Stetsons, Spring and Wedding Rings. Jillian Hart

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 surprised Ma didn’t tell you. There’s just my oldest brother and me, now that Nate has moved out and married.”

      If every one of them were as nice as Joseph, then what a lucky girl she would be. If she got the position. She tried to picture what it would be like working in the comfortable house. Much better than in a saloon, that was for certain. “Could you tell me if there have been many other applicants?”

      “Applicants? That’s a funny way to put it.” He continued along the pathway, with the tall house on one side and tall trees on the other. “I don’t rightly know, as my ma is the one managing all this. But you are the only woman who’s shown up.”

      “Truly?” What a relief. She released a pent-up breath and swiped a cold snowflake from her forehead. Perhaps not many women would want to travel so far into the remote wilderness for a job. That might work in her favor when she approached Mrs. Brooks for employment. “I’ve come so far. You have no notion what good news that is. I feel like the luckiest person on this mountain.”

      “No, that can’t be true. I’m the lucky one. I’m lucky because you’re here.”

      Now that was truly puzzling. Her step faltered. Why, it was almost as if he thought she was someone else. How strange. “Me? Mr. Brooks, surely you are not trying to charm me again?”

      “Can’t blame a fellow for trying, can you?” His boots thudded on wooden steps and scuffed across a snowy porch. The darkness was too thick here, where a porch roof blocked even the hardest snowfall. “Come on in. Careful of the steps. They are a tad slick.”

      A match flared, guiding her way. She hardly noticed the quaint little porch before she glided through the opened doorway, drawn by the sight of Joseph touching the flame to a crystal lamp’s wick. The light caught and grew, tossing a golden glow over the snow-dappled man. In full light, he was highly pleasing. His hair was raven, not brown as she’d first thought, and his eyes a dazzling midnight blue. He stood straight and strong, tantalizingly manly and crowned by his Stetson. His wide shoulders cut an impressive line.

      All reason slid right out of her head at the sight. A lifetime’s worth of vocabulary vanished. A strange longing blew into her as if borne on the wind. Never had she been affected by a man like this. Not even Lars, whom she had once hoped would propose to her.

      She would be wise to remember how that turned out.

      “Don’t stand there in the cold.” He replaced the crystal chimney with a clink. “Come in out of the draft and explore a bit. I reckon you will want to look around while I get a fire started.”

      “Yes. Thank you kindly.” Perhaps she sounded so breathless because she was worried. What if coming here out of the blue was a mistake? What if Mrs. Brooks didn’t want her? Then where would she go? How would she be able to improve her life? If only those worries would fade as easily as the shadows. Joseph lit a second lamp, bathing the room in a golden glow.

      What a cozy cabin. She gaped in wonder at the smooth honeyed log walls and the green gingham curtains at several large windows. A horsehair sofa looked deliciously comfortable and faced a well-cushioned wingback chair. Either would be a perfect place to do her needlework at the end of a long day. A small round oak table, sporting one of the gleaming lamps, tossed light into the recesses of a tidy kitchen, where a cookstove sat dark and silent in the corner. Sunshine ought to come in through the window, making it a good place to sit and read in the morning. She closed out the remembered image of the dirt-floor shanty she and her mother had rented last. It was hard to believe that she might be able to live in such a fine and pretty cabin.

      Joseph knelt by the stone hearth in the sitting area and struck another match. She couldn’t explain why her eyes kept him in sight as she spun in a slow circle, taking in the empty shelves on one wall and the cushioned window seat next to the open door. It was as if her senses wanted to stay firmly on him and against her will.

      “It won’t take long until the cabin is toasty warm.” Joseph stood, blowing out the match. Fire crackled in the hearth and the orange light danced over him playfully, accenting his high cheekbones and carved jaw. “You stay here and thaw, and I’ll go fetch your things.”

      “No, I’m fit as a fiddle and perfectly able to—”

      “Miss Clara.” His reprimand came kindly. “Do I look like a man who lets a woman do the heavy lifting to you?”

      “No.” The truth was, she thought he looked like the best kind of man, who stood for what was right. Maybe that’s why her pulse pitter-pattered as she watched him tip his hat politely and hike into the bitter cold. She circled around the sofa toward the fireplace to keep better sight of him. Hard not to notice his good-natured stride as he shouldered into the dark storm and disappeared into it.

      Fine, so I like the man. There was no harm in liking him.

      She stripped off her gloves, hardly aware of the blessed heat, and held her hands out to the growing fire. But liking him was as far as she was prepared to go. She was too practical a woman these days to believe in love.

      While greedy flames pressed away the icy cold air, she took time to study the room. There were details she hadn’t noticed at first glance. Now with the firelight, she could see empty shelves along the inside wall waiting to be filled with knickknacks and books. There was a window seat beneath the nearby window.

      When she peeked into the bedroom, she spotted a real feather mattress on a carved, four-poster frame. A mirror attached to a bureau reflected faintly back at her.

      Why, I look a fright. She hardly recognized herself. Her wool hat drooped with melting snow, her hair was falling from her pins and tangled dreadfully, her face chapped pink from the hard cold and rough winds. Wet patches of snowmelt clung to her threadbare coat as if someone had tossed a bucket of sludge at her. Her shabbiness showed. She could not expect to be hired looking like a ragamuffin on a street corner.

      Ashamed, she removed her hat and her hairpins. Her honey-gold hair tumbled past her shoulders in disarray. Her fingers itched for her brush and comb, but they were tucked safely in one of her satchels. She pocketed her pins and ran her fingers through her hair. Maybe she would have enough time to freshen up and look more presentable before—

      The door banged open, answering her question. Joseph tromped in, snowy and strapping, her satchels in hand. He closed the door with his foot, his gaze raking over her with such force it was hard not to feel self-conscious. Her hand went to her hair and she blushed. Breathless again and her knees going weak, she had nothing else to blame it on this time. Nothing, that was, save for Joseph.

      “You have to forgive me,” she found herself saying, stepping away from the bedroom. “I’m a bit windblown.”

      “That happens a lot around here, too.” He lumbered closer, his gaze never leaving her face. “I hope that doesn’t change your mind. I would hate to think you’re eager to catch the next train out of here and head home.”

      “I cannot do that. I have no home to return to.” Too honest, she admonished, but it was too late to take back the words. Spoken, they hung in the air between them like the crackling cold.

      “I’m sorry to hear that. My sister-in-law, Savannah, came out here to marry my brother because she had lost her family and her home. I reckon something like that has happened