Page 12 of Chloe's Christmas Escape
“You were shuddering. This will warm the room up a bit.” He stretched out his arm, fingers brushing against the fabric of the settee. He recoiled just as quickly, eyes wide and hand coming to rest on his thigh.
As she watched his motions, Chloe almost nodded her head in recognition. So, the stiffness in his body was because he hurt. It hadn’t occurred to her that he might be injured. She had been so focused on her own needs since arriving that she hadn’t taken the time to think about what he might need.
“I’m not cold. It’s all right.” She lowered her legs and stood. “Do you need some help?”
“I’m fine.” He gritted his teeth and scowled as he took hold of the heavy settee and dragged it noisily across the wooden floor, positioning it in front of the crackling fireplace. His knuckles turned white from the effort, but he refused to stop until the chair was exactly where he wanted it. “Come here and warm up.”
He leaned back against the wall beside the fire, the lines of his face still taut.
“I’m not cold,” Chloe repeated herself, eyes scanning the room before quickly settling back onto the floor. She shuffled across the wooden floorboards and sank into the settee, pulling her knees up to her chin as if to protect herself from whatever it was she had just experienced.
“Then why were you shaking?”
She snapped at the tone in his voice. “We cannot have an entire conversation if you are standing there in pain, staring at me. What’s wrong with your leg?”
Jackson’s deep, throaty laugh reverberated in the room as he stepped toward the chair. Chloe took this moment of distraction to adjust her wool skirt covertly, smoothing it flat against her legs. If her mother saw how she was sitting—legs crossed underneath her, hands tucked in her lap—it would scandalize her. But Mama wasn’t here. She watched Jackson warily, his swift movements making her heart beat faster. Even though she rationally knew he had no intention of hurting her, something inside her couldn’t help but worry—if he did something, there would be no warning.
He dragged the aged wooden chair to the side of the hearth, positioning it in perfect balance between her and himself. He settled strongly into his seat, slowly resting his foot-wearied legs out in front of him before kneading at the muscle of his right thigh. His gaze lifted from his lap and locked with hers as he leaned back, a smirk curving his lips.
She scrutinized him; her gaze narrowing as she tried to figure out the motivation behind the serene exterior. Her stomach tightened as her thoughts drifted to her father and the way he had always tried to shut down tough conversations. Taking a deep breath, she prepared to ask her questions and see if he would be any different.
“Are you hurt?” She tried once more.
“Not like you mean.” Jackson gave a dismissive shrug. “Why were you shuddering if you weren’t cold?”
“Why did you decide you wanted a wife?”
He blinked; frustration was clear in his gaze. His nose wrinkled and his lips pulled into a smile. She wondered if it was her tone or her bluntness that amused him.
“Well, you see, I didn’t want a moose.” He gave a curt nod in reply, and she could sense that they had both reached an unspoken agreement; hard conversations would have to wait until later.They might find some opportunities to chat during their arduous journey in the long hours of a stagecoach ride to wherever they were going,she thought.
“I can’t imagine why you wouldn’t want a moose. It would provide companionship. The antlers are large enough that you could use them to dry your clothes and if you were hungry enough, you could probably eat it. Though I don’t know, I have never seen one.”Jackson let out a belly laugh, and she smiled, proud that she could tease him. When his laughter quieted, she tried again. “When you close your eyes and think about marriage, what do you see?”
His eyebrows scrunched together, and she observed him, curious whether this was his expression for deep thought. Wasn’t it expected of marshals to keep their expressions vacant?
“I want to avoid becoming one of those men who later resent their wives or strays from their marriage. War has been a part of my life. I mean, I am a marshal. I want...”He paused, and she desperately wanted to know what he was editing out of his thoughts.
“You want what?”
Jackson leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and stared at her for another moment or two. “I’d like what my parents had. I suppose. Someone who’s loyal. A woman who wants to start a family and won’t return east when things are difficult. What do you know about where we’re going?”
Chloe felt her body stiffen the moment he changed the subject. She could sense him leaning in closer, but just as she was about to turn away, an unexpected giggle escaped her throat and before she knew it, all her fear and anxiety dissipated as she dissolved into laughter.
Surprised by her own reaction, Chloe tilted backward until her shoulders met the arm of the settee and then nothingness. Time seemed to stand still as she watched the ceiling spin a few times before gravity pulled her down to the floor with a thud. Tears fell from her eyes like raindrops onto the hardwood surface beneath her, yet still she couldn’t contain another wave of mirth that shook through her body. Jackson dashed toward her, his arms scooping under hers before lifting her with ease and placing her on the bed in one swift movement.
She looked up at him from under strands of hair which had come loose from their pins, feeling almost childlike under his strength.Clearly, he wasn’t that injured.
“Chloe, why does it matter to you?” His words broke through her thoughts, and she hurried to sit up, sliding up the bed until her back was against the headboard, quickly smoothing her skirt back down.
Jackson settled for taking the corner at the bottom of the bed.
She sighed, thinking about her answer. Her fingers moved without thought, pulling all the pins from her hair, to let it fall in soft waves around her shoulders. Her eyes watched the flames dance in the fireplace while she pulled her thoughts together.
“I have wanted to be a wife and mother for almost my whole life. Ever since my little brothers were born. I didn’t want to marry a drunk or an outlaw. And I hated the way my father’s business associates looked at me once I came of age. They didn’t really want me.” She placed the hairpins on the side table and shrugged. “Maybe they did, I don’t know. I know they wanted access to my father.” She wiped an errant tear away and met his watchful gaze. “I can read and write both words and numbers. My mother made sure that I could cook the basics, and sometimes, I get a little creative.”
He nodded at her words, and she wished to see into his mind, to discern what was happening behind his emerald gaze.
“What else?” he prompted.
