“I've traveled in snow.”
“Not this road.”
“I arrived in it.”
“With me driving.”
“Are you volunteering?”
“No.”
Bee raised an eyebrow.
Caleb corrected:
“I'm saying stay until morning.”
“Temporary.”
“Yes.”
Something in his face suggested the word bothered him.
Bee began packing her spices.
Caleb watched.
“You changed this house.”
She smiled.
“I cooked.”
“No.”
“You moved furniture.”
“Because it was wrong.”
“You lit every fireplace.”
“You had guests.”
“You put pine on the mantel.”
“Decoration.”
“You made Abernathy laugh.”
“He has low standards.”
Caleb smiled.
Then became serious.
“This place hasn't sounded like this in years.”
Bee's hands slowed.
“How long have you lived alone?”
“I have staff.”
“That wasn't the question.”
Caleb looked toward the fire.
“Six years.”
“Why?”
“Work.”
“Poor answer.”
His mouth twitched.
“You ask personal questions.”
“Occupational hazard.”
“You cook.”
“I observe.”
He looked at her.
Bee continued packing.
“No wife?”
“No.”
“Never?”
Caleb's jaw tightened.
Bee immediately knew she had stepped somewhere tender.
“Forget I asked.”
“No.”
He took a breath.
“I was engaged.”
Bee stopped.
“Her name was Margaret Vale.”
“What happened?”
“She decided she preferred New York.”
“That simple?”
“No.”
Bee waited.
Caleb looked at his hands.
“I had struck silver.”
“Was building Ridge View.”
“Margaret came west from Boston.”
“She lasted four months.”
Bee said nothing.
“She hated the mountain.”
“The weather.”
“Oakhaven.”
“Me, eventually.”
Caleb smiled without humor.
“She said everything about me was built for surviving, not living.”
Bee looked around the kitchen.
“That woman may have had a point.”
He glanced at her.
“You're supposed to comfort me.”
“I charge extra.”
Caleb laughed softly.
Bee smiled.
Then he continued.
“She left with one of my investors.”
“Oh.”
“He married her?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Caleb looked surprised.
“Why good?”
“Because betrayal deserves poor planning.”
He laughed again.
Bee liked making him laugh.
Too much.
She returned to packing.
Caleb watched.
“You've never married?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Men.”
He smiled.
“Entire category?”
“Mostly.”
“One nearly convinced me.”
“What happened?”
“He wanted a cook, housekeeper, laundress, bed companion, and unpaid clerk.”
Caleb's eyes narrowed.
“That sounds ambitious.”
“He called it marriage.”
“What did you call it?”
“Employment with no wages.”
Caleb looked at her.
Bee shrugged.
“I am poor, Mr. Whitmore.”
“Not stupid.”
He said it quietly.
She looked at him.
“Exactly.”
Their eyes held.
Something changed again.
Caleb moved one step closer.
Bee did not move.
His gaze dropped briefly to her lips.
Then rose.
She felt warmth spread through her body.
Dangerous.
Not frightening.
Dangerous because she wanted to know what would happen if he moved another step.
Caleb's voice lowered.
“You're very beautiful.”
Bee stared.
Men did not usually say that to her unless they wanted something.
Some called her pretty “for a big woman.”
Some admired specific parts of her body while making clear the whole of her was too much.
Caleb said beautiful without qualification.
Bee narrowed her eyes.
“What do you want?”
His brow lowered.
“What?”
“When men say that to women like me, there is usually a second sentence.”
Caleb stared.
“Women like you?”
“Heavy.”
His expression changed.
Not pity.
Irritation.
“At whom?”
Bee blinked.
“What?”
“Who taught you beauty came in one weight?”
She laughed quietly.
“Everyone.”
Caleb stepped closer.
“Everyone is an idiot.”
Bee's breath caught.
He was close now.
Not touching.
His body radiated heat.
She had to tilt her head upward.
“Careful.”
“Why?”
“You sound like a man trying to seduce the hired cook.”
Caleb's eyes darkened.
“And if I am?”
Bee's pulse jumped.
She smiled.
“Then you're paying seventy-five dollars for dinner and risking an expensive misunderstanding.”
His mouth moved.
“You negotiate even now.”
“Especially now.”
Caleb leaned slightly closer.
“Tell me to step back.”
Bee looked at his mouth.
Then his eyes.
“Not yet.”
Silence.
Caleb did not touch her.
That mattered.
He waited.
Bee lifted one hand.
Placed it against the fur lining of his winter coat hanging loosely around his shoulders.
“What happened to your shirt?”
“Too hot.”
“Interesting problem in Colorado.”
“You lit six fireplaces.”
“You needed them.”
“I’m beginning to suspect that was strategy.”
Bee smiled.
“Perhaps.”
His hand moved toward her waist.
Stopped.
Permission.
Bee nodded once.
Caleb placed his hand gently against her side.
She inhaled.
His thumb moved barely an inch.
That small touch felt more intimate than many things men had attempted too quickly.
Bee's eyes lowered.
Caleb whispered:
“Still want me here?”
“For the moment.”
He leaned down.
Their mouths almost met.
Then Bee stepped backward.
Caleb immediately released her.
No anger.
No wounded pride.
Only concern.
“Did I—”
“No.”
Bee smiled.
“If you kiss me now, I may forget I am supposed to leave.”
Caleb's expression changed.
“That sounds less like a reason to stop.”
“To you.”
She lifted her packed satchel.
“To me, it sounds dangerous.”
“Bee.”
She turned.
Caleb looked toward the satchel.
Then at her.
“It's almost two.”
“I know.”
“Stay until morning.”
“That is different from staying.”
His jaw tightened.
“You're determined to leave.”
“I was hired for one night.”
“I know.”
Bee softened.
“That matters.”