“Stage is here.”
Josiah glanced up from the cook stove as Ezra poked his head in the cabin door to share the news.
“Food’ll be ready by the time they come in.” He turned back to the work counter to mix more flapjack batter. He’d been about to serve dinner for the family, but adding a few extra place settings wouldn’t be a problem.
The stage was two days late. What kind of trouble had they run into? Ezra said they didn’t typically go look for it until the coach was three days past its scheduled time. Especially in the winter when it could be slowed by snow and ice.
Josiah scooped the beef steaks out of the frying pan, arranged them on a plate, and poured round circles of batter into the hot grease in the skillet. The front door banged open, and his chest surged at the sudden noise, sending a shot of pain through his shoulder. Settle down, English. It’d been so long since he’d cooked around a crowd. Now sudden noises spooked him?
Men filtered into the room, their baritone voices filling the space.
“Yeah, we come around Independence Rock an’ seen a whole passel o’ Indian teepees spread out across the valley. They stretched from one mountain to the other, no goin’ around ‘em.” Mr. Campbell paused as he plopped into a chair at the table.
“So what’d you do?” Ezra prodded.
The light in Mr. Campbell’s eyes twinkled. “The only thing we could. Turned around an’ high-tailed it back the way we’d come. Took us another half day to get back to the last station. Spent the night there, then hooked up a fresh team an’ crossed over the river to find another trail. Took a good bit o’ windin’ an’ doublin’ back, but we made it.”
Josiah slid the plates of steaks and flapjacks to the center of the table, and the man grabbed a fistful of meat before Josiah pulled his hand back.
“Eat up, folks. We’ll be hittin’ the trail again in ten minutes.”
The two other men from the stage settled into chairs around the table. The older fellow, dressed simply in a white cotton shirt and suspenders, loaded his plate without a word. The younger man, probably in his mid-twenties and looking like the modern definition of a dandy, scanned the simple tin place setting in front of him. Then his gaze trailed to the two tin platters piled high with food in the center of the table. His mouth pulled into a pinch and he wrinkled his pug nose.
Josiah turned back to the skillet and forked more buffalo steaks into the pan. The dishware and setting might be rustic, but the fool man would be hard pressed to find better flavor in the food of any restaurant on the East coast. Including that hoity-toity Omni Parker House Hotel in Boston people were always talking about.
As soon as Mr. Campbell had scarfed down his food, he stood and slapped his hat on his head. “Time to go, folks. Gotta make up the miles.”
Both men forked final bites into their mouths and stood, the younger fellow delaying a moment longer to take a final sip of coffee. Maybe he’d learned his lesson about judging the quality of a meal by the setting in which it was served.
Ezra followed the men out, and when the door slammed shut, an easy quiet settled over the room. There was a lot to be said for solitude. Especially in this remote country without crowded streets or noisy strangers. Most of the time, anyway.
He had the second round of food on the table by the time Mara and Ezra trudged in, stomping snow from their boots and peeling off coats. Zechariah wasn’t far behind, and they all settled around the table, then bowed for Zeche to say grace. Just like a family. Josiah swallowed a lump and squeezed his eyes tight.
The meal flowed in their normal rhythm, with comfortable conversation and a bit of dry humor thrown in with Zechariah’s stoic tone. But soon enough, it was over and the family bundled back up to finish chores for the night.
Josiah made quick work of compiling the scraps for the slop bucket and washing the dirty dishes. He’d gotten pretty good at working with his left arm still wrapped against his side. He could use that hand, just couldn’t move anything above the wrist.
When the kitchen was clean and the table wiped down, he pulled on his own coat. He’d stop in the storeroom to put the scraps in the slop bucket there, then head to the bunkhouse. After dropping off the leftover food pieces, he closed and barred the storeroom door then turned to gaze across the yard.
The moon was bright, glittering off the snow, even where heavy tracks marred the smooth surface. Horses stood in circles in the pasture behind the barn, munching hay with an occasional snort. The peacefulness of it all only intensified the longing in his chest.
He ambled that direction. The bunkhouse would be dark and cold, so maybe a few minutes watching the horses would prepare him for sleep. The barn door opened, and Zechariah and Ezra headed toward the house.
“G’night, Josiah,” Ezra called.
Zeche gave a nod that seemed to say the same thing.
“Night.” Josiah kept his voice low so he didn’t break the tranquility hovering in the air.
He reached the back fence and propped his good arm against it. The munching of horses’ teeth became the melody that trumped all other night noises. Rose was among those in the group closest to him, and he studied the white patch of hair across her face. It looked like an artist had poured paint over her, allowing it to splatter around the edges. The striking look certainly added to her beauty.
Another squeak sounded behind him as the barn door opened a final time. He didn’t have to look to know it was Mara, but he turned just the same. If she noticed him, would she come and talk? Or just wave and go inside? He wasn’t sure which he wanted.
