Snowflake Bride. Jillian Hart

out on her own.

       That stung. He steeled his spine and straightened his shoulders, determined not to let the hurt show. She made a pretty picture circling around the back of the vehicle, her skirt snapping with her hurried gait. Snow sprinkled over her like powdered sugar. She couldn’t look any sweeter. His heart tugged, still opening up to her when he knew he ought to step back and respect that she didn’t feel a thing for him.

       “Thank you, Lorenzo.” She stared down at her toes.

       Was it his imagination, or did her soft voice warm just a tad when she said his name? The wind gusted, driving snow between them, and he couldn’t be sure. He cleared his throat, hoping to keep the emotion from his voice. “Glad I could help you out, Ruby.”

       “Help me? You saved me. This way, your mother won’t see me sewing on my buttons in her entry.” She bobbed a little on her feet and lifted her eyes briefly to him. “Thank Poncho for me, too.”

       “I will.” He rocked back on his heels, shocked by the impact of her gaze. Quick, gentle and timid, but his heart opened wider.

       She was shy, he realized, which was different from not being interested in him. Her chin went back down, and she swept away like a waltz without music, like a song only he could hear.

      Chapter Two

      Ruby stared at the marble floor beneath her, where the snow melting from her shoes had left a puddle. A stern housekeeper in a black dress and crisp apron had taken her mittens, coat and hat and left her clutching her reticule by the strings and staring in wonder at her surroundings. The columns rising up to the high ceiling were marble, too, she suspected. Ornate, golden-framed paintings marched along the walls, which were wainscoted and coved and decorated with a craftsmanship she’d never seen before. She felt very plain in her best wool dress, which was new to her, being handed down from her older cousin. Very plain, indeed.

       “Lucia tells me you are quite early.” A tall, lovely woman came into sight. Her sapphire-blue dress of the latest fashion rustled pleasantly as she drew near. “With this storm, I expected everyone to be a bit behind.”

       “My pa has a gift for judging the weather, and he thought a storm might be coming, so I left home early.” Ruby grasped her reticule strings more tightly, wondering what she should do. Did she stand? Did she remain seated? What about the puddle beneath her shoes?

       “Over an entire hour early.” Mrs. Davis smiled, and there was a hint of Lorenzo in the friendly upturned corners. She had warm eyes, too, although they were dark as her hair, which was coiled and coiffed in a beautiful sweeping-up knot. “Why don’t you come with me now, since everyone else is late? We can talk. Would you like some tea? You look as if you could use some warming up.”

       “Yes, ma’am.” She stood, feeling the squish of her soles in the wetness. “But first, should I borrow something? The snow stuck in my shoe treads melted. I don’t want to make a mess.”

       “Lucia will see to it. Don’t worry, dear. Come along.” Mrs. Davis gestured gently with one elegant hand. Diamonds sparkled and gold gleamed in the lamplight. “Come into the parlor.”

       “Thank you.” Her interview was now? That couldn’t be good. She wasn’t prepared. She hadn’t recovered from being with Lorenzo. Her mind remained scrambled and his handsome face was all she could think of—the strong line of his shoulders, the capable way he held the reins and his kindness to her over the button disaster.

       Pay attention, Ruby. She set out after Mrs. Davis. Squeak, went her right shoe. Creak, went her left. Oh, no. She stopped in her tracks but the woman ahead of her continued on and disappeared around a corner. She had to follow. Squeak, creak. Squeak, creak. She hesitated at a wide archway leading into the finest room she’d ever seen.

       “Come sit across from me,” Mrs. Davis invited kindly, near to a hearth where a warm fire roared. “I hear you know my dear friend’s daughter.”

       “Scarlet.” Squeak, creak. She was thankful when she reached the fringed edges of a finely woven rug. Her wet shoes were much quieter as she padded around a beautiful sofa. Squish, squish. She hesitated. Mrs. Davis was busy pouring tea from an exquisite china pot. The matching cups looked too fragile to actually drink from.

       “I hear you girls went to school together.”

       “Yes, although Scarlet graduated last May.” She knew the question would come sooner or later, so she might as well speak of it up front. “I haven’t graduated. I wasn’t ready.”

       “Yes, I heard you did not have the chance for formal schooling before you moved to our town.” Mrs. Davis eased onto one sofa and gestured to the one across from her. “Do you like sugar, dear?”

       “Please.” Her skirts were still damp from the snow, so she eased gingerly onto the edge of the cushion. She had to set her reticule down and stop her hands from shaking as she reached for the tea handed to her. Clink, clink. The cup rattled against the saucer. She didn’t know if she was still shaky with nerves over her encounter with Lorenzo or over her interview with his mother.

      A little help please, Lord. She thought of her pa, who was such a good father. She thought of her brother, who worked so hard to send money home. For them.

       “You must know my Lorenzo.” Mrs. Davis stirred sugar into the second cup. “You two are about the same age.”

       “Yes, although we were not in the same crowd at school.” She didn’t know how to say the first time she’d ever spoken to the handsome young man had been today. He’d been terribly gallant, just as she’d always known he would be. He treated everyone that way.

       She knew better than to read anything into it.

       “Tell me what kind of kitchen experience you have.” The older woman settled against the cushions, ready to listen.

       “None.” Already she could see failure descending. She took a small sip of the hot tea and it strengthened her. “I’ve never held a job before, but I am a hard worker. I’ve cooked and cleaned for my pa and my brother since I was small.”

       “And your mother?”

       “She passed away when I was born.” She tried to keep the wistfulness out of her voice, the wish for a mother she’d never known.

       “And your father never remarried, even with young children?” Concern, not censure, pinched in the corners of the lovely woman’s dark eyes.

       “No. He said his love for Ma was too great. I don’t think he’s ever stopped loving her.” Ruby shrugged. Did she turn the conversation back to her kitchen skills? She wasn’t sure exactly what a kitchen maid was required to do.

       “The same thing happened to my father when I was born.” Mrs. Davis looked sad for a moment. She was striking and exotic, with her olive complexion and dark brown, almost-black eyes. Ruby thought she’d never seen anyone more beautiful. The older woman set her cup on her saucer with a tiny clink. “He raised me the best he could. In our home there were maids to do the work and a nanny to help, but nothing can replace the hole left behind when someone is lost. You prepare meals, then?”

       “Yes.” Her anxiety ebbed. She’d seen the great lady in town and, of course, at church, and Mrs. Davis had always seemed so regal and distant. Ruby hadn’t expected to feel welcome in her presence. Hopeful, she found herself smiling. “I’m not sure what you are looking for, but I know how to clean, I know how to do what I’m told, and I follow directions very well.”

       “That’s exactly what Scarlet told me.” Mrs. Davis smiled. “Whomever I hire will be expected to assist the cook, to help do all the cleaning of the pots and pans and the entire kitchen. Do you know how to serve?”

       “No.” She wilted. “I’ve never done anything as fancy as that.”

       “I see.” Mrs. Davis paused a moment, studying her carefully from head to toe. It was an assessing look and not an unkind one,