with cows and horses than people.” Those dimples deepened and held her captive.
Surely a sign of impending doom. She could not let a handsome man’s dimples draw her in like that. What was wrong with her? She tried to hide her smile and stared at the toes of her shoes. She needed to repair her shoe in time for her interview. How could she do that while he watched? Surely, as nice and kind as he was, Lorenzo couldn’t help drawing conclusions.
Well, she was never going to be as stylish as her friend Scarlet, endearing like Earlee or poised like Kate. She couldn’t pretend otherwise. She could only loosen her reticule strings and fish around for the packet of needles and bobbin of thread.
“Let me drive you up to the house.” His warm offer startled her.
“D-drive me?” She nearly dropped the buttons.
“It will give you time to sew everything on. My mother will never suspect.” Kindly, he held out his hand, palm up, as an invitation. “You can sew while I drive.”
Did his unguarded blue eyes have to be so compelling? Veiled in the snow, he could have been a western legend come to life, too dreamy to be real and too incredible to be actually speaking to her.
Don’t do it, she decided. Her pa had raised her to be self-reliant. She was perfectly capable of walking the rest of the way. Besides, she was too shy to think of a thing to say to him on the drive. She should simply say no.
“C’mon. I’m not leaving without you. If you walk, I walk. Not that I mind, but Poncho might take offense.”
As if on cue, the beautiful bay blew out his breath like a raspberry, making his lips vibrate disparagingly.
“See?” Lorenzo chuckled, and the sound was warm and homey, like melting butter on a stove. “If Poncho is upset, he will take it out on me all day long. You don’t want that for me, do you?”
“No, as Poncho looks like a terror.” The terror in question reached over to lip his master’s hat brim affectionately. Even the horse adored him. “I suppose one short, little ride won’t hurt. It’s only so I can sew.”
“Of course. That’s the reason I asked.” Lorenzo’s assurance came quick and light.
He must offer rides to stranded young ladies all the time. He was a gentleman. It was nothing personal, which made it easier to lay her palm on his.
A current of awareness telegraphed through her with the suddenness of lightning striking. The sweet wash of sensation was like a hymn on a Sunday morning. A sweetness she had no business feeling, though it brought her a gentle peace. She didn’t remember stepping forward or climbing into the sleigh. Suddenly, she was on the seat with him settled next to her and the steel of his arm pressed against hers.
How was she going to concentrate enough to sew?
“What happened to the horse you usually ride?” He snapped the reins gently. Poncho stepped forward, although the gelding swiveled his ears back, as if he wanted to hear the answer, too.
“Solomon threw a shoe, and I didn’t dare ride him.” She leaned forward to work on loosening her laces.
“It’s a long way to walk. Three miles or more.”
“I don’t mind. It’s a beautiful morning.” Soft, platinum curls, fallen loose from her plaits, framed her heart-shaped face and fluttered in the wind.
“It’s a cold morning,” he corrected gently, but she didn’t seem to see his point as she tugged off her shoe, shook off any melting pieces of snow and set it on her lap. He tried to think of a woman he knew who would walk three miles on a morning like this because it was better for her old horse. “You must really want the chance at the kitchen job.”
“Yes. I’m sure I’m not the only one. Work is hard to find these days. Pa is always talking about the poor economy.” She unwound a length of thread from a small wooden spool, her long, slender fingers graceful and careful.
Wishing swept through him as he studied her profile. Long lashes framed her light blue eyes. Her nose had a sweet little slope, and her gentle, rosebud mouth seemed to always hold the hint of a smile. The way her chin curved, so delicate and cute, made him want to run the pad of his thumb along the angle to see if her skin felt as soft as it looked. Every time he gazed upon her, tenderness wrapped around him in ever-strengthening layers. He had a fondness for Ruby Ballard, but he suspected she did not have one for him.
The sting pierced him, but he tried not to let it show. Never, not once, had he caught her glancing his way. A few times, he’d spotted her in town, but she was busily chatting with her friends or running her errands and did not notice him.
Then again, he had never been alone with her, and she was fairly new to town. She’d arrived late in the school year last year. He remembered the day. How quiet she’d been, settling onto her seat in the back of the school room. She hadn’t made a sound, but he’d turned in his seat toward her, unable to stop himself. To him, she was like the first light of dawn, like the first gentle notes of a song and he’d been captivated.
“Everyone is talking about the poor economy,” he agreed. The low prices of corn and wheat this last harvest had been a disappointment to his family and a hardship to many others. He didn’t have to ask to know her family had been hard hit, too. “Did your father find work in town?”
“How did you know he was looking?” She glanced up from threading her needle. Wide, honest eyes met his with surprise. “How do you know my father?”
“He came by during the harvest, looking for work. We had already filled our positions, or I would have made sure he had a job.” He knew how fortunate his family was with their plentiful material blessings. He had learned a long time ago wealth did not equate to the goodness inside a person and that everyone was equal in God’s eyes. Having money and privilege did not make someone better than those without. God looked at the heart of a person, and he tried hard to do the same. When Jon Ballard had come to ask for employment with hat in hand, Lorenzo had seen a decent, honest, hard-working man. “I gave him a few good recommendations around town. I had hoped it helped.”
“It didn’t, but that was nice of you, Lorenzo.”
“It was no problem.” The way she said his name tugged at his heart. He couldn’t deny he was sweet on the woman, couldn’t deny he cared. He liked everything about her—the way she drew her bottom lip between her teeth when she concentrated, the care she took with everything, including the way she set the button to the shoe leather and started the first, hesitant stitch.
Snow clung to her in big, fat flakes of fragility, turning the knit hat she wore into a tiara and decorating her light, gossamer curls framing her face. Snowflakes dappled her eyelashes and cheeks until he had to fight to resist the urge to brush them away for her.
“In other words, you are in serious need of employment.” He kept his tone light but determination burned in his chest.
“Yes.” She squinted to draw her needle through the buttonhole a second time. “My brother has found work in Wyoming. Pa is considering moving there.”
“Moving?” Alarm beat through him. “Is there work for him there?”
“No, but he has the hope for it.” Her rosebud mouth downturned, she fastened all her attention
