Chapter Twelve

Rory scurried up the stairs and into her room. She washed the flour from her face and ran a brush through her hair, tying it with a brown ribbon at the nape. After pulling a pair of leather riding pants from the drawer, she pulled knee-high boots over her feet, and looked into the mirror. Dawson’s words ran through her mind, ‘Spring arrives on the wings of renewal, hope and a better start for all.’ How she hoped his words were true. They could all use a dollop of renewed hope.

Eager to see the countryside again, and anxious to spend time alone with Dawson, Rory bounded down the steps but slowed her pace upon entering the kitchen and shrugged. "All set."

Dawson’s eyes sparked, a sure sign of his approval. "Ah, there’s the woman I remember."

"Have fun." Isabelle gave her a quick squeeze and then nudged her toward the door. "Plan on dinner with us, young man."

Dawson saluted and followed Rory outside. She led him to the barn and waited while he saddled Charmer.

Rory stepped up, mounted and waited for Dawson to climb onto his massive steed. "Next to your stallion, Charmer looks like a pygmy."

"Don’t let Gander’s size fool you. He’s a calm and patient horse." His quick smile found her. "Takes after his rider."

"I’ll remember to add those traits to my list." She returned his grin. "After you earn them."

"My surprise for you today will prove I’m a patient man."

Dawson had turned onto the path she traveled the day they met. "Your surprise is in the woods?"

"Always the curious little kitten, aren’t you? If I answer your questions, it won’t be a surprise."

"Fine." A false indignant huff spewed forth. "I can be patient too when need be."

Pretending not to give one whit about their destination, she rambled on, told him about Broken Tongue’s visit, the baby’s birth and launched into a lengthy dissertation on Jane’s burial service. She omitted her qualms over Hiram’s unsettling transformation last winter and his attempt to court her. At the time, she attributed his misguided confession to loneliness; saw no reason to dredge up the awkward encounter now.

A wave of nostalgia washed over Rory when Dawson stopped near the banks of a stream. The trees were in full bloom, their thick branches swaying in the cool spring breeze. No longer barren and brown, the foliage and undergrowth burst through the ground in lustrous shades of green, and the sweet aroma of wildflowers wafted through the air. Despite the seasonal changes, Rory recognized the area. A vision of Dawson rolling his trousers down his hips flooded her mind. She looked across the water and pictured herself wresting her long hair from a branch.

Dawson had dismounted already and stood beside Charmer. "Know where you are?"

With a nod, she dismounted.

Taking her hand, he led her down a wandering path. "Come on, I want to show you something."

"We’re going for a walk?"

"Not far, you’ll see the surprise as soon as we clear the woods."

Dawson stopped and pointed beyond the clearing. A house came into view—a quaint, white-washed, one-story with green shutters and a wide front porch. Behind the abode, a flock of staggered evergreens towered over the roof. "How adorable. Who lives here?"

He watched her with intent. "I do."

"I don’t understand. I thought you lived with your parents."

He hedged, looked at the ground for a moment and back to her. "You asked me once what I was doing in the woods that day you saw me by the stream."

"Yes, and you promised one day you’d tell me."

"That day is now. After clearing the land to build a house, I intended to go swimming." He chuckled. "But a forest nymph with green eyes distracted me."

She studied him, couldn’t imagine what he was getting at.

"I need to explain something."

"All right."

"I didn’t lie when I told you I’d be gone all winter working on a building project."

She tried to think back on their conversation but confusion reigned. "You weren’t gone, in another town or settlement?"

He shook his head. "I was here, building this house."

"But you came back for a day, said you had to leave right away."

"Come on, let me show you the house, and then I’ll explain."

Rory followed him through the clearing and up the front steps where two rocking chairs swayed on the porch. He opened the front door and extended an arm. "Walk through, have a look."

Rory left the entryway and wandered into the kitchen, complete with an oak table, six chairs, a cook stove, a wall of cupboards and even a pantry adjoining the room. Hearing Dawson’s footsteps behind her, she turned to him. "You built all this by yourself?"

"My father made the table and chairs." With a wariness, she hadn’t seen before, he continued to study her. "To your right are two bedchambers, and left are a library and a sitting room."

She meandered through every room, astonished at his craftsmanship. A four-poster bed with matching bureau and armoire graced the largest bedchamber, and in the smaller room, another bed with a chest of drawers hugged a wall. Continuing her tour, she walked through the library filled with books and a sitting room with a sage-green velvet settee and coordinating wingbacks. A tapestry rug in shades of nutmeg, bronze and buttercup gold covered the floor. Someone had even draped the four-paned windows with gold damask curtains. Rory thought of warmth and comfort while standing in the middle of the room. About to ask Dawson who made the curtains, she pivoted around and discovered he hadn’t followed her.

She found him sitting in one of the rockers on the porch and sank into the empty chair next to him. "So why did you bring me here? Why did you lead me to believe you were," she hesitated, "unavailable all winter?"

"You needed time to think, away from me, and I knew I had to finish this house before . . .. before―"

"Before what?"

"I asked you to marry me."

Her mouth went dry. The last thing she expected to see when they went for a ride was a house he’d built. And she couldn’t believe the words coming from his lips, those beautiful, kissable lips.

"Should I take your lack of response as an outright no?" He came to his feet and paced a small area in front of the chairs. ""You can’t say I didn’t warn you. I asked you to think about love at first sight." He stopped and looked into her eyes. "I knew the first time I saw you across that stream."

With her train of thought derailed, she managed to eke out, "Knew what?"

"I wanted you that day and I want you now, for always." He picked up his harried pace again. "I couldn’t ask you to marry me without offering security, a home where you’d feel safe, a place you’d want to raise our children." His boot scuffed the floor. "You aren’t making this easy, Rory. Say something, anything."

A flood of joy rushed through her blood. "I believe."

"You believe; what does that mean?"

"In love at first sight."

He dropped to his knees in front of her, the strong lines of his face catching a ray of sunshine. "Is that a yes, you’ll marry me?"

"That’s a yes, Dawson Finch." She laughed. "I thought a lot about what you said and even read David Copperfield again." Captivated by the magnificent blue depths of his eyes, she wondered how she ever doubted the concept of love at first sight.

"I missed you more than I thought I would. That’s why I came back for a day." He looked at the front of the house. "Sunup to sundown, through cold temperatures and snow I worked on this house. Several times I almost gave up. I told myself if I saw you again, that’s all I’d need to finish."

She cupped his face. "No one’s ever said anything so sweet, much less built a home for me."

He covered her mouth in a long, breathless kiss and then smiled when their lips parted. "You like the house?"

"I believe I'll need another kiss before I answer that."

When he claimed her lips again, she returned his fervor with her own long-awaited passion. His mouth was demanding and intense, yet soft and sweet upon hers. Long seconds later, she arched her neck back and nudged his nose with a contented sigh. "The house is perfect and I can’t wait to show it off to Jon and Isabelle."

He pulled her to her feet. "Let’s go tell them."

Hand in hand, they walked back to the horses. Dawson assisted her into the saddle, mounted and caught her gaze. "That smile tells me the wheels are turning in that pretty head."

"I’m wondering what Isabelle will do with so much time on her hands now that her matchmaking days are over."