Only You Read online

  “I doubt she’s had an opinion of her own since marrying my father.” She turned her face toward the park, but he’d seen the sudden sadness in her eyes.

  “My mother always has an opinion,” he said, purposely directing the conversation back to himself. “She’s half your size and tougher than any man I’ve ever met.”

  Claire pursed her lips and stroked Sailor’s head. “I don’t believe she would consider that a compliment.”

  “Well, it’s true, my father wouldn’t even argue with her.”

  “If your brothers are anything like you, I’m sure she had to be tough. Any mother with four boys has to be tough.”

  The light returned to Claire’s eyes, and Boyd knew his shift in conversation had been the smart thing to do. For some reason, she didn’t want to talk about her family.

  “What about a mother with four girls?” he challenged.

  “She had better be a lot tougher.”

  He turned onto Main Street, and decided to test the waters again. “Do you have any sisters?”

  “One. Lida is three years older than me.”

  “Is she married?”

  “Yes.”

  “Any children?” he asked, hoping she would talk about her family.

  “Three that I’m aware of, but we were talking about your mother, weren’t we?”

  “We were,” he said. He eased off the reins and let the horses have their head as they started up West Hill. He settled against the seat, intentionally tucking his shoulder against her own. “My mother is bossy, but she doesn’t meddle. She speaks her mind, but doesn’t offer advice. She’s patient, but doesn’t take any sass from me or my brothers. She’s got a hug that will make you feel like a hundred-dollar bill, and a right swing that will make your ears ring for days.”

  Claire laughed. “I’d love to meet her.”

  “Then come with me this evening.”

  “What?”

  “We celebrate Christmas Eve at my mother’s house. She would enjoy meeting you. Come with me.”

  Claire gaped at him then let out a breathless laugh. “You’re serious?”

  “Yes.” To his surprise, he really wanted her to come with him.

  She pressed her hand to her breast. “Thank you, but I can’t accept.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I would be intruding, and for so many other reasons I couldn’t list them all.”

  “You won’t be intruding. What other reasons?”

  “You know why, Boyd. I shouldn’t have even taken a sleigh ride with you.”

  “Why not?”

  She sighed. “Because it’s not in my best interest, or yours. We’re enemies, remember?”

  “No, we’re not.” He slowed the sleigh and looked at her. “We’re friends now. We just happen to be standing on opposite sides of an issue.”

  “We can’t be friends.”

  “We already are, Claire.”

  She huffed out a frosty breath. “We can’t even agree on that issue,” She stroked Sailor’s head, which was resting on her lap. “I appreciate your invitation, and your kindness today, but I cannot be your friend.” She met his eyes. “My grandmother may have had money to take care of herself, but I don’t. I need boarders, and I won’t get them as long as your saloon is open.” She sighed. “I can’t afford to be your friend.”

  “I guess this means you won’t be inviting me in for hot cocoa like your grandmother used to do?”

  She gave him a chastising look. “I can’t.”

  “I understand,” he said, but he wasn’t about to give up. He pulled the sleigh up in front of her house and helped her out. Not wanting to push her too hard or too fast, he walked her to the door and said good-bye like a proper gentleman.

  But the instant she closed the door, Boyd grinned and turned to Sailor. “The lady doesn’t believe in fairy tales,” he said. “But you and I are going to change her mind.”

  Claire hung her coat in the closet then went to the parlor to build up the fire. A movement outside drew her to the window. To her surprise, she saw Boyd in her yard rolling a huge snowball while Sailor tromped through the snow biting at snowflakes.

  She knocked on the window and lifted her palms. “What are you doing?” she asked, even though he couldn’t hear her through the glass.

  He grinned and gave a jaunty wave then turned back to his project.

  What mischief was he up to?

  Curious, she stood at the window watching him. He rolled the huge ball of snow to a spot a few feet from her window then packed snow around the bottom to hold it stationary.

