That evening, Josiah linked an arm around each child and pulled them close. His chest swelled with gratitude and threatened to bust him open. She’d done it. Corra Jameson had done what he’d asked her to do, and his family stood intact because of her. Come Sunday, he’d load her trunk in the wagon, she’d stay in town after church, and he’d ride home with both children, thank the Lord. But when she went back to the boardinghouse, she’d be taking more than Jess’s teacher, his family’s cook, and a good horse.
She’d be taking his heart.
He had to talk to her, but how? Where? If he didn’t say his piece, she’d leave and never know she had him snubbed to the post. He’d die there without her. He’d already lost one loving woman. Lord help him, he couldn’t lose another.
Over the next two days he made himself scarce. He couldn’t bear to be around as she prepared to leave, cooked extra food, laid vegetables aside in the root cellar. But he watched from a distance, praying for an opportunity. Afraid to create one.
Saturday evening she didn’t take her place in the rocker with her Bible. Jess and Joe plopped onto the rug, the checkerboard between them. Every so often, they looked up, hope in their eyes, waiting for her to share her stories and bring another world to life in their small home. But she wouldn’t be reading tonight. She’d left while Jess finished cleaning up the supper dishes. He’d watched her from the open doorway. Saw her slip through the wire and walk out to the pasture, her skirt skimming the grass.
It was now or never.
He threw a look over his shoulder. “Believe I’ll take some air.”
Joe nodded absently, but Jess hurried over and tugged him down to whisper in his ear. “Miss Corra would make a fine Ma for us, Pa.”
His breath caught, and he kissed the top of her head. “I’m thinking the same, but it’s up to her.”
He left the house and ducked between the wires. Corra ambled out to an open place where the stock had flattened the grass. He held his feet to a slow stride until he was a few paces away. “Corra.”
She turned, and the low sun sparked a light in her eyes. Tears? Hope shot to his throat. He swallowed hard. “I got a fine little mare for you.”
Not what he wanted to say.
“You can try her before you leave and—” She held her hand out to stop his words. He stepped closer. “You did it. You turned my headstrong, green-broke youngest into a girl.”
She smiled that same pretty smile that tied a knot in his gut. Then she brushed the back of her hand against her cheek and his heart stopped beating.
“Thank you.” A sound broke from her lips—not a laugh, closer to a sob. “For asking me to come here. I can’t say who benefited more, Jess or me.”
Or him. Could he tell her?
Longing to sweep her up like he had in the kitchen, he closed the distance between them. “You fed us with more than your cooking, Corra. You fed us with your stories. Your laughter. Your gentle ways.”
“I see.”
He took hold of her arms, felt her tremble beneath his touch. “Do you? Do you see that you feed me in a way I thought I’d lost forever?”
She covered her mouth, eyes brimming.
“I know I asked you to come out here for a short time, and I’ll keep my word and butcher that beef for you. But could you find it in your heart to stay?”
Fear flashed in her eyes, and she glanced toward the aspen grove. Had he misread her these last few weeks? He had to know. Even if she turned him down, he had to know.
Dropping his hands to his side, he gentled his voice over the stampede in his chest. “I loved Maisie. I always will. But that part of my life is behind me, and you are right here in front of me.” He reached for her hand. “I love you, Corra. Could you take a man like me?”
She swept his face with her dark gaze, pulling the very breath from his lungs. “On one condition.”
He froze. “And that is?”
“That you give that beef you promised me to Letty for the boardinghouse.”
Relief billowed from his chest in unbridled laughter. Corra stepped into his arms and melted against him, and he bent to scoop her up. She linked her arms around his neck and lit his heart with her smile before he covered her warm lips with his.
Corra pulled her head back but clung to him still, savoring his strength, his laughter. His kiss. “If that is your way of sealing a deal, then yes. I can take a man like you, Josiah Hanacker. Because I love you.”
A deep and distant rumble turned her gaze to the sky, but the cloudless, dimming arch bore no threat of storm. Josiah swiveled toward the high pasture. Held securely in his arms, she saw them. They thundered over the open ground, the late sun glinting through mane and tail. Surging past and down into the next meadow, the mares and foals followed their natural impulse to run strong and hard and free.
Josiah buried his face in her neck, driving her pulse to rival the horses. No paper beau could match the tenderness of his touch. No fanciful dream could outshine the light of his love. And no thunder of heaven or hoof could outpace the beating of her overflowing heart—strong and hard and free.