“I know.” Keeping her gaze forward, she nodded and continued after a beat of silence. “But I feel I shall be safe. I shall be at the ball at least two miles from the raid, and though Stockton’s attentions are unwelcome, I do not believe he would wish me harm.”
However he hated to concede, Hannah was right. The major’s affections for her were not fabricated, and though Joseph pined to be the one at her side, Stockton would no doubt be sure she was safe. That was, unless he learned who and what she really was.
Unsure how to arrange his feelings about the developments, Joseph ruminated over the looming future as they rode back through town. The ball. The raid. Both necessary evils they could not circumvent. Allowing himself a sideways glance, he noted Hannah’s gaze was fixed across the road and followed it to the gown in the window.
He swung his eyes back to her, and she looked away innocently, as if she’d not just been gazing with girlish longing.
The irritations that had piled began to slough away. He couldn’t control everything, even if he wished to—even if his intentions were sincere. He had to trust that God would indeed protect her, as Willis had said.
Shifting in his seat, he tested the waters of playfulness that would hopefully be the balm for his ire. “Since you will attend the ball despite my protestations, I suppose I must insist that you wear sackcloth. For anything else would bring you far too much attention.”
“Is that so?” Her mouth held hard against a smile that seemed difficult to suppress, her eyes sparkling with unreserved delight. “I fear sackcloth would bring more attention than less.”
A rich satisfaction warmed his limbs. He chuckled, easiness massaging away a mite of the former tensions.
On through town they went, the silence equal parts tension and comfort—part of him wishing they would speak, the other relishing the peaceful quiet between them. The kind of comfortable reticence that existed between two people so content in each other’s presence no words needed to be spoken at all.
Without warning his stomach grumbled, and he tossed her a strained glance, to which she smirked.
He chuckled. “I suppose my lack of breakfast is making itself known.”
Hannah reached down, pulling a basket from beneath her seat. “Then ’tis a good thing I brought you something.”
How had he missed she’d brought a basket? She eyed him hopefully, and he teased her with a suspicious frown before tipping sideways to inspect what awaited him. She slipped back the cloth and bit her lip, as if awaiting his expression of approval.
Sitting straight, he kept a sideways glance on her, an almost girlish expression on her womanly face. She wanted to please him. The thought did terribly wonderful things to his stomach, and not from the thought of food. “You made turnovers.”
Satisfaction, sweet and humble, dusted over her cheeks. “They are your favorite.” She added the next quieter, “I hadn’t forgotten.”
God give him strength. All amusement, all hunger fled in the face of wanting. He stared overlong, fearing he would lose the battle that raged and pull over the wagon, at last to hold her to him and kiss her as he’d dreamed of doing for so long.
Wisdom intervened, and Joseph reached for a cold but perfectly browned morsel and filled his mouth, if not fully his hunger. That might not ever be satiated.
He finished the rest in silence, when he pulled on the reins and scowled. Something wasn’t right. Joseph pitched sideways and tugged the horses to a stop.
Hannah turned her head. “What’s happened?”
He hopped down. “A harness has come loose.”
The next moment he heard her footsteps on the snow. “May I help you?” There was something untapped in her words, but what it could be, he’d dared not hope.
She stayed on the other side of the second horse, peeking around its neck and shoulders. Was that yearning in her bright eyes? Or did she simply want to be near him?
Joseph cleared his throat to dispel the mystifying imaginings. “You may pet his nose if you like. I don’t know this horse as well as I know Anvil, but he’s patient. A touch from a pretty woman wouldn’t hurt in keeping him happy while I work.”
Her cheeks bloomed to the loveliest shade of pink, and she nodded, ducking away before he could linger over that perfect dimple any longer.
He bent to discover exactly what had come loose, and within moments had righted the buckle, pulling it tight. Straightening, he stepped back, brushing his hands. “On we go.”
Circling back to his seat, he was struck directly between the shoulders…by a snowball. Slowly he turned, spying Hannah’s impish expression as she hid most of herself behind the safety of the horse’s huge frame.
He stayed motionless, trying to decipher the strange form of such a moment. A laugh built up, exuberant and bright. This was the Hannah he remembered. Her beauty was one thing. Her strength of will another. But ’twas the playfulness and humor he found breathlessly irresistible—and something he’d seen little of since their lives had been thrown back together.
With the slightest tip of one eyebrow and cant of her head, she dared him to hit her back.
Bending, he scraped together a large ball of snow. If she wished to play, he was all too willing to oblige.
* * *