  Then, while she watched, he pulled out a knife of some sort and proceeded to sculpt the lumpy ball of snow into a snow castle.

  He was so absorbed in the task, and she was so absorbed in watching, that an hour had passed without her noticing. The mantel clock chimed six o’clock, and she shivered. She hadn’t tended the fire and it was nearly out.

  With regret, she left to stoke the fire in the kitchen. She put milk on to heat then returned to the parlor to build up the fire. By the time she glanced outside again, Boyd and Sailor were gone.

  But the snow castle was glowing with light from a dozen tiny windows that reflected off the snow and turned her yard into a mystical…beautiful place.

  Breathless, she gazed at the shimmering masterpiece before her and felt her heart expand. “Oh, Boyd, you should be using this talent,” she whispered to the empty room.

  She whirled away from the window and dashed to the front door. Boyd and Sailor were climbing his steps when she stepped onto her porch.

  “Mr. Grayson!” she called and immediately cringed at her unladylike shout.

  Boyd turned in surprise. Sailor didn’t wait for an invitation. He barked and bounded across the street as if he hadn’t seen her all day.

  She laughed and greeted the dog with a brisk rub on his head. She glanced at Boyd and waved him over.

  While he crossed the street, she lavished Sailor with affection, her heart needing to express all that it held in the one safe way she could show it.

  Boyd stopped at the bottom of her steps and looked up at her, his eyes questioning, his cheeks pink from the cold. “Do you need something?”

  “Would you like to come in for hot cocoa?” She laughed at the surprise in his eyes. “I want to talk to you.”

  “We’ll meet you in the back,” he said then snapped his fingers for Sailor to follow.

  Claire hurried to the kitchen and checked the milk on the stove. It was hot enough to make cocoa. She poured milk into two cups then opened the door for Boyd.

  “Don’t worry about your boots,” she said, when he leaned down to remove them. “I’ll wipe the floor when you leave.”

  He stood by the door while she stirred cocoa, sugar, and vanilla into the hot milk. “What made you change your mind about inviting me inside?”

  She handed him a cup of cocoa. “That fabulous snow castle you built.”

  He winked at the dog. “She likes it.”

  Sailor wheezed and gave Boyd a wide canine grin.

  She laughed. “I honestly think he understands every word you say to him.”

  “Of course he does,” Boyd said, as if she should have known that.

  “Why are you hiding in that saloon when you have such incredible talent?”

  He scowled but didn’t answer, so she knew she’d struck a chord.

  “That castle is magnificent, Boyd. That carving you forced on me is a work of art. Why aren’t you using your talent?”

  “I thought you were going to throw the carving away.” She pressed her hand against her skirt pocket, feeling the tiny piece of wood that had become her constant companion. “You’re avoiding my question,” she said.

  “And you’re avoiding mine.”

  She set her hot cup on the counter. “It was too beautiful to throw away.”

  “Thank you.

  “Stop being evasive.” She crossed her arms over her chest and scowled at him. “You
are an artist, and yet you spend your time tending a saloon. Why?”

  “Because I enjoy it.”

  She eyed him, sensing his answer was only half honest. “Does your mother know you’re an artist?”

  “I’m not an artist.”

  “Does she know about your talent for sculpting snow castles and carving roses in wood?”

  He leaned against the door. “Yes, Claire. I’ve given her enough of my boyhood carvings to fill her house.”

  “How about the carvings you make now? Does she have any of those?”

  He sipped his cocoa and studied her. “Why are you so interested in me all of a sudden?”

  “I’m interested in your talent and why you’re not using it.”

  A wry grin lifted his mouth. “Ah, I understand. You’re hoping you can convince me to give up the saloon and pursue this talent of mine.”

  The idea thrilled her. No more saloon. No more noise.

  No more worries.

  “Sorry, Claire. I’m a saloon owner, not an artist,” He leaned over and set his empty cup on the table. “Thanks for the cocoa.”

