Caroline breathed a sigh of relief, but she couldn’t relax entirely. “I can’t stay here. Not after this.”
“But you can,” James said. “Mr. Hansen bellowed all kinds of things, about keeping Butch locked up overnight and Mr. Hansen’s sending him back to town in the morning—likely farther than that, if the foreman has his druthers. Butch can’t hurt you now.”
“Good,” Caroline said in whisper, her body letting out some of the tension from before. She looked down at their joined hands, and her heart rate sped up, not unlike when Butch had confronted her, but this time the feeling wasn’t one of fear. No, instead she felt warm and eager.
And then she grew anxious. What was her heart doing, hammering like that, betraying the friendship she held so dear?
We’re both adults. Childlike friendship doesn’t have a place in our lives anymore. He’ll be looking for a wife soon. And I’ll be finding a husband.
The thought felt far more bitter than sweet. She was young yet, and had plenty of opportunities for many beaus and proposals. She planned to turn down the first few with aplomb, breaking hearts while keeping herself free to enjoy her youth before settling down to married life. She would certainly need several beaus before she truly knew what it meant to fall in love; she’d settle for nothing less.
James scooted a few inches closer on the bench; Caroline’s heart hammered against her ribcage. Certainly he could hear the thumping in her chest. And then a thought came to her: perhaps James could be her first real beau. Certainly their relationship couldn’t remain as school chums much longer. Yet could she ever see him as something more than a dear friend?
Perhaps, if it means having my first kiss. She’d certainly grieve the loss of their friendship later, after they’d had their share of innocent fun. Might as well enjoy the change if it must happen.
“Three men in addition to Mr. Hansen are watching him,” James said, bringing her back to the present.
That was right; she’d just been near attacked. James’s warmth—in his voice as well as his touch—had melted away her concerns. For a brief moment, she’d forgotten the terror that she’d fought against so recently.
“A lot of us are pretty riled up that he’d try something like that. I heard Mr. Hansen saying that Butch had to leave for home at first light. If it weren’t winter, he’d probably have kicked him out tonight.”
“I’m glad.” Caroline finally raised her head and looked into his eyes. The glow from the full moon glinted through the windows, lighting up his hair from the back and leaving most of his face in shadow. His eyes looked dreamy, his jawline more chiseled than she remembered. He almost fit her ideal image here, in this moment. Yes, James would do for a first beau quite nicely. She was glad he hadn’t brought a lantern with her, and that she’d extinguished the ones inside. The semi-darkness provided the perfect ambience for a romantic moment.
James brushed a lock of hair from her eyes and smiled. “I’ve always thought you were beautiful, but you’re even more so by moonlight.”
“I was thinking the same thing about you,” she said, then shook her head and laughed. “But not beautiful. Handsome.”
He chuckled then lowered his head the slightest bit, so little that she wondered if she’d imagined it. She decided to risk her pride by leaning forward herself, closing the gap between them by a few more inches. If possible, her heart sped up even further, and her breathing became erratic. Was she about to experience what she thought she was? Surely the anticipation of her first kiss was the reason for the thrill shooting to her toes, even if it would be with her old chum.
She glanced up, looking into his eyes, which didn’t hold their usual playful spark, but instead held something deep and serious behind them. She swallowed as she flicked a glance down to his lips and back to his eyes.
At that, he smiled with one side of his mouth, closed the gap, and pressed his lips to hers. This time, the eruption wasn’t contained in her heart; Caroline’s entire body seemed to come alive with tremors of excitement coursing through her limbs as his mouth moved over hers. She shivered with delight, not having known that a simple thing like a kiss could feel like this. He threaded his fingers into her hair and rested a hand behind her neck; she leaned closer, eager for more, and wrapped both arms about his neck as the kiss deepened.
Far later than she’d ever anticipated—yet all too soon—James’s lips broke away from hers. She gasped slightly as the kiss ended, suddenly aware of every nerve ending in her body and wanting to feel this way always.
James leaned in again, but this time, he just pecked her lips. She wanted to pull him back and kiss him again, hard and long, but restrained herself.
This—her first real kiss—was a moment she would treasure and remember all her life, but she also knew that James wasn’t for her, and that the romantic moment had happened purely out of the intense emotions they had both experienced immediately prior. That, and the bewitching moonlight.
Surely he knew that. James, sweet, sweet James, certainly knew that they weren’t a match. Wouldn’t he? He’d heard her talk for years about her ambitions for a handsome, mysterious—and, preferably, wealthy—future husband, someone who could take her away from tiny Cache Valley and show her big cities and exciting adventures. James knew he didn’t fit that mold. Of course he did.
Yet as they held each other’s hand afterward, she had her doubts. James seemed a bit too content. No, not content—pure joy seemed to radiate from him.
The realization that this moment hadn’t been something purely spontaneous, the end result of a crisis, sent her reeling. She no longer worried about Butch—he’d be under guard all night, she was certain—so she decided it was time to leave. Every moment she stayed with James tonight would only solidify any silly idea that she cared for him in the way he—clearly—cared for her.
I never knew . . . I didn’t. Did I?
