intended to time things right so he could volunteer to escort Clara on her first drive to town. Whistling, he yanked the sled by its rope out into the night. Don Quixote nickered a cozy good-night. He closed the doors tight against the cold wind and high-mountain predators.
Clara’s light drew him across the hillside, with heart pounding and his palms damp beneath his gloves. Dang, but he was nervous. Courting a woman was sure tough on a man. By the time he got up the courage to rap his knuckles on her front door, his nerves were atumble. He could hardly suck in enough air waiting for her to answer. A thousand rejections took form in his imagination. Clara saying a fast and very adamant “No!” Clara slamming the door in his face. Clara looking horrified at the thought of spending time with him. Clara laughing in mirth at his tender assumptions.
His knees were knocking as he waited. He knew down deep that she would never treat him that way, but what a man knew and what he feared were two different things. A wolf howled in the nearby forest and others answered, echoing across the mountaintops, nearly masking the sound of the door opening. Lamplight spilled over him like hope, and she looked beautiful as always with her braids uncoiled and without her proper white apron. He couldn’t help but notice how her green calico dress made her look like summer in full bloom, lush and ripe and tempting.
“I know you said you had things to do,” he began, trying to banish the nervousness plaguing him. “But I thought you might like to try your hand at sledding.”
“How did you know I’ve never been?”
“Just a guess, from what you said.” It stood to reason. She’d worked as a child, instead of learning to read and cipher at school, and hadn’t had much time for play. “It’s a lot of fun.”
“More so than sleigh riding?”
“I promise you the time of your life.” Was that interest sizzling in the blue of her eyes? He surely hoped so.
“The time of my life? My, that is a big promise.”
“One I intend to keep.” He unhooked her coat from the peg by the door. “This might be your last chance until snow flies again, probably in October. That’s a long spell to wait for some of the best fun you will ever have on a downhill slope.”
“You are outrageous, Joseph, claiming such things. I have a suspicion you are not only speaking of sledding.”
“It takes one to know one.” He held out the garment for her. A challenge dazzled in his eyes along with something else, something far too serious and too frightening to believe in. So why was her arm sliding into her coat sleeve as if of its own accord?
“And what if my sledding experience is not as stellar as you claim?”
“Life’s experiences come with no guarantees,” he answered smoothly, easing her coat over her shoulders. So close, she inhaled the fresh air, hay and his pleasant male scent. Awareness tingled through her. His lips brushed her hair as he spoke. “But you will never know if you don’t give it a try.”
Why did it feel as if he were no longer talking of the act of sliding down a hillside in the dark, but something much more perilous? When he circled around to catch her top button in his callused, working-man hands, his humor was gone. His easy-going friendliness vanished. The lamplight found and caressed the intensely masculine muscular curve of his shoulders bulging beneath his coat. She felt every inch of his power to protect, to defend and to provide. She recognized an immeasurable tenderness as he worked the first button through the buttonhole, his knuckles grazing her chin.
Her body betrayed her, her heart hammering fast and hard, her breath coming in shallow, quick puffs. Could he feel her reaction as he drew the coat over her breasts and secured the button? His touch felt shocking, for all its properness and the layers of clothing separating her skin from his touch. She felt as vulnerable as if she stood naked before him. What was happening to her?
“You’ll need your muffler and hat.” He stole both from the wall pegs and draped the length of knit wool around her neck. His smile had changed. No longer jovial, intensely serious, it emphasized the sharp planes of his face, his high cheekbones and the firm square cut of his jaw. He plopped the knit cap on her head, and her hands caught his of their own volition, feeling the hard ridge of muscle and bone beneath his smooth, hot skin.
Little fires flared through her, an awakening of both body and spirit. A stirring of heat and gentle feelings she’d never known before. This is not love, she told herself, stubbornly willing it to be so. She defiantly fought down the strange new affections. But they were so overwhelming, she might as well have been butter melting on a hot stove.
“Will you come with me?” He held out his hand, palm up, waiting. His question rang low with a deeper meaning. A meaning that made her soul shiver and private places within her come alive. His baritone dipped, unfailingly intimate. “The night is waiting.”
This is not love, she repeated, caught between wanting to stay safe alone in her cabin and needing to find out what awaited her on the starlit snow and in the chambers of Joseph’s heart. How did she choose? Both were perilous. Both would end in heartache. She bit her bottom lip, aware that it drew his gaze there. Was he thinking to kiss her? Her stomach dropped at the notion of kissing him back. Her lips tingled, craving something she did not know.
Did she stay here and always wonder what if? To spend her days never sure what would have happened it she had accepted his offer? Or did she go with him, fearing it could not last? Did she seize what time she could, stealing happiness beneath the light of the moon?
She didn’t know what came over her. “Let’s not keep the night waiting,” she said, and took his hand.
Joseph steadied the sled at the crest of the slope, quaking in a way he never had before. Clara noted his every move. He could sense her gaze on him like a touch to his shoulders, to his back and to the side of his face. That she agreed to come was a hopeful sign. Kneeling down, he held the sled steady. “All aboard.”
“The hill looks steeper than I remember.” Her skirts swished against his knee. “And far too rugged. Are you sure we won’t crash like a runaway train?”
“No, I’m not sure at all. Crashing is a risk we are both going to have to take.” He took her hand, savoring the smile curving her mouth. “Sit right here. Feet forward, and hold on to the side here.”
“This can’t be comfortable. I’ll fall off.”
“I’ll hold you so you won’t.” He eased behind her, doing his best to keep the sled steady. “Are you starting to see how this goes?”
“You’re going to put your arms around me, aren’t you?”
“As long as you don’t object.” Sure, he could have let her slide down the hill all by herself, but how was he going to get closer to her that way? His legs embraced hers as he cradled her between his thighs. More intimate than on their horse ride the first evening they had met, and he couldn’t complain about that. No, not one bit. Her rosewater-and-soft-woman scent tantalized him as he wrapped one arm around her waist. The underside of her breasts rested against his forearm.
You’re a gentleman, Joseph, he reminded himself, but his blood heated anyway. He might be refusing to imagine having the right to unbutton her dress and worship her breasts, but his body responded anyway with a desire so strong, his vision blurred. All common sense fled.
“Are you ready?” he murmured against her ear.
