I'm suggesting that if you happen to be on the dance floor, and I happen to be there as well. Enough happenstance, Margaret said, setting down her cup. Yes, I'd like to dance. He led her onto the floor with a hand at her elbow, then turned to face her. One hand settled properly at her waist.
The other took hers. And suddenly Margaret understood why he'd been so careful with all his happenstances. This was dangerous, not for propriety's sake, but for the way her heart accelerated when he pulled her into the dance. Jake Caldwell could waltz, not the mechanical steps of a man who'd learned for duty's sake, but with the natural grace of someone who'd once enjoyed it. He guided her through the turns effortlessly.
And Margaret found herself relaxing into the movement, trusting his lead. "You dance well for a cowboy, " she said softly. "You dance well for a cook, " he countered. Then more seriously, I haven't waltzed since Sarah died. Didn't think I remembered how.
It's like riding a horse. I suppose the body remembers even when the heart forgets. His hand tightened slightly at her waist. Yes, exactly that. They danced two more waltzes, not speaking, just moving together while the town watched and whispered.
Margaret knew there would be talk. The widow and the rancher dancing like they had the right, but wrapped in the warmth of Jake's careful hold, she couldn't bring herself to care. The storm announced itself with a wall of black clouds that swallowed the horizon. Margaret stood at the kitchen window, watching the prairie grass bend flat under the advancing wind. She'd lived through eastern storms, but this this was something primeval, a force that made humanity seem small and temporary.
It's going to be a bad one, Tom said from the doorway, his newly healed arm still held carefully. Jake's got most of the men moving the cattle to the sheltered valley, but he didn't need to finish. Margaret had learned enough about ranch life to understand. Cattle scattered in a storm like this could wander for miles, die in flash floods, or simply vanish into the vast landscape. And the men searching for them face the same dangers.
How many are still out? " she asked. "Eight, including Jake. Bill and Frank were riding the north pasture. That's 15 mi out.
They might not have seen the storm coming in time. " Margaret turned from the window, her mind already calculating. "How many staying here? " "Just me, old Pete and Charlie. He's nursing a lame horse.
Everyone else is out. " Then we prepare. This kitchen stays warm and ready. Get Pete to help you fill every available container with water. If this storm's as bad as it looks, the well might flood.
Charlie can bring in extra firewood. I'll start cooking. Tom grinned despite the worry in his eyes. Yes, ma'am. You sound like a general.