She stood suddenly, pulling her hands from him. “Thank you for coming to check on me. I’m most indebted to your kindness.”
Silly girl. Why are you talking like some formal school marm?
Her tone clearly confused James; his brow furrowed, and he looked at his hands as if trying to puzzle out why they were no longer holding hers. She’d never spoken to him like this. But they’d never experienced or done anything like this. James tilted his head ever so slightly to one side, as if puzzling out on an arithmetic problem during their school days.
Don’t think of school now, she ordered herself. They’d been in the advanced class for math; they’d stayed after school with the teacher for help on the more complicated problems. Had he set his sights on me even then? Who was this man? She felt as if she didn’t know James at all. Yet his was so strong . . . maybe he does care for me in that way . . .
“Of course I came,” James said, answering her words from a moment before. His voice sounded wavering. “You owe me no debt. It’s what friends do.”
Friends. Thank the heavens he’d used that word. She sighed and breathed a bit easier.
“Yes. Yes, it is what friends do,” she agreed, feeling the tight mask on her face melting away. She could smile and be herself again. “Good night, James. Thank you for coming when you did; I didn’t even know I needed you, but you came.”
He reached out and touched the tips of the fingers on one hand. A jolt of lightning went up her arm, and she had to hide the fact that her breath had suddenly grown uneven. Would he kiss her again? She equally hoped for and dreaded another kiss.
“I’ll always be here for you, Caroline,” he said. Then, letting go of her fingers, he headed for the front door of the cookhouse. He twisted the key, pulled the door open, and, before stepping out into the night, added, “Good night.”
Chapter Four
For the next several days, Caroline continued to plead with Mrs. Hansen to let her stay in the kitchen again.
“But Mr. Larsen is gone,” she countered the first time. “Surely no other workmen have behaved as he did.”
; Eventually the foreman’s wife gave in, and as time went on, she seemed plenty content to let Caroline stay late and do all of the supper cleanup herself.
Tonight, as Caroline set aside a clean frying pan that had browned beef for the workmen, she wondered if it was the panicked look on her face that had convinced the foreman’s wife. She may have assumed that Caroline was still shaken over what had happened the night before.
That is true, but not in the way she may think. Caroline was shaken about what had happened with James, not with Butch—but Mrs. Hansen didn’t know about the latter incident.
Truth was, Caroline could not bear to face James, let alone speak to him. Not after they’d kissed and she’d realized that he had feelings for her. That look of joy and love in his eyes still haunted her. She’d crushed his heart.
She scrubbed a knife, and with her worries tumbling inside, nearly cut herself with the blade. She rinsed the knife and set it aside, feeling the trembling shakes that seemed to follow any thought of James and the kiss they’d shared.
After finishing the last of the supper dishes, Caroline dried her hands on her semi-damp apron then dabbed a dry dish cloth across her perspiring forehead, sighing. It had been a long day. A long week. Every hour, especially one where James might show up, dragged by, and she seemed to age a week with each day. Maybe part of it was due to winter—the shorter days, the cold, the snow—it all made her more tired than when she worked similar hours and did similar chores in the summer and spring.
Maybe she could go home early. The camp crew was already dwindling, and soon the winter skeleton crew would be all that was left—only two to four men besides the Hansens, men who would drive sleighs over the snow-packed canyon road and into town. She’d talk to the foreman tonight; no need for an extra set of hands in the kitchen when the camp had dwindled in size by half since her arrival.
As she had every night for a week, she wrapped a shawl about herself, put on her mittens then carried the tub of dirty water out to the tree in the darkness. Before retiring to bed, she whispered a prayer of thanks that Butch wasn’t around to surprise her here ever again. She’d never dare step into the winter night had he still been at camp.
The tub felt heavier today as she thought of going home. She’d miss the camp, what with the jokes and silliness—at least, she’d miss what had been pleasant about it aside from Butch Larsen. Most of all, she’d miss the time she’d spent with James, walking together along the canyon road, picking flowers, talking about nothing and everything. But that part was over anyway.
After reaching the pine tree, she tilted the tub, supporting it with one leg, and dumped the water at the base of the tree. Tracks made by past dish water had frozen into thick ice that looked both beautiful and dangerous at the same time. With lantern light spilling from the cookhouse behind her, she watched the water splash onto the ground and run over ice. Every movement she’d made since beginning the dishes was mechanical; it was how she could keep herself from thinking too much about James. She’d seen those flickers in his eye that meant he hoped for something more between them, a flicker she absolutely had to extinguish before he totally ruined their friendship, assuming it wasn’t already ruined.
What was the man doing, kissing her like that? How could she ever have an intelligent talk around him again when all she could do was think about the way he’d kissed her by the light of the moon? Why did he have to turn their friendship on its head?
“Caroline. I hoped I’d see you.” James’s voice jumped out of the darkness. She clutched the top of her dress, as if that might help still the racing of her heart that came from the shock. Her other hand unceremoniously dropped the wash tub, which clattered to the ground loudly. She’d started at the sound, heart beating so hard, so erratically, she could hear it rushing in ears. She reached out for the support of the tree, but it was too far away. She clasped her hands in front of her and wondered where to look.
