Page 96 of In These Hills

“In this situation? With these people? In this town? Which I’ve lived in my whole life? Without question, yes, I do.”

“I will not turn away any woman who walks through that door needing help.”

He searched her gaze, then sighed. “No, you won’t. And that’s what scares me. And that’s not an emotion I’m accustomed to.”

She looked at him good and long, much as he’d done her, and he would’ve sworn he felt the wall between them coming down. A softness moved into her eyes that triggered something inside him. But it was the rise and fall of her chest, and her gaze trailing to his mouth then slowly to his eyes again, that somehow dissolved the distance between them.

He took her in his arms and kissed her, tenderly at first, until she wove her arms around his neck and pulled him closer.

Her response lit a fire in him and he deepened the kiss, aware of every part of her body touching his, and of how well she fit him. He slowly traced the curve of her waist and a soft sigh escaped her that all but demolished his restraint. With determination, he finally broke the kiss and gently pulled back, his own breath coming hard.

She slowly opened her eyes, the fullness of her lips doing nothing to cool his desire.

“I’m sorry, Josephine. I—” He put distance between them. “I had no right to do that.”

She lowered her gaze. “And I shouldn’t have—” She made a little gesture with her hand, her meaning unmistakable. And if the liberties he’d taken hadn’t been so wrong, he might’ve found humor in it. But as it was . . . .

“It won’t happen again,” he said softly. “I give you my word.”

Reluctantly, she met his gaze. “No, of course not,” she whispered.

He crossed to the door. “Promise me . . . you’ll be careful.”

Emotion pooled in her eyes, and guilt carved out another layer of his conscience.

She gave a succinct nod. “Clara said she had a good ‘hidey-hole’ where she could put the food where her husband won’t find it.”

“Let’s hope she does. Because if he gets wind of it . . .”

He closed the door behind him and strode back uphill. God help him, if any man brought harm to her, he’d answer for it. She had a good heart but her courage scared him. And fear, tangled with want, was a dangerous thing.

38

THE NEXT EVENING, Josephine hurried from the distillery office toward the boarding house, hoping to arrive in time to help with pre-supper preparations—one of her duties assigned by Miss Mary. She’d stayed later at the office than planned, partly to finish ordering additional supplies for the distillery, but also because Clara Hackett had sent a friend to her.

Midday, a timid knock had sounded at the front door. The woman who stood there, little more than a shadow, was the wife of another distillery worker, desperate for food for her three children. No bruises marked her face, but her eyes bore a weight of brokenness all the same. When Josephine returned from the mercantile with the box of provisions, the woman had wept, scarcely able to meet her gaze. But watching her walk away with the food had felt like a small victory.

Another victory—one she acknowledged with far less ease—was discovering a way to halt production at the distillery. A few moments’ access to the gauger’s ledger would do it. The hurdle was gaining that access. Even so, she had a plan.

She held no illusion that stopping production at one distillery would spark sweeping change. But even if it forced even a handful of people to reconsider their stance on liquor, it would be worth it. Her suffragist sisters would agree.

The creak of a wagon descending from the cattle farm quickened her steps. She glanced back, hoping it wasn’t Dodge—or any of the Hackett brothers. Dodge’s warning had taken firm root. She would help Clara Hackett again without hesitation, but she had no desire to encounter her husband—or his kin.

Not recognizing the man driving the wagon, she rounded the corner and pressed on.

She hadn’t seen Dodge since yesterday. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She’d caught a glimpse of him that morning and had vanished into the back room while he spoke with Mr. Daniel about the cattle. Still no word from Washington, and nearly half the herd gone. She’d heard the strain in his voice and felt for him. But she hadn’t been ready to face him.

Embarrassed didn’t begin to describe what she felt.

What had she been thinking? But that was just it, she hadn’t thought. She’d simply reacted. One minute they’d been arguing, the next she’d imagined brushing her lips against his, tasting his kiss. Then she’d been in his arms, without the slightest protest.

What must he think of her? A married woman behaving so? And that soft sigh she’d let escape. Where had that come from? Heat flooded her body again just thinking about it.

He had to know how moved she was by him, and him having that knowledge felt like she’d somehow relinquished some unspoken balance of control between them, which was flat unnerving. Yet when he’d sworn it would never happen again, she’d felt a sense of disappointment at that prospect.

Because it wasn’t only physical attraction that drew her to Dodge Coburn. It wasn’t just his blue eyes or tender strength. He was a kind, caring, and intelligent man. Respected by men and women alike. Mr. Daniel regarded him almost as a son. And Bethie adored him.

Wise or not, she’d searched the library again last night, scanning books for his marginal notes. And she’d found them. The man was well-read, perceptive—far more than he let on. He’d admitted some suffrage reforms were reasonable, even if he questioned the timing. He’d called her a fighter—and meant it as praise.