her knit hat and framed her face perfectly. If sweetness could be caught in an image, hers would be it. Bright blue eyes sizzling with excitement, her petal-pink mouth stretched into a tantalizing smile, her cheeks rosy. But there was more. A beautiful joy radiated outward from her heart. She could have been a winter sprite soaring with the snowflakes.
“You surely are a city girl. Hold on.” He snapped the reins lightly, clicking to Don Quixote. The stallion swiveled his ears, nodded his head and stretched out into a fast trot. The sleigh felt airborne, hardly deigning to touch the top layer of snow. “What do you think now?”
“We should slow your horse down. We could crash.”
“Hardly.” He kept hold of the reins long enough to direct Don Quixote toward the next hillside, nestled with snowmantled trees. “See how I tugged on the right rein?”
“Yes, I see. You would do the same to turn left.” A crinkle of worry cut into her porcelain forehead. “How do you slow down?”
“No more worrying.” He released his grip, leaving her in charge of the horse, and settled back, relaxing against the seat. “You’re driving, Clara. It’s that easy.”
