He brushed his hands on the seat of his pants, ignoring the stabbing pain from dozens of splinters, and held out his hand for the insulator. “What can I do for you, Miss Carter?”
She handed the insulator to him then lifted her gaze to his face. “Oh, well, Claire is hosting a little gathering at the house tomorrow evening and she wanted to know if you’d like to join us. She’s claiming it’s a traditional way to enter the holiday season, but I think she just wants to have an excuse for a party.” Victoria pointed to the insulator he held. “What does that do?”
“It insulates the wires so the electricity, or telephone calls, don’t leak, so to speak. Without the insulators, it would be impossible for the calls to be transmitted more than a few hundred feet. With them, calls can carry quite a distance.” He set the insulator back in the satchel he still wore, glad he hadn’t spilled the contents when she startled him. “Did you catch that one?”
“I did. I grew up with three brothers who all enjoyed tossing balls around. They taught me how to catch.”
Trace studied her a moment as his grin broadened. He had a hard time picturing the very prim and proper Victoria Carter running around a backyard chasing balls and her brothers, but she had caught the insulator with little effort.
“So, Claire sent you out here in the cold to invite me to a shindig at their place tomorrow?” he asked, pulling his gloves from his pockets and carefully easing them onto his stinging hands.
“That’s right,” Victoria said, taking a step closer. She snatched his right glove from him before he could start to work it on and tucked it beneath her arm. When she reached out and took his hand in hers then turned it over, he curled his fingers over his palm to hide the splinters.
“Let me see,” she insisted, gently nudging his fingers into an open position. “Oh, Trace. Your poor hands. I’m so sorry I scared you.”
“You didn’t scare me,” he said, more snappish than he intended. He didn’t want her to think he was a gutless milksop, afraid of his own shadow. If he hadn’t been so caught up in dreams of her, he would have noticed her approach long before she spoke a word of greeting. “Just caught me off guard is all.”
“Of course,” she said, a bit too agreeably for his liking. He tried to tug his hand away from her, but she held on. “You need to take care of these right away. We aren’t far from the house. If you come with me, it won’t take long to dig them out.”
It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her to mind her own business and leave him alone. Then he realized how much he liked her hands cradling his and how good it sounded to hear her call him by his first name. From the trail of stinging pricks burning up both legs, he had an idea the splinters in his hands were nothing compared to those in his thighs, but he didn’t think Victoria would appreciate him dropping his britches while she dug them out. No, that was not a job for a lady even if the thought of her doing it sent his temperature up a good ten degrees.
However, a break indoors where it was warm was too good to pass up. He unfastened the gaffs he wore and removed them, then swept his hand toward Gray and Claire’s home. “Lead the way.”
He’d been installing wire between the Decker farm and the Carter place. When he finished, Claire would be able to call Fred and Elsa instead of traipsing across the road to speak to them. Trace still had a hard time embracing the fact Claire was Fred’s aunt even though she was a year younger than the man. Rather than try to go over the relationships again, he focused on following Victoria as she preceded him toward the house.
She led him around to the kitchen door and glanced back at him with a welcoming smile as she pushed it open and moved inside. The scent of stew simmering on the stove mingled with the mouthwatering aroma of apples and cinnamon.
“The cook left cider on the stove before she went home for the day. Would you like some?”
“I would. Thank you.” Trace removed the tool belt he wore buckled over his coat and left it outside before he closed the door and removed his hat and coat.
Victoria motioned to the sink. “Please wash your hands while I pour a cup, then I’ll retrieve the necessary supplies to take care of those splinters.”
He assumed the supplies she planned to use were more involved than the tip of a questionably clean pocketknife and his teeth, which is how he would have removed the splinters.
“Please, have a seat,” she said, setting a mug of fragrant, steaming cider in front of him followed by a plate of gingerbread cookies he knew came from Elsa’s bakery.
Trace sank onto a chair in the large, light-filled kitchen and took a sip of the hot drink. It was just the right amount of sweet and spice. He picked up a cookie, dunked it in the mug, and took a bite.
“Delicious,” he mumbled then finished the cookie in two big bites. He was working on his third cookie and had nearly drained the cup of cider when Victoria returned with her hands full of what appeared to be bandages, ointment, and a pair of tweezers.
She set the tweezers in a small pan and added water, leaving them to boil, then poured steaming water from a kettle on the stove into a shallow bowl.
“Stick your hands in there. It will make it easier to pull the splinters out.”
He settled both hands in the hot water. It stung a little, but he merely smiled at her, as though it was the most pleasant experience he’d ever had.
She left his hands soaking for several moments then she fished the tweezers out of the pan, blew on them to cool them enough she could hold onto them, and returned to the table.
“Turn to face the light, please,” she said, indicating the large window by the table where afternoon sunlight streamed inside, lighting the room while creating an angelic glow around Victoria.
Trace recognized rare beauty when he saw it and his breath caught as he shifted around in the chair, making note of Victoria’s almost ethereal appearance. She was so lovely. Lovely and sweet, and kind.
She held out her hand toward him and he slowly lifted his left arm, allowing her to take his hand in hers. She turned so the side of his hand rested against her midsection. With her head bent over the task, he studied her from the top of her bun to where his hand rested, just inches from temptation. Each breath she drew in and released caused a coil to tighten inside him until he felt wound as tightly as an eight-day clock.
Unaware of his attraction to her, of how her innocent touch unsettled him and left him longing for more, she continued working as he sat perfectly still. Not moving. Barely breathing. Trying to think of anything except how much he liked being around this marvelous woman.
In a perfect world, he’d pursue Victoria Carter with everything he had until she agreed to be his. But the world was far from perfect, and he most certainly fell undeniably short of the mark. He had no business courting anyone, let alone a fine lady like Victoria. What would she want with a man who couldn’t promise to be home more than a day here or there, a man who made a good living stealing from thieves? No, he was about as wrong for Victoria as her husband had been.
Then again, Trace liked to think he was a heap better than the likes of Wendell Ness.
“Other hand, please,” Victoria said, smiling at him as she set his left hand on his lap and waited for him to give her his right hand. When she set it against her middle, he closed his eyes, trying not to think about how close she was, how entrancing he found her, how much he wanted to pull her onto his lap and lavish her with kisses. Her fragrance tantalized him while the feel of her soft hands on his work-roughened skin made tingles race up his arm straight to his brain. Without thinking about what he was doing, his thumb began to trace small circles against her waist. He could feel the edges of her corset and knew what he was doing was considered highly improper, but the conviction of it wasn’t enough to make him stop.