“I suppose some would say we should have stayed in town,” she ventured, wrapping the blanket around her shoulders. “With the weather and the lack of a chaperone. But we are out of doors and in easy view of anyone along the road.”

  The West Lake Road had become more widely traveled over the years as folks filed claims along the hillside above David Denny’s. But anyone with any sense would be heading for home this afternoon.

  The trees began to whip in earnest, and the first lightning bolt flashed across the sky above their tops. She cried out and hunched closer to him. Lancelot tossed his head at the noise.

  Best thing Jesse could do for them all was keep calm.

  “Rain’s coming,” he said. “Put that blanket up over your head.”

  She started to do as he’d bid, but she unfolded the blanket further, then flipped it up over his head too. He smiled at her thoughtfulness.

  Ahead, with a mighty creak of protest, one of the firs toppled.

  Lancelot reared in his traces, and Jesse clung to the reins, fighting for control. Thunder roared, shaking the wagon. Both horses shuddered. And then the rain started, sluicing out of the clouds.

  Miss Dennison didn’t scream. She didn’t tremble. She just looked at him with her great purple-blue eyes brimming and said, “Please, Mr. Willets, won’t you save us?”

  Jesse raised his head, pulling the blanket partially off her ebony hair. “Yes, ma’am. You can count on me.”

  Chapter Two

  Perhaps she shouldn’t believe him. Alice didn’t know him, and she’d been highly disappointed by those who had been closest to her. Still, much as she’d vowed to be in command of her future, she was out of her depths at the moment. She couldn’t drive a team of horses under the best of conditions, much less in a storm.

  And he had an air about him. The confident tilt of his chin, the certainty in his gray eyes, and the breadth of his shoulders said this man could do what he claimed. And he did have the nicest smile. She’d forgotten what she was about to say when she’d spied it a few moments ago.

  The wind blew the blanket up behind her, and rain splattered her back, chilling her shoulders above her stays. She gasped.

  He jumped down and reached for her. “Let’s get you settled, then I can help the horses.”

  Alice shook herself. He was right. They needed to move. Lancelot and Percival—what marvelous names!—were fretting, their powerful bodies shifting and the shaft connecting them to the wagon creaking. She let Mr. Willets hand her down onto the side of the road.

  He nodded to a cedar some five feet away. It was nearly as wide as the schoolhouse. “Put your back to that. I’ll join you in a minute.”

  One hand clutching the blanket, the other clutching her skirts, the ribbons of her reticule wrapped about her wrist, she picked her way through the thrashing ferns to the needle-littered carpet under the cedar. The dry, musty scent brushed her nose, as if she’d opened a chest filled with the comforts of home.

  The rain had yet to penetrate the branches, so she pulled the blanket from her head. By the time she focused on the road again, Mr. Willets was leading the horses closer as well. They dragged the wagon over the brush, flattening it further. Coaxing and calling, he convinced them to stop so that the wagon sat across the tree lengthwise. Then he began working to unhitch the pair, fingers slipping on the wet chains.

  She tried to think of some way to help, but she knew even less about unhitching horses than she did about tending fires, so she could only stay out of his way. Somehow he managed to free the horses from the traces and tied them to the closest low, large branch, where they could stand or lie comfortably. The massive bodies shifted, eyes showing white, as the thunder boomed again. She knew the feeling.

  Throwing the blanket back over her head, she ventured out into the rain to lay a hand on the closest.

  “It’s all right,” she murmured to the pair, whose heads bobbed up and down as if seeking to make her acquaintance. “The storm will pass soon.”

  But it didn’t. In fact, it seemed to be building itself into something rather fierce. The brush whipped about as if it would yank itself from its roots. The trees moaned and cracked. She could not see their tops, but more than one came down with a rattle and a roar, causing the horses to jerk and neigh. Worse was the roll of thunder that didn’t seem to end.

