The Lass Who Lost a Shoe Lee, Caroline (great novels .TXT) 📖

start again, and he built himself up a cattle empire from nothing.” Shaking his head, he began to pace in front of the lathe again. “He was determined to be respected, and since Wyoming was settled by all sorts of people—Yankee and Confederate alike, as well as Mexicans and Negros and immigrants from all over—he decided to keep his mouth shut about the situation of my birth.” She could hear the bitterness in his voice. “Most people assume me and Roy, Jr. have different mothers, but we’ve all kept the dirty little secret.”

“Yer father, ye’ve mentioned him before, doesn’t sound like a nice man.”

His laughter wasn’t a kind sound. “He’s not. I told you about the horse ranch I ran with my friend back home, but even that wasn’t far enough away from him. I was glad to have the opportunity to come to the Highlands and make my own life.”

Which reminded her…

She took a tentative step toward him. “Ye’ve built a life here. Yer house will be done soon.”

He turned, and his profile caught the light from the gas lamp. “It’s done now,” he said in a hollow voice. “That’s why I left the inn. But…” He glanced away again. “It’s not what I was hoping it would be.”

“Why no’?” she whispered, taking another step toward him, her arms aching to hold him again. Not because of how he made her feel, but in order to make him feel better. Safer. Loved.

Without looking at her, Max confessed in a quiet voice, “Because you’re not there, Ember. Everywhere I look in that house, I think of you and how much I’d like to have you there with me. I know the way I feel for you; I know it’s fast. I know it almost feels like—magic. But it’s still true.”

And for one perfect, shining moment, the world ceased to move. Ember stopped breathing, her pulse quieted in her ears, and she felt herself smile.

Then she exhaled and the world started to turn again, but slower. More softly, somehow.

“Are ye saying ye want a future with me, Max?”

He took his time turning around, and he was entirely too far away. His expression was almost hesitant when he nodded jerkily. “I wanted you to know, first, about my past. So when you think I’m some kind of high-and-mighty…lord or something, you’ll remember who I really am.”

By his side, his hands curled into fists, but she wasn’t certain if it was because he was controlling a strong emotion or resisting the urge to reach for her.

“Oh, Max,” she breathed, stepping close enough to him she had to tilt her head back to stare into his eyes. “Who ye really are is Max DeVille, a hard-working manager of my ancestral business. I was so angry—no’ at ye, but at myself—for no’ realizing who ye were, and I was embarrassed too.”

“No,” he interrupted, shaking his head. “You shouldn’t feel embarrassed. I never told you my name, or my position, and when you made assumptions, I should’ve guessed what you meant.”

“Ye ken what they say about assumptions?” She cocked her head to one side. “They make asses out of umptions.”

“That doesn’t make sense, Ember.”

She shrugged. “We Highlanders are a mysterious breed.”

Chuckling, he reached for her hands. “Can you forgive me for not telling you who I was?”

“Can ye forgive me for being so angry, when it wasn’t yer fault at all?”

Pursing his lips, he pretended to think about it. “I suppose so. But will you please stop telling me you’re just a serving lass? After all, you’re soon to be a patent holder, and assuming—although that would make an ass out of uming, by your logic—you’re still willing to work with Oliphant Engraving, you’ll soon be part of a very lucrative new line of products.”

Her smile grew in excitement, a future of possibilities stretching out in front of her. “Only if ye stop telling me ye’re just a cowboy. Ye ran a successful horse ranch, and now ye run a verra successful engraving industry.”

He let go of her hands and ran his up along her forearms, holding her upper arms as if to ensure she was listening. “Yes, but I was born a slave.”

“Aye, and I became a drudge,” she snapped, shaking her head. “Neither of us are to blame for our pasts, and we’re working toward making ourselves better people for—” She cut herself off with a gasp. “Unless ye think I am the sort of woman to hold yer blood, yer heritage against ye?”

He chuckled, then used his hold on her arms to pull her closer. “If you were the kind of woman to do that, I wouldn’t have fallen in love with you.”

It was the sincerity in his tone which caused her to sigh in pleasure, but when his lips claimed hers, she sighed again. This kiss was softer, sweeter, and full of promise.

“Ember,” he began, after he’d tucked her head under his chin and wrapped her in his arms, “you’ve worked so hard for other people: your stepmother, who doesn’t appreciate it, and your stepsisters.”

“My sisters at least appreciate me.” When he hummed diplomatically, she knew he was thinking of Vanessa. “The Oliphant Inn would likely collapse without me.”

“But that’s not your problem, love. That’s your stepmother’s problem. She can hire more servants to do what you were doing for free. You deserve the chance to chase your own dreams, to work hard for something you desire. Like making sure all the finest ladies in Scotland are wearing Oliphant engraved shoes next season.”

She smiled against his shoulder, her arms tightening around him. “That’s no’ my only dream.”

“Dare I hope it has something to do with me?”

“Aye, perhaps.”

When he took a deep breath, she felt his chest expand against her. “Ember, I want to make your dreams come true. I want to give you the freedom to work toward your own goals, for your own happiness. It took a bloody war—I mean that literally, not the way you Scots use the word bloody—to