Don Quixote didn’t comment as he dove into his trough and gobbled up his tasty grain. After all, first things first.
“Yep, I bet that’s how it’s going. Clara and Ma are probably fast friends by now.” He hardly remembered tossing the scoop back into the grain barrel and getting the lid down tight. Because every thought in his head centered on Clara—his wife-to-be. Emotion filled his chest, a feeling that was too embarrassing to say out loud. Recalling how she looked with the firelight caressing her skirts and the melted snow in her hair glistening like diamonds made the emotion in his chest double. Was he already in love with the girl?
“See you later, buddy.” He couldn’t remember ever being so eager to get back to the house and it wasn’t because his stomach was grumbling, either. He buttoned up and grabbed Ma’s package before heading outside. The cold blast of night air hardly troubled him as he closed the stable door tight and started the hike up the hillside. He felt as if he walked in summer sunshine. That’s what love could do to a man.
Why, he couldn’t remember a better evening. Hazy moonlight penetrated the thinning clouds and threw silver across his path like a hopeful sign. This late-season storm had nearly blown itself out. New leaves rustled on tree boughs as he trekked past, and snow dropped in chunks to the ground. He followed the darkly gleaming snow along the garden gate toward the house, knowing Miss Clara was inside.
Clara. What a fine lady. His chest puffed up with pride and something buttery warm and too wonderful to name. He couldn’t say his boots touched the ground as he hiked along the wind shadow of the house. He almost turned around to see if he left any tracks in the snow behind him, but his attention turned toward the lit windows. Already his eyes hungered for her. His whole body tingled, remembering how dandy it had been to hold her in his arms. He sure would like to do that again.
He took the porch steps two at a time, already making plans in his head: the log house he intended to build with an appealing view of the Rockies’ peaks and the mountainside below; all the fineries he wanted for his wife. No doubt she would want a fancy kitchen and a sewing room with a newfangled sewing machine and all the pretty things a woman required. He shook the snow off his clothes and stomped his boots, determined to take the best possible care of Clara, when he spied her through the kitchen window.
Golly, but she made a pretty picture standing there at the counter. He drank in the sight of her, as fragile as a porcelain doll but all woman. No doubt about that. Not to be disrespectful, but she had a very fine bosom. He tried not to think overmuch on her bosom for his face heated and he fumbled with the doorknob. He tumbled into the mudroom, losing sight of her. His heart, however, clutched the image of her close. As he peeled off his boots and coat and hung his hat up to dry, every fiber of him ached to see her again. The low melody of her voice rumbled pleasantly through the wall as she spoke with the cook.
What a fine lady, to be so polite to the help. She was down-to-earth. He liked that about her. That, and every single thing he knew about Clara Woodrow. Sure, he was falling awfully fast, but he had been looking forward to this day for a while. He hadn’t expected an instant attraction to her; he had never experienced the like of it before. As he pushed open the door and burst into the kitchen, his gaze went only to her, to his Clara, turning from the steeping teapot to offer him one perfect smile.
His heart squeezed so hard it brought tears to his eyes. He had never beheld such perfection. In full light, her beauty paled next to the gentle goodness he saw shining within her. It outshone her significant outward beauty and made the faded pink calico dress she wore look like the finest gown. His entire being changed in that instant, heart and soul forever surrendered to her.
So this is what love is. He closed the door behind him, his world forever changed. Commitment and devotion filled him like water in a well, rising up until he brimmed with it. Fierce protective urges rolled through him, making him feel ten feet tall. He would do anything for her, give his life for her if he had to. He set the brown-wrapped package on the counter, a stone’s throw from Clara. “I can’t believe Ma let you escape her. I expect she’s waiting for you in the parlor?”
“Yes, I believe she’s taken up her needlework.” Her shy smile touched her soft mouth, and she averted her eyes, turning to fuss with the tray on the counter in front of her. “Would you like some tea to warm you?”
“Why, I surely would.” He was touched that she would be offering. Already she had slipped into the woman-of-the-house role. His chest swelled with happiness. That had to mean she felt this attraction, too. “Let me carry the tray for you.”
“Oh, no. I couldn’t let you do that. Let me wait on you.” She might be soft-spoken, but she was no wilting flower. Determination deepened her blue eyes and sharpened the dainty curve of her finely carved chin.
“Fine. Have it your way.” He would do anything to please her, and he liked that she wanted to take care of him, too. He could see their future, each taking care of the other. “I aim to please, pretty lady.”
“There you go, flattering yet again.” She added a third cup to the tray.
“I can’t help myself.” He chuckled, following her through the kitchen. “You bring out the worst in me.”
“I suppose I shall simply have to get used to it.”
“Yep, because I reckon it isn’t going to get any better.” For instance, there were plenty of flattering things he could offer as they strolled through the house together. The sway of her hips, subtle and terribly feminine, drew his gaze. She had tied back her hair into a single loose braid, and it framed her face like a golden cloud. She held herself with an inner grace, which made the serving tray she gripped with both hands look out of place. She was like a thoroughbred in a herd of donkeys.
“You seem more relaxed than when I first spotted you on the train platform.” He had a thousand questions for her. He wanted to know everything about her. “I hope you come to feel at home.”
“I already do,” she confessed.
“Now that you see my folks are good people, and you’ve met me, you have to know—” He caught her elbow and drew her to a stop. “I’m going to do my best to make you happy.”
“Happy? No, not me,” she denied gently with a shake of her head.
“I would like to take you for a sleigh ride tomorrow.” He kept right on talking. “Just you and me. Now, I know for your reputation, it is best if we’re chaperoned, but I think we need to get to know each other better. After all, we have a future together, you and I—”
“Mr. Brooks, there’s something I must tell you.” The tray she held quaked enough to rattle the cups in their saucers. “I’m not who you think I am.”
“What do you mean?” Tenderness rang in his voice. “You think I can’t see who you are? A fine lady, fallen on hard times. The same thing happened to my sister-in-law, as I told you. I care about you, Clara, and I—”
“Joseph!” Mary interrupted, calling loudly from the next room. “Is that you? Have you finally come in from the stable? I’ve been waiting for you.”
“I’m finally here, Ma.” He rolled his eyes, looking sheepish. “She still scolds me as if I’m twelve. She can’t help it. Come, let’s go sit with her.”
“Yes, she’s no doubt waiting for her tea.” She had no time to explain as he had already started in the direction of the parlor, only a few steps away. His fingertips around her arm seared
