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After the set, Wash Halliday introduced Winifred to his wife, Jeanne, and then to Thad and Leah MacAllister. The five of them chatted for longer than Zane thought he could stand, but then Winifred’s gaze strayed around the room, searching for him.
He started toward her but once again found himself waylaid by Darla Bledsoe.
“Zane, you promised to dance with me again,” she pleaded.
He could have refused but it would be rude, and he suspected Darla could be spiteful. He offered his arm and with a triumphant grin she swept him onto the plank dance floor.
Over Darla’s shoulder he saw Winifred partnered with first Charlie Kincaid, then Seth Ruben and then the barber, Whitey Poletti. And then he lost track. Rooney Cloudman, dancing a spirited varsouvienne with Sarah Rose, accidentally bumped into him, and when Zane righted himself, he heard Rooney’s voice at his back.
“She’ll get away if yer not careful.”
Zane shot a look at the older man but was met with such a poker face he had to chuckle. He knew exactly what Rooney meant.
Darla tugged his lapel. “What?”
“Nothing. Just a moment of clarity.” He knew she wouldn’t understand and he sure as hell would not explain.
Long past midnight the musicians packed up their instruments and parents gathered up sleeping children. Darla swished over to where Zane stood at the refreshment table waiting for Winifred to say good-night to the MacAllisters and Sarah Rose.
“Why, Zane, isn’t that mistletoe I see over the barn door?”
“It is. Pretty, isn’t it? Deadly poison, though. I’d stay away from it.”
He broke away and went to meet Winifred, just coming across the room toward him. She smiled up into his face.
“Oh, I’ve had such a good time,” she said. “I didn’t expect to enjoy myself at all. I met so many nice people. Did you know Sarah Rose is getting married next June? And Seth Ruben just bought the lumber company?”
Zane draped her long black coat about her shoulders. “Yes, I did, and no, I didn’t.” He shrugged into his overcoat. “Wait here, Winifred. I’ll bring the buggy around.”
And don’t talk to any more single men.
Chapter Eight
Winifred waited for Zane to come in the back door from the barn. Sam had left a lantern burning low in the entry hall, and there wasn’t a sound in the house but the crackle of the fireplace in the dining room, which sent out a comforting heat after the chilly ride home. Winifred slipped off her coat and hung it away in the closet.
She was warming her hands at the hearth when Zane tramped in. “Come over by the fire,” she invited.
He dropped his heavy coat over the banister. “Everyone asleep?”
“Yes, even Rosemarie, I think. At least I don’t hear her crying.”
He set the lantern on the stairway and joined her in front of the fireplace. “I watched you tonight,” he said.
“I know. I wondered why.”
“I wondered myself,” he confessed.
Their eyes met. Very slowly, Zane reached out his hands and turned her toward him, then cupped her face between his hands and tipped her mouth up to meet his.
Her eyes closed when their lips met and stayed closed while his mouth moved gently over hers. When he raised his head she caught his hands in her own and lifted them away from her face.
“Zane,” she whispered. “This is wrong.”
“No,” he said, his voice quiet. “It isn’t wrong. Premature, maybe. Maybe not wise. But not wrong.”
“I—”
“Go on up to bed, Winifred.” He turned her toward the stairs. “Take the lamp.”
For a long time after Winifred climbed the stairs Zane sat in his office in the dark, a glass of brandy at his elbow, his head in his hands. When the hall clock chimed three, he shoved the brandy aside and rose.
Moonlight flooded the hallway and he made his way up the stairs without lighting a candle, walked softly past Winifred’s closed door and flung himself fully clothed across his bed.
* * *
Winifred was not asleep. How could she possibly sleep after such a night? And Zane’s kiss...what had possessed him to do such an impulsive thing? Perhaps it was the hard cider he’d consumed?
Each time she closed her eyes she saw his face, grave and calm. But his eyes—oh, Lord, his eyes! In their shadowed depths she saw pain and acceptance and loneliness. And hunger.
Well, of course. He was a man, like any other man, was he not? He needed a woman.