  Mr. Willets didn’t seem disturbed by it all. He made noises to the horses that quieted them and oddly soothed her as well. If he wasn’t worried about this havoc, perhaps it wasn’t as bad as she thought.

  He nodded to her. “Move aside.”

  “Move aside?” Alice asked, confused, but her words bounced off his back as he started around the wagon. “Why?”

  He reached the far side. Perhaps he wanted to save her supplies. Surely the chalk would melt in this downpour! Instead, he braced each hand against a side support and leaned in.

  The wagon inched closer to the tree, out of the rain. Alice blinked, then scrambled out of its path.

  Muscles bunched under the soaked flannel shirt that clung to his body as he shoved again. The wheels dug into the soft dirt, but the other side of the wagon bumped the cedar.

  Alice stared.

  He straightened and nodded as if satisfied. “Under you go.”

  She could only do as he’d asked, her skirts puddling about her as she sank onto the ground and crawled under his makeshift roof.

  A moment more, and he crawled under with her, shoving the chalk and slates before him.

  “There,” he said, lower lip out, as he managed to fold his large frame into their shelter. “That should do it.”

  “Mr. Willets,” she said. “You astonish me.”

  The light was fading, from the storm, the wagon’s cover, and the impending night, but she thought his cheeks were pinking. “Just practical,” he said. “There won’t be room for the horses, but they wouldn’t like it much anyway. Horses prefer to see what’s coming.”

  She had learned the value of that as well, but she had to admit his little nest was cozy. What rain fell from the cedar pooled in the wagon’s bed, keeping them dry. Well, mostly dry. She eyed his wet clothing as he settled on the ground next to her.

  “You must take this,” she said, unpeeling the blanket. “It’s not entirely dry, but it should help. We wouldn’t want you to take a chill.”

  He stretched his long legs as far as their shelter allowed. “You likely need it more than me.”

  “Nonsense. You bore the brunt of the weather.” When he made no move to take the material from her, Alice pulled it back. He was probably being gallant, but she’d had more than one fellow on her way West try trickery to get her closer. Sit next to me, Miss Dennison. I’ll keep you warm. Still, she would never forgive herself if he sickened because of his kindness.

  “I insist,” she said, wiggling closer to him. “We can share it.”

  He cast her a glance that seemed equal parts surprise and suspicion. Goodness! She might think she was the one attempting a seduction!

  “It is only practical, as you said,” she told him primly.

  Reluctance showing in each slow movement, he accepted a corner and draped it over his back.

  “Sorry we can’t light a fire,” he said, voice nearly as deep as the thunder. “Wouldn’t be safe.”

  She could see that. “I think what you did was inspired. We should be able to stay here until this storm blows itself out, then continue on our way.”

  He shook his head. “It’s not blowing out before dark. We’re stuck here until morning.”

  About to settle beside him, Alice stiffened. “Morning! We cannot spend the night together.”

  Even as she said it, she knew she was doomed. He was becoming a shadow in the growing darkness. If the storm ended right now, he would never be able to see the road to guide the horses, much less get them past that tree that had fallen. Who knew how many more had blocked the road? They couldn’t go back to Seattle, not with smallpox threatening. And if they somehow managed to pick their way along without wagon or horse, they would be at the mercy of those creatures who prowled the darkness—lynx, mountain lion, bear, wolf.

  “Oh, dear.” She sank back onto the ground. “We truly are in trouble.”

  As if to prove as much, another tree came thundering down to the north of them.

  Fear broke free, dousing her in cold worse than the rain. She pressed her hands to her face and smothered a sob.

  Strong arms came around her, held her gently. “We’ll be all right,” he murmured. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  She had believed his promise before, but doubts crept in with the dark.

  ***

  The storm finally fretted away to nothing, and the horses at last consented to lie down next to the wagon. Jesse reckoned it was around midnight. Miss Dennison had shared the blanket with him, but it was her slender body that kept him warm. That, and the way her head had dropped against his shoulder as she’d fallen asleep. He’d put one arm around her to keep her from tumbling further. Still, a fellow could take pride in knowing he’d had a hand in enabling those even breaths as she slept.

