Mirabelle hadn’t broached the topic of dancing in the days since laughing with Quinn about it, but the hope of attending her first dance had grown in the silence. She “practiced” in her room at night, though she had only a vague idea what she was doing. While going about her work during the day, she let herself imagine dancing at the calico ball. Despite his protestations of gracelessness, despite theirs being an arrangement of convenience rather than affection, it was Quinn who quite specifically filled her imaginings.

So preoccupied were her thoughts that she nearly plowed into the mountain of a man early one morning as she made her way to the chicken coop.

“Your thoughts seem miles away,” he said.

“Miles and miles.” That wasn’t exactly true. Her thoughts had been on him, and he was standing right next to her. “What’re you seeing to this morning?”

“Snow’s early this year. I have to make sure the coop’ll hold up if the winter’s long.”

He stood with a thumb hooked through his tool belt, hat sitting a little crooked on his head. The picture he made standing there set her heart fluttering. Quinn was a fine-looking man. She’d thought so from the very first. He also showed no interest in anything more personal between them than they currently had. She’d do well to remember that.

“Halloo!”

Mirabelle turned at the unfamiliar voice. A man, not much older than she was, with dark, wavy hair and a day’s worth of stubble, sauntered toward them. Even in the dim light of sunset, Mirabelle could see he was exactly the devastatingly handsome kind of man that women couldn’t help noticing.

The newcomer’s eyes settled on her, and he slipped off his hat, holding it in his hands as he nodded in acknowledgment. “Ma’am,” he greeted respectfully.

She smiled back at him but found her tongue a little tied. She’d never been shy before. Why was it a ridiculously handsome face could do that to an otherwise intelligent woman?

“Mirabelle,” Quinn said, “this is Trevor Clark, one of the ranch hands. Trev, this is my wife, Mirabelle.”

The tiniest hint of emphasis he placed on the word wife pulled her eyes to him. Had he issued a warning or a reminder? And was it meant for her or Trevor? She didn’t see any signs of jealousy or concern. She’d likely heard more in his tone than had been there.

“I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Quinn,” Trevor said.

Mirabelle held out her hand to shake. “And you, Mr. Clark.”

“Trevor,” he corrected. He glanced at Quinn. Something passed between them, and Trevor finally shook her outstretched hand.

“What brings you around?” Quinn asked.

“Sam’s got a leak in the roof of his place. Are you free to come help with the patching and some repairs in the barn?”

Quinn gave a firm and immediate nod.

Trevor turned his Adonis smile on Mirabelle. “This might put your supper off schedule.”

Mirabelle was so unaccustomed to being taken into consideration that, for a moment, she could do nothing but stare at him. She managed to recover her voice and thanked him for his concern but assured him she didn’t begrudge the havoc to her schedule.

“After all the repairs are finished, you and Will and Mr. Carpenter can come back here for dinner.” Mirabelle made the invitation casually, though she truly hoped it was accepted. The one thing she’d enjoyed about working at the railway station was the chance to talk to people. She’d had almost none of that since coming to live here.

Trevor smiled warmly. “I shouldn’t speak for Will or Sam, but I will anyway. We’ll none of us turn down an offer of a well-cooked meal.”

“How do you know it’ll be well cooked?” she asked with a laugh.

“You could burn it to a crisp, and I’ll still enjoy it.”

She pretended to be relieved. “I was planning to char it pretty thoroughly.”

He laughed deep from the belly, the kind of laugh that shook a person’s shoulders.

“Off with you, Trev,” Quinn said. “Tell Sam I’ll be by in a spell.”

Trevor tipped his head to her, then to Quinn, and turned and walked away.

“He seems like a nice, sociable sort of fellow,” Mirabelle said.

“Yeah, Trev’s just dandy.” That was a dry tone if ever Mirabelle heard one. Quinn was making a thorough examination of the coop’s roof.

“Don’t you like him?”

“Do you?” he asked.

A strange question. “Well, based on the thirty seconds I’ve known him, he seems friendly.”

Quinn muttered, “Too friendly.”

Well, if he meant to be a grump, she’d let him, but she wasn’t going to stand around listening to it. She had a meal to plan and company to prepare for. He joined her a few minutes later in the kitchen.

“Was there something you needed?” she asked.

“Why did you invite Trevor over for dinner?” He didn’t look angry, but he appeared to want an answer.

“I invited them because Will and Trevor work for you and Sam’s your neighbor, and—” She stopped, not ready to admit more.

“And what?” he pressed.

“And we’ve not had any visitors since Jane and Caroline. I’ve been a little lonely. It will be nice having someone talk to me.”

Beneath his confusion she saw the earliest hint of pity. That she couldn’t bear.

She turned away and pulled a chair over to the cupboard. The pan she needed for dinner was on a high shelf. She climbed onto the chair, her heart thudding a little—even such a small height as this made her a bit nervous. Keeping her focus on the pan, she reached into the cupboard.

Quinn crossed the room to her. Standing on a chair like she was made her a little taller than he was—a decidedly odd position.

“I can set that down for you.” He indicated the pan in her hand.

“Thank you.” She gave it to him. He set it on the work table with a stretch of his arm, then turned back to her. He held his arms out to her. She accepted the offer and set her hands on his shoulders just as he set his hands on either side of her waist.

But he didn’t lift her down. He stood precisely where he was, hands holding her, looking up into her face. Heat crept into her cheeks. No man had ever looked at her that long and lingeringly. She couldn’t say quite what it was he was seeing nor what had so captured his attention.

She felt his thumbs move the tiniest bit along her waist. The light movement sent a shiver straight through her. He still hadn’t looked away. She simply couldn’t tear her gaze from him.

“Quit standing there like a simpleton, lad.” Tiernan had wandered into the kitchen. “I’m sure you have plenty of work to do.”

The spell was broken. Without so much as a word of warning, Quinn lifted her from the chair and set her on the floor. He gave a single nod of acknowledgment and walked out of the room.

Mirabelle stood where he’d left her, watching him go, confused. What had just happened?