Snowflake Bride. Jillian Hart

The chaos vanished, the clatter silenced and time froze. In the stillness, he saw her unguarded, with her feelings exposed. A lasso of emotion lashed around him and roped his heart to hers. For one perfect moment, they were bound and tied together in an immeasurable way, and he could see something he hadn’t before. Her heart. Tenderness washed over him like grace.

       “Hey, Romeo.” Mateo lightly punched him in the shoulder. “Didn’t you hear your pa? He’s calling you.”

       He heard nothing but Ruby. When she shyly broke away, hope took root in his soul for what could be.

      Chapter Five

      Crocheting was harder than it looked, at least for her, but it gave her something to focus on aside from the fact that she had been forced to sit at one of the worktables crammed into the corner of the kitchen for her midday meal. When she’d gone to join the others at the table near the warm stove, all the chairs had suddenly become mysteriously saved for someone else.

       No matter. She suspected her knowing Lorenzo might have something to do with it. Lorenzo. She hoped a sigh hadn’t escaped her as she unhooked her crochet needle from the loop of white thread and gave it a tug. Hard-won stitches disappeared before her eyes, unraveling as she counted backwards to the place where she’d made the error.

       She’d decided to learn to crochet because she figured working with one crochet hook instead of two knitting needles had to be easier, but she had been sorely mistaken. She inserted the hook, checked the pattern Scarlet had copied down for her and looped the thread three times. Concentrating, the morning’s troubles slipped away.

       “How is it going?” A man’s voice sounded close to her ear, and she startled. The needle tumbled from her grip, more stitches unraveled and the ball of thread rolled across the floor.

       “Lorenzo.” She gaped up at him like a fish out of water. Dashing in a dark, blue flannel shirt and black trousers, he knelt to retrive the ball. “What are you doing here?”

       “Scaring you, apparently.” He handed over the thread, kneeling before her like a knight of old, so gallant every head in the room was turned toward him. Apparently she wasn’t the only young woman on the staff who couldn’t keep her eyes off him. His dimples framed his perfect smile as she took the ball. Her fingers bumped his, and the shock trailed up her arm like a lightning strike.

       “You were right.” She dropped the skein onto her lap. “Everything has gone fine. I’m trying to learn all I can.”

       “Good to hear. Do you mind if I join you?” He unfolded his big frame, rising to his six-foot height. His hand rested on the back of the chair beside her. “I thought we could catch up.”

       “But we talked a lot on the sleigh ride, and we aren’t exactly friends.”

       “We can change that.” He pulled out the chair, turning it sideways so that when he settled on the cushion, he faced her.

       Not a good thing. How could she think with his handsomeness distracting her? Worse, the women at the other table had fallen silent, openly staring.

       “What are you making?” He lowered his voice, perhaps hoping to keep the conversation just between the two of them.

       “It’s supposed to be a snowflake. For Christmas ornaments.” She held up the poor misshapen mess of stitches. So far, her greatest aptitude in the needle arts was crocheting, but she couldn’t bring herself to admit that to Lorenzo. His nearness tied her in knots, and she wondered what he really saw when he looked at her. Although she wore a uniform just like the other maids, she could still feel her patches. A world separated her and Lorenzo. So, why was he really talking to her?

       “It does look like a snowflake.” He tilted his head to one side, studying the rows of stitching. “You were working on this when I came by the other night.”

       “Yes, although I already finished that one. I’m making them for Christmas gifts and to add to my hope chest.” She blushed, aware of how that must sound. “Not that I’m hopeful or anything. It’s just something girls do.”

       “I’m aware. My sister has one, too.” He relaxed comfortably against the chair back and planted his elbow on the table. A shaft of watery sunshine tumbled through the window, bronzing the copper highlights in his dark hair and worshiping the angled artistry of his face. “Bella and my mother do a lot of sewing for her hope chest. They have been at it for years now.”

       “That sounds nice. It must be wonderful to have a ma.” She tried not to think of all the ways she missed the mother she’d never known. She fingered the half-made snowflake, trying to imagine what it would have been like to sew alongside a mother. “Yours is especially nice.”

       “I’ll keep her. Who taught you to sew? Your aunt?”

       “No, my Aunt June didn’t have the time to spare.” She bit her bottom lip, remembering those hard times when her father had been injured. “I’m mostly self-taught. After Pa was well and we moved out of our uncle’s house, I had to figure out how to mend everyone’s clothes. I wasn’t that good, but when we moved here to Angel Falls, my new friends took pity on me.”

       “Not pity.” His dark eyes grew darker with interest. “I’m sure they couldn’t help adoring you on that first day you came to school.”

       “Me? No.” Shyness gripped her, and she bowed her head, breaking away from the power of his gaze. She didn’t want him to see too much or to know how sorely her feelings had been hurt on her first day of school. “I was the new girl and didn’t know anyone. I think they felt sorry for me.”

       “I know I did.”

       Mortified, time flashed backward, and in memory, she was at her desk in the back row. Sunshine warmed the classroom and open windows let in the fresh smells of growing grass and the Montana wind. Shouts and shoes drummed as kids rushed toward the door for lunch break, but Narcissa Bell’s voice rose above every sound. “Does it look as if I want to be friends with you? What is your name?”

       “R-Ruby.” She bowed her head, miserable beyond description. Her first day of school. She’d come with hopes of making friends.

       “I’m going to call you Rags. Look at that dress.”

       Girls had laughed as they pranced by in their tailored frocks in the latest fabrics and styles, in their shining new shoes and hair ribbons and bows. She’d felt her face blaze tomato red as her dreams of making friends shattered.

       She hadn’t realized Lorenzo had witnessed the whole thing. What had he thought at the time? He was friends with Narcissa. They were in the same circle of friends. Had he gazed at her that first day with pity, too?

       “I remember you wound up eating lunch with Meredith and her group.” No sign of pity marked his chiseled, lean face. “You were hard not to notice, being the new girl and the prettiest.”

       “Not the prettiest, not by far.” How could he say such a thing? She squirmed in her chair, uncomfortable but grateful, because his generous compliment took the sting out of the memory of Narcissa’s taunting. “But I could be the most blessed. I got a new circle of friends that day. The best friends anyone could have.”

       “That is a great blessing,” he agreed, so sincere, she found herself leaning in a little closer, drawn to him in a way she could not control.

       “God was watching over me.” She would never forget how it had felt when Fiona, Meredith, Lila, Kate, Scarlet and Earlee had approached her with friendly smiles and asked her to eat with them. “They asked me to join their sewing circle. We try to meet every week.”

       “And so they have helped you with your sewing.”

       “And my kitting and crocheting.” She gestured to the delicate circle of stitching cradled in the folds of her apron. “They are like family to me.”