  He couldn’t help wondering, though. Why had Miss Dennison come all the way to Wallin Landing from somewhere near Boston? She was clever, sweet-natured, and awfully pretty. She might have had her pick of fellows to marry. That’s what most gals did—find a fellow they admired who admired them back and got married. Even the Mercer Belles, whose number included Ciara’s sister and several of the Wallin wives, had mostly married, though many had originally come seeking work rather than husbands.

  Of course, when Asa Mercer had brought them from back East, the War Between the States had just ended, leaving few eligible men behind. Surely that wouldn’t be the case now, more than ten years later. And there had to be places between here and Boston that needed her skills. So what had driven the little schoolmarm clean across the country?

  He must have fallen asleep still thinking, because the next thing he knew, a jay was squawking. He opened his eyes to find Miss Dennison gazing up at him. He hastily removed his arm, wincing as he realized it had fallen asleep too.

  “Is it morning?” she asked.

  Enough light trickled under the wagon that he could answer her with surety. “Yes.” He pulled off the blanket, tucked it to his chest, and crawled out from under the wagon.

  A weak sun struggled past branches hanging wet and forlorn. The spiky fronds of fern and lacy leaves of huckleberry had been nearly flattened. More than one tree lay collapsed, branches reaching for the sky as if begging for help. Moisture hung heavy in the air.

  Lancelot surged to his feet, whickering a greeting, and Jesse rubbed a hand down the long, black nose. “Sorry I couldn’t fit you under the wagon too.”

  Percival, who had also risen, nodded as if accepting his apology. He gave that horse a pat as well before using the blanket to rub them down. The cedar had protected them from most of the rain, thank the good Lord, but he checked them over nonetheless.

  A rustle behind him told him Miss Dennison was trying to shimmy out. He turned and took her hand, lifting her gently into the light. Her black hair was a tangled mass down her back, and her frilly skirts were filmed with dirt and speckled with cedar needles. At least the storm had kept even the predators in their dens.

  She looked around them. “Oh, my.” Once more she turned those big eyes on him, and he couldn’t look away. “Whatever shall we do, Mr. Willets?”

  He shook himself and tossed the blanket into the wagon. “Can’t drive. Too many trees down. Best we start walking.”

  She leaned forward and twisted her head to look toward the horses, sending fresh curls bouncing, black as jet. “Couldn’t we ride?”

  He gave Percival another pat. “No.”

  She faced him, and her lips tightened a moment before she spoke again. “I require additional explanation, sir.”

  He kept forgetting she hadn’t been in the area long. She didn’t seem to know much about horses either, or she might have realized the problem.

  “We don’t have saddles,” he pointed out. “I could go bareback, but you can’t in those skirts. I could put you up in front of me sidesaddle-like, but making a horse carry two would be hard on him for the distance we have to travel. Mr. James is mighty particular about the care of his horses.”

  “Oh.” She slumped as if defeated.

  “We’ll take it slow,” he promised, moving to untie the team. “I’ll hold the horses. You can hold your chalk.”

  “The chalk?” Once more her lashes fluttered before her gaze flashed back to his face. “Of course, the chalk. The slates could wait to be retrieved. The chalk would melt if left among the elements too long. How very sensible of you, Mr. Willets.”

  He was beginning to wonder why she continued to be amazed when he said or did anything that made sense. But then, she wouldn’t be the first to assume his size and silence meant he wasn’t very smart.

  He led Lancelot and Percival through the forest to the road as best he could, detouring them around the big fir that had fallen last night. The road ahead was littered with debris, but nothing they couldn’t pick their way through or around. Glancing back, he found that she had emerged from the forest as well, turning the blanket into a sling around one shoulder. Cradled in the center was the box of chalk.

  She held up her hands. “I thought it might be wise to have my hands free, so I can help you if needed.”