  “Wait. I wasn’t trying to offend you,” she said, moving toward him. “I just don’t understand how you could possess such talent and not use it.”

  “I do use it. I build things for my saloon. I teach people how to carve furniture. I dabble with bits of wood when I’m bored. I have a piece of my handiwork in my pocket right now.”

  “Really? May I see it?” she asked, wondering what treasure he was hiding.

  He slipped his hand into his pocket then pulled it out and lifted the item above her head.

  “What is it?” she asked, squinting up at his hand.

  “Mistletoe.”

  He leaned down and kissed her, his lips still cool from his hour in the snow.

  It was a sweet and tender kiss and yet it rooted her to the floorboards. In that brief moment she felt connected to another human being for the first time in years.

  The smell of fresh air clung to his hair and clothes, and she savored the moment even as she pushed him away. She wouldn’t deny her attraction, nor the ridiculous wish that she could hope for more with him. Men like Boyd didn’t marry. And women like her couldn’t. But her feelings for him were real.

  Too real.

  Their eyes met. “Merry Christmas,” he whispered. “Sure you don’t want to come to my mother’s with me?”

  She clutched the table for support and stared at him. “You purposely tricked me with that mistletoe.”

  “You deserved it.”

  How could she chastise him for his behavior when her own motives were suspect? He’d been a gentleman all day, thoughtful to the point of gallantry. She had been the one to use his talent to press him about closing his saloon.

  No wonder he’d retaliated.

  But to trick her into a kiss?

  Kissing was so... It was so... intimate.

  “You’re impossible,” she whispered.

  “Impudent,” he said.

  He was beyond impudent. He was a rascal, a tease, as she well knew from her own experience. A philanderer, as he’d admitted. A rake.

  But thoughtful and generous and kind. An artist who saw beauty in simple things, who made simple things into things of beauty.

  A man with two faces.

  No wonder she couldn’t understand him.

  He called Sailor away from the stove then opened the door. “Your kiss is the best Christmas gift of all, Claire.” He winked and stepped outside, closing the door behind him.

  She released a shaky breath and carried her cocoa to the parlor.

  The little fire she was burning on Christmas Eve did not warm her at all. To her shame, she longed for the warmth of Boyd’s company.

  “This man is trouble, Grandmother,” she said, her words lost in the empty parlor.

  She wrapped an afghan around her shoulders and settled in to the rocking chair to read the journal.

  Boyd was forcing her to pay attention to him, to see him and make space for him in her thoughts.

  “Is that what Abe did to you, Grandmother? Did he make you notice him when you knew you shouldn’t?”

  She leaned her head against the back of the rocking chair, feeling dotty. She was talking to herself, and thinking of a man who couldn’t be a worse candidate for her affection. It was ridiculous to think about him.

  But she did.

  Time passed and the wind kicked up, and still she thought of Boyd.

  His charm and wit challenged her to stay alert. But the tender, serious side of Boyd intrigued her and made her want a closer look.

  Which image reflected the real man? The impudent rakehell, or the kind and thoughtful gentleman?

  A loud banging on the door brought her to her feet with a squeak of fright. She clasped the journal to her pounding heart.

  Whoever stood outside pounded again.

  Half terrified, Claire hurried to the foyer and peeked out the small window beside the door.

  To her utter shock, Anna—a woman Claire had met briefly while living with Jack in a crude rooming house near the docks—was standing on her porch.

  “Dear God...” Claire clutched her reeling stomach, unable to open the door. Anna’s husband was a monster, worse than Jack could have ever been.

  “I need a place to stay.” Anna pressed her hand to the glass, desperation in her eyes. “I saw the sign for your boardinghouse in the store window.”

  It would cost Claire too much to open the door.

  “Larry’s in j-jail,” she said, her chin quivering from the cold. “He doesn’t know I’ve left him.”

  The wind howled past the window, whipping Anna’s cape around her, pelting her with snow. Claire’s heart twisted, but she couldn’t move.

