James hobbled toward her. “Are you all right? You must be half-frozen.”
Rose brushed hay from her sleeves, her hands trembling—whether from cold or fear, he couldn’t tell. “I’m fine. What did they want?”
The careful control in her voice didn’t fool him. He could see the tension in every line of her body, the way she held herself like she was preparing for another blow.
“They were asking about you and your mother.” The words tasted like ash in his mouth. “About what happened to the Prescotts after Mother died.”
Rose went still, her hands frozen in the act of brushing hay from her skirt. “What did you tell them?”
“That your mother remarried and moved away. That we lost touch.” He shifted to get more weight off his leg. “Tom mentioned the missing person notice—said it reminded him of you.”
Something flickered across her face—fear, maybe, or resignation. The look of someone who’d been hunted for so long that discovery felt inevitable. “Did they believe you?”
He wanted to lie, to tell her that Tom and Rufus had accepted his explanation and would never think of it again. But the calculating look in Tom Holbrook’s eyes had been too sharp, too knowing.
“I don’t know.” The admission scraped against his throat. “Tom’s always been curious about other people’s business. But it doesn’t matter. We won’t let him find you.”
Rose nodded, though she wrapped her arms around herself. “I should leave.” The words came out so soft he almost missed them. “Before I bring more trouble on your family.”
“No.” The word came out too rough, sharp enough to make Rose take a step back. He forced himself to breathe, to gentle his voice despite the panic clawing at his chest. “You’re not going anywhere.”
The fear in her green eyes made something sharp twist beneath his ribs. She looked like she had as a child when she’d broken one of his mother’s teacups—braced for punishment, ready to bolt at the first harsh word.
He reached for her arm, half expecting her to pull back. But she let him tug her forward. Let him wrap his arms around her as he kept the walking sticks under his arms for balance.
The warmth of her body against his chest eased something that had been wound tight since those men rode into their yard. She was so small, fragile in a way that made every protective instinct in him roar to life.
“They can’t have you.” The words rumbled against her hair, fierce and certain despite the fear still churning in his gut. “I don’t care what Vincent wants or what contracts he thinks he has. You belong here.”
Rose’s arms slipped around his waist, careful of the walking sticks, and she pressed her face against his shoulder. The trust in that simple gesture nearly undid him.
Something shifted in the air between them, subtle as the change from winter to spring. He felt it in the way her breathing deepened against his chest, in the slight tremor that ran through her frame. When Rose tilted her head back to look at him, her green eyes held something that made his pulse stutter—not fear or gratitude, but something softer and infinitely more dangerous.
The space between them shrank without either of them moving. Her face was so close he could see the faint dusting of freckles across her nose, could feel the warmth of her breath against his skin. The scent of her hair filled his senses—clean and sweet with just a hint of the hay she’d been hiding in.
“James.” His name was barely a whisper on her lips, but it carried the weight of every unspoken word that had passed between them since she’d returned to his life.
He should step back. Should remember that she was still healing, still learning to trust again after years of Vincent’s control. But the way she looked at him—like he was something precious and fragile and worth protecting—made rational thought scatter like leaves in a mountain wind.
His hand found her face, tracing the line of her cheek. She leaned into the touch, sending a warmth through his chest. She felt it too. Her eyes fluttered closed for just a moment before opening again to meet his gaze.
“Rose.” Her name came out rough. But the longing inside him…the love he’d carried for her through eleven years of separation and loss…
When her lips parted, an invitation he’d dreamed of for so long, something inside his chest snapped like a rope finally reaching its breaking point.
He lowered his mouth to hers.
The first touch of her lips against his sent heat spiraling through every nerve in his body. She tasted like apples and coffee and…Rose. Her lips were soft beneath his, warm and yielding in a way that made his head spin.
And then…for a moment…she went completely still in his arms.
His heart stuttered to a halt. Terror crashed through him—had he misread her signals? Had he pushed too hard? Too fast?
He started to pull back. To somehow fix the mess he’d made by kissing her.
But Rose caught his face in her hands, stopping his retreat. “Don’t.” The word came out breathless, almost desperate. “Please don’t stop.”
Relief swept through him.