  Jesse grinned. “Smart. Why don’t you pick us some huckleberries for breakfast?”

  She frowned at the bushes. “Huckleberries?”

  Jesse nodded to the cluster of bushes just off the road, their leaves a brighter green than the fir needles. “Might be a few left this late in the season.”

  She cast him a look filled with doubt, but she minced over to the bushes. Jesse let the horses graze on a patch of nettles while she picked through the bushes. A few moments later, she returned to his side, hands cupped around her treasure.

  “Mighty nice of you,” he said, picking up a couple of the tiny red berries.

  “It’s not much,” she admitted. “But it’s something. Thank you for pointing them out. I’m still learning the native plants and animals.”

  The last word seemed to have reminded her of their situation, for she studied the forest as if expecting a bear to lumber out.

  “Not too many plants left to harvest this time of year,” he said, tugging on the lines to get the horses moving again. “And most of the bigger critters were scared off ages ago.”

  She frowned as she followed him, keeping the remaining berries in one hand so she could eat them with the other, her little beaded sack dangling from one wrist. “I was certain Ciara mentioned a lynx in the area recently.”

  “There was that. Gone now.”

  “You’re certain?” she pressed.

  “Can’t be certain about what any animal is going to do,” he said with a shrug. “But Mr. John and Kit tracked it and scared it good. I doubt it’ll be back.”

  She drew in a deep breath as if he’d allayed her concerns. Then she brightened. “Is that the lake?”

  He saw it too, glimmering cold and gray through the trees. “Yes.”

  “How close are we to Wallin Landing?”

  “Another half an hour, give or take.”

  She sighed.

  They trudged along, Jesse pausing every so often when he spotted something the horses or he and Miss Dennison could eat. She was more durable than he’d expected. She never complained or fussed. But she did seem to have a lot of questions.

  “Were you born in Olympia?” she asked as he stopped to drag a larger limb out of the way.

  “No,” he said, shoving the branch into the forest. “Virginia.”

  “Virginia?” she asked, watching him. “What brought you so far West?”

  He wanted to ask the same of her, but he urged the horses forward again instead. “My father brought us to California for the Gold Rush.”

  “And did he find his pot of gold?” she asked.

  He could hear the snap of her skirts as she tried to keep up with him and slowed his pace. “No. He decided the area wasn’t a safe place for a growing family. So he kept moving us north, until we finally settled near Puget City above the Nisqually delta.”

  “I don’t recall hearing of a gold strike there,” she mused. “Is there another sort of mine your father works at now?”

  He wasn’t sure why she cared. “He isn’t a miner. He keeps cows.”

  She scrunched up her face. “Cows?”

  She had to have heard of a cow. Even if she had been raised in a big city like Boston, there was one in the field near the school now, the Wallins having given a milk cow to Ciara and Kit Weatherly on their marriage.

  “Where are you from again?” he asked as they came out of the woods onto the first fields near the lake.

  “I was born and raised in a town called Cawthorn, outside of Boston,” she said, and that prim tone was back in her voice even as her cheeks reddened. “My parents are leading citizens. I have one sibling, an older brother. My father is the head of accounting for the largest firm. I matriculated at Boston Normal, where I obtained a teacher’s certificate with a commendation for meritorious study.”

  Likely she thought he wouldn’t understand half those fancy words. But Jesse understood.

  He understood that the woman walking so stiffly beside him was far beyond his reach, socially and intellectually.

  And nothing he did would ever change that.

  Chapter Three

  Oh, why was it when she was angry the number of syllables just proliferated? And truly, she had no reason to be angry with Mr. Willets. He’d protected her from a terrible storm and the dangers of the wilderness. He was protecting her even now, slowing his steps to allow her to stay at his side. He couldn’t help it that he wasn’t a conversationalist. Or that these shoes, which had also seemed so stylishly practical in Cawthorn, pinched harder with each step.

  And he couldn’t help the fact that they had been forced to spend the night together, unchaperoned.