As much as he’d tried to resist her draw, it was Mara who made this place wonderful. Even the majestic pull of this wilderness wouldn’t hold quite the magic, if there wasn’t always the chance he might catch a glimpse of her. Maybe have the chance to talk with her. See that smile that could light the darkness.
She held the milk bucket in one hand, but set it on the ground before closing the barn door. After she propped the wood rail across the latch to secure it, she picked up the bucket and looked around. Did she sense a presence in the yard? Or maybe she looked for him. Wishful thinking, probably, but a man could hope…
Shadows shielded her face, but her profile gave her away when she noticed him. Her shoulders relaxed, her chin came up, and she strolled toward the fence where he stood.
“Enjoying the night view?” As Mara neared, the moonlight pushed away some of the shadows on her face, but he could still make out only the outline of her features.
He turned back to the animals in the pasture. “It’s nice out. Peaceful.”
She stopped beside him, leaning against the fence rail the same way he did. The quiet settled over them for several moments before she added her voice to it. “This place speaks to me.”
Josiah’s chest tightened. “There’s something about being so isolated, so connected to the land. It gets into your soul.”
Mara’s hands left the fence and settled around her upper arms. He turned to look at her. She nodded agreement with his words, but the shiver in her jaw undermined the action.
“You’re cold?” He reached to unbutton his coat. Why was he letting her stand out here in this freezing night air?
“No, I’m fine.” But her shoulders had started to quiver now, and she bit her lower lip.
He should tell her to go inside. But they rarely had quiet moments to talk without at least one of her brothers around. Was he being selfish? Maybe not if she wore his coat. “Put this on.”
“I’m fine really.”
But he draped it around her shoulders and she gripped the edges, wrapping it tighter. “Now you’ll be cold.”
“I’m fine.” Especially if he slipped his good arm around her and pulled her close like he was itching to do. How much trouble could he get into with one hand?
Mara turned back to gaze over the pasture again.
But he kept his focus on her. Her face held no shadows now, its planes perfectly illuminated by the moonlight. Her intelligent eyes, full lips, cute pointed chin.
“I know what you mean.”
He blinked. What had they been talking about? He had no clue. “What I mean?”
She shot him a look out of the corner of her eye, raising one brow. Then she focused forward again. “About the land getting into your soul.”
Ah.
“This country feels more like home than any place we’ve lived, even though we’ve been here less than two years.” Her throat worked, and his focus followed the movement. “I don’t think I can leave it.”
Her words penetrated the trance that had settled over him. Was she giving serious consideration to Zeche’s plan? The knot in his gut tightened. “Your brothers want you to leave?”
She turned to him then, something welling in her eyes that looked almost like desperation. “How did you know?”
“Zechariah.” He forced any trace of bitterness from his voice. “Do you want to go stay with your aunt?”
“No. I don’t.” Resolution laced her tone now.
He took a step forward, a magnetic force pulling him without effort on his part. His hand slipped up to her cheek. “I don’t want you to go.”
He’d said it. Hadn’t told her everything he felt, but he lowered his mouth to hers and let his kiss say the rest.
As he tasted the softness of her mouth, memories flooded his body that hadn’t yet reached his mind. He’d kissed this woman before, and she was just as intoxicatingly sweet as she’d been then. His body yearned to pull her close, secure her in his reach. But his left arm was shackled in the restricting bandage. He slid his right hand from her cheek to the back of her head, weaving his fingers into the softness of her silky hair.
Mara’s hands settled on his chest, and her touch warmed him more than any coat could. They slid up until they encircled his neck. He groaned and deepened the kiss, running his hand down to the small of her back where he could pull her closer.
Sweet mackinaw, but she was amazing. Every sight and touch and taste of her. Even the scent of horses mixed with the faintest aroma of roses. She brought everything in him to life.
Her hands slipped down to his chest again, pressing flat against him. Pulling away or holding him close? He should stop. Just one more taste and he’d stop. With every ounce of his strength, he pulled away from her mouth. But he didn’t release her waist. Holding her close, he settled his forehead against hers. Her chest rose and fell in almost the same rhythm as his, while he struggled to catch his breath.
Her eyes were closed but she made no move to pull away.
“Have I told you that you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen?”
Her lids fluttered open, and her cheeks formed soft dimples. “No.”
“You are.” His hand itched to stroke her cheek again, but he wasn’t releasing his hold on her.
“I need to get inside before the boys come looking for me.”
Josiah couldn’t stifle a groan.
She pulled back, and he let her go.
Mara stepped away to pick up the milk bucket, then turned back to him. Her chin dipped in a cute little gesture. “Good night, Josiah.”
“Good night.”
Then she turned away and strode toward the house.
His chest ached as she carried a piece of it with her.