  “He won’t come here. He doesn’t know we were friends,” Anna said.

  They weren’t friends. They’d spoken a few times during the two weeks they’d both lived in the squalid dockside apartments. They had recognized each other as being in the same inescapable situation, but they’d never talked about it.

  They had talked about the approaching holidays. When Jack drowned, Anna had expressed her sympathy and her relief that Claire had a place to go.

  Now Anna was here seeking refuge, bringing her dangerous life right to Claire’s doorstep.

  Anna’s bare palm slid down the window, the hope in her eyes dying as she turned away. She pulled her cloak around her thin body and crossed the porch.

  Compassion warred with self-preservation, as Claire watched Anna descend the steps. Where would she go? Where could she go? That was the question Claire had faced each time she’d thought about running from Jack.

  The answer was the same for Anna. She couldn’t go to her family because it was the first place Larry would look. Even if Claire had been welcome at her father’s house, she wouldn’t have put him in Jack’s destructive path. Jack had been too sly and conniving. He would have found a way to win.

  She’d been trapped with no place to go.

  Just like Anna.

  Hoping she wouldn’t regret her decision, Claire wrenched open the door. “Are you hurt, Anna?”

  Anna turned toward the house, and her eyes filled with tears. “No. But I can’t go home.”

  “Come inside then.”

  Anna brushed the tears from her eyes and climbed the steps. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  Claire closed the door behind them then slipped the journal into the desk.

  “Larry’s in jail for killing a man during a card game. He doesn’t know I’m gone. I haven’t told anyone about you, so he won’t be a danger to us.”

  Claire wished she could believe that. Men like Larry had a way of finding their wives.

  “I’ll get us some hot tea,” she said, guiding Anna into the parlor. “Make yourself comfortable.”

  When she returned, Anna was staring out the window at Boyd’s shimmering snow castle. “How beautiful,” she said, her voice filled with awe. “It
looks so warm and inviting inside I want to live there.”

  Claire felt the same way each time she looked at it. “My neighbor Boyd Grayson built it this evening.”

  Anna regarded the castle as if deep in thought. “He’s in love with you,” she finally said.

  Claire choked on her tea. Her sinuses burned, and she blinked her eyes to clear her tears.

  Anna glanced at the shimmering castle then back at Claire. “He must be.”

  “Boyd Grayson doesn’t know the meaning of the word. He’s a rakehell who is trying to manipulate me.”

  “Any man who would build a magnificent snow castle and light it with a lantern, meant it as a gift.” She gestured toward the castle. “This was a gift to you. Whatever his motivation, he gave you a part of himself today. You can see it.”

  Claire’s stomach plunged and she sank down onto the sofa. What if Anna was right?

  He had given her a gift today. He’d taken her to the cemetery to connect with her family then he’d built a fairy tale castle to make her feel less alone. Somehow he’d known that she needed a friend today.

  He’d been that friend.

  He’d given her a part of himself.

  The castle was beautiful and luminous, a gift he’d made just for her.

  How shameful that she’d never properly expressed her gratitude, that she had insisted on seeing him in a superficial light. There was much more to this man. He was artistic and giving, a light to those around him.

  She definitely owed Boyd a thank you, but his saloon was stripping away her independence dollar by dollar, day by day, boarder by boarder. No matter how charmed she was by his gifts, she couldn’t afford to overlook that.

  But she felt torn between her need to thank him and her need to protect herself.

  The walk to his mother’s house was cold, but the brightly lit windows welcomed Boyd. The house would be filled with food and family and laughter.

  He always enjoyed their celebrations, but tonight he felt an odd discomfort about attending.

  Was it because Claire was alone?

  He should have left Sailor with her instead of at the saloon. Both would have enjoyed the evening more.

  Before he could consider turning back, the door opened and Duke stepped outside.

  “Leaving already?” Boyd asked.