Not at his eyes. I can’t do that.
“James. I didn’t see you there. Good evening.” She decided to be grateful that Butch was gone, and that she felt completely safe, physically speaking, with her old friend. But something in the tone of his voice put her senses on alert, like a bear sow protecting her cubs.
James stepped out of the darkness made by the trees and into the soft golden glow spilling from the cookhouse door. Shadows played across his features. Had he always had such a defined jawline? Such strong shoulders and arms? Perhaps he’d gained that shape, gradually, from working the roads in the canyon, and she simply hadn’t noticed the change until now. At the sight, she had to force her gaze away.
She’d noticed some of these things when they’d sat together the other night; she wouldn’t let herself think on them now. And she would never again look at James that way—as a man. He might try to ruin their friendship, but she wouldn’t be party to it. No more than she already had been, at any rate.
Their friendship could yet be repaired after their kiss. And then they’d find other people to marry. Yes, she’d lose him one day when he fell for a silly girl and married, but with any luck, her future husband would like James and his wife enough that the four of them could go on carriage rides and visit one another for meals—perhaps even share holidays. She purposely ignored her dreams about seeing the world and escaping the valley.
Only after all those thoughts crossed her mind did she realize that he hadn’t replied, that they’d been standing in silence for near half a minute.
“Do you—do you need something?” she asked. Please need something from the cookhouse. Don’t be swooning again. She cursed the full moon above them for providing just the right romantic setting. The yellow-white moon made the snow sparkle. It could have come to life from a poem, and under normal circumstances, Caroline would have enjoyed the sight. And don’t mention the other night. Please, oh, please.
“I do need something,” James said, stepping forward. He held out his arm. Caroline braced herself, hoping he wouldn’t touch her. But he held out a simple work shirt. “Got a tear in one sleeve. Hoped maybe you could repair it for me.”
Caroline suddenly found it easier to breathe. A tear that needed mending—that was all? Perhaps she’d avoided him all week for no reason. Finally able to smile, she reached for the shirt, not closing the distance between them, though, and inspected the fabric. The tear was clean and straight, right along the grain of the fabric. “I can fix this pretty easily. You’ll have it back tomorrow after the midday meal. Will that work for you?”
“Yes, thank you,” he said, but his voice seemed to say so much more.
She cleared her throat, slipped the shirt over the crook of her elbow and smiled. “Good night, James.” She reached for the dish tub, intending to step past him and head to the cookhouse, where she’d put away the tub, wipe down the counters, then go to her room in the Hansens’ house, where she’d get herself ready for bed.
She managed to take not three steps before James reached out and took her by the arm. Gently, not like Butch had. But all the same, her heart hammered against her ribs. She was acutely aware of the cold seeping through her boots, of her hem resting atop the snow—it would be sopping wet if she didn’t get inside soon—and of her flaming cheeks, which had to be bright red, they felt so hot.
Unhand me, she wanted to say, but she didn’t utter a word. Nor did she shake off his arm. A small part of her warmed at his touch; she could feel the heat of his hand through her shawl and sleeve—which sent her into further exasperations. She would not turn into a silly school girl. This was James, for heaven’s sake. James. She turned her head to look at him, her brows raised in question. He nodded toward the tub, hinting that she needed to go.
“Caroline . . . Miss Campbell . . .”
Oh, no—not my formal name. If only Mrs. Hansen would come out of the cookhouse and call to her, saying that she’d forgotten to scrub a pot. Anything. But Mrs. Hansen had gone to the main house more than an hour hence.
Her eyes moved uneasily
across the snow and up a tree trunk. They paused briefly at James’s shoulder then lifted, slowly, to meet his gaze. She swallowed, her nerves making her unable to form a coherent thought.
I must know what to say to him. I must.
James reached forward and took the tub from her hands, then set it on the ground before grasping her hands in his. He gently rotated her to face him. His chin lowered, making one of his brown curls fall onto his forehead. She had an unruly urge to brush it away. She could brush it to the side and kiss the spot on his forehead where it had been.
Argh! The moon was playing tricks on her, too.
“Caroline,” James said forcefully. “We have known each other for a very long time.”
“Yes. Yes, we have.” She wanted to pull away before the moon glittering on the snow made them both nonsensical, leading them to make a big mistake.
“I—I love you, Caroline,” James said fervently. “I’ve always loved you. At first it was because you were a grand playmate. Then it developed into the infatuation of a young boy.” He smiled his crooked grin, and, even knowing what was coming, she couldn’t help but smile a bit in return. How could she not respond to that crooked smile and the compliment behind it?
But she couldn’t encourage him. So she shook her head. “James, please . . .” Her voice trailed off as she tried to pull her hands away.
“Just hear me out. I have to say this.”
She lowered her gaze to the ground, to their snow-covered boots, to the dish tub lying askew. A light snowfall began, dusting everything around them. The perfect setting for romance—except that her toes were nearly frozen, and she wasn’t supposed to be wooed by her childhood chum, kiss or no kiss.
Except for the maddening fact that she could still feel his kiss on her lips.
A Timeless Romance Anthology: Winter Collection Page 10
