He was falling in love with her. Against all his resolve, he was falling in love with her and her tough, determined spirit, her sweet, protective nature. Betsy Huckabee had stolen his heart, and he knew he’d never be the same. He knew it with the same sad certainty that told him he’d soon be looking for another place to try his luck. His chance at success in Missouri had slipped through his fingers before he’d ever got a grip on the reins.
She tipped the canteen onto the handkerchief again, moving it to the side so the excess water spilled out on the wood floor as she wrung it. He took the canteen from her hand. Her eyes caught the moonlight. She watched as he set it to his lips and took a long draw from it, then smacked in satisfaction, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Oh, your hands,” she said.
Sure enough, they were as black as shoe polish. He splashed some water on them and wiped them on his pant leg before realizing he should’ve let her do that. But her mouth quirked as she studied him.
With as much care as if she were fixing to stroke a rattlesnake, she lifted the handkerchief to his face, but this time she was paying particular attention. She started mid-cheek and slowly stroked down. She’d moved even closer, one hand on his knee to steady herself as she followed his cheekbone, then his jaw to his chin, going back to catch a spot of soot she’d missed.
The lines of worry that had creased her brow back at the cabin had melted. Now her face was flushed, her lips fuller than he’d noticed before. She looked away as she dampened the handkerchief again. He wadded fistfuls of pant leg in both hands to keep himself under control for what he knew was coming next.
Had it been any woman besides Betsy, he would’ve thrown her out on her tailbone, but Betsy was different. She didn’t look at him as if he were her prize ticket to a happily ever after. No, he trusted Betsy. Whatever happened was between the two of them. No outside agenda. No friends to impress. She wasn’t thinking of her ambitions. She was thinking of him, and he loved her for it.
“You’re still a mess,” she said.
“Fix me,” he answered. “Please.” Was it wrong of him to accept her care? To take the comfort she offered? He’d been wrong so many times already, but this didn’t feel wrong. It felt more like healing.
This time, as she leaned forward, her hand rested on his. With the freshly rinsed handkerchief wadded in her other hand, she began the slow work of scrubbing the soot out of his cropped beard, then the area above his top lip. She took his chin in hand and turned him toward the window to catch what moonlight she could. Her thick lashes lowered as she contemplated her work. The handkerchief traced his mouth, coming back for a second scrub at the side.
He could hear her breathing now, could feel it against his damp skin, and these were no lazy draws. Her heart must be pounding as strong as his.
The cloth slipped, and it was her finger touching him. His eyes slowly closed at the contact. Hesitating, then more boldly, she followed the soft skin of his lips until she’d touched every spot.
He opened his eyes. She was there, the question so plainly etched on her face. He laid his hand against the bare skin of her neck and urged her forward until their lips met. Just a touch. A sweet taste that was not nearly enough but was more than he deserved.
He released her. Betsy returned primly to her seat and faced him. She folded the wet handkerchief and smoothed it against her knee.
He shook his head, clearing the warm fog that had overtaken him. “I know what you’re doing, Betsy. You’re kissing a miserable excuse of a man just to cheer him up.”
She scrunched her nose. “I’m very particular with my kissing. Not just any man, I’ll have you know.” She stood and reached for her shawl.
He didn’t want her to go, but he got to his feet to help her with her wrap. “So I’m one of the lucky few? One of a dozen? A score?”
“You’re one of one,” she said, her face full of promise. “The only one. But don’t think that means anything. It’d take more than that to sweep me off my feet.”
Then, with a saucy wink, she was gone.
Chapter 24
Betsy had always been a romantic. Even as a little child, nothing made her feel better than seeing her parents embrace. She understood the bright shine in her mother’s eyes when her pa brought her wildflowers, and Betsy danced with delight when he remembered to pick some for her, too. Over the years she’d watched various courtships in the neighborhood: Jeremiah and Abigail, Wyatt and Miranda, and her own brother Josiah and Katie Ellen—although she still didn’t understand what Katie Ellen saw in him. Over the years she began to realize that she wouldn’t meet the man of her dreams in Pine Gap. She’d already met every man within three days’ walking distance, and it was highly unlikely that someone would move in.
But someone had.