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she still loved Warren.
    In the end, he settled on a simple question, because it sure sounded like she talked of Denver like it was her future. He asked softly, “Are you home to stay?”
    “I’ve accepted a position with another elderly widow, Mrs. Jamison. I begin before New Year’s.”
    An odd sense of disappointment stole over Hunter. He’d wanted her to stay, had hoped she felt the same connection to this place, to the land, to the people. He wanted her to feel the same desire to live here. Most of all, he wanted her to let go of her feelings for Warren.
    He swallowed hard, groping for words that would sound kind, accepting. “Denver must suit you.”
    “A position as a companion is respectable work. I’m happy to have found a place again after Mrs. Vanderfeldt’s death. It’s the right thing for me.”
    The bells on the harness jingled softly, mocking the sadness swelling in Hunter’s chest.
    She patted his arm, the touch anything but soothing. “It’s the best life I can hope for.”
    That’s where you’re wrong, he thought, wanting to give voice to his objection. Once, she’d looked forward to married life, planned her future eagerly, and expected to find happiness as a wife and mother.
    One way or the other, he’d convince her to expect better for herself. He’d convince her to expect more of him, more of her future, more of happiness and miracles.
     

 
     
     
     
     
     
    CHAPTER FOUR
     
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    Later that afternoon, Hunter took Miranda’s hand as they crept away from the Johnsons’ front porch. Inside, they’d could hear movement, but he’d decided to risk dropping off the surprise package anyway.
    The front door banged open.
    Hunter snagged Miranda around the waist and pulled her around the corner of the Johnsons’ house.
    She giggled and he pressed a gloved hand gently over her mouth. “Quiet now,” he whispered in her ear. “You’ll give us away.”
    Around the corner, he heard one of the Johnson boys whooping with excitement. “Santa Claus came, Pa! Santa came! Come see!”
    Miranda relaxed against Hunter’s chest. He felt her lean against him with a quiet acceptance that stirred his blood and made his pulse quicken. He eased his hand away from her mouth, settling it on her shoulder, enjoying the feel of her gentle movements as she drew breath. He brushed his lips over her hair, aching with the pleasure of holding her, wanting taste her kiss.
    The screen door banged shut as more of the Johnsons gathered on the porch, ripping into the packages.
    Distracted by Miranda’s body tucked against him, he couldn’t concentrate on the Johnsons’ tumble of conversation, filled with exclamations of delight and wonder. Miranda smelled of fresh soap and vanilla.
    His heart thudded dully against his ears, blocking out all rational thought. Before he could think it through, he nuzzled her ear and pressed a kiss to her neck.
    “I see him!” One of the Johnson boys shouted.
    Hunter tensed and Miranda chuckled softly, breaking the spell. She indicated the youngest Johnson boy standing barely in their line of sight on the front yard, pointing skyward.
    “I see Santa’s sleigh!” the kid bellowed, frantic with excitement. “There, that little speck goin’ over our house!”
    “That’s a swallow, Jimmy. A little bird.” But even the ten-year-old sounded unconvinced, as if he wanted to believe.
    Miranda shifted slightly and rested her head on his shoulder. The unspoken affection rushed through him as if lightning had struck the ground at his feet.
    “Who do you suppose?” Mrs. Johnson asked. “Look at this. Socks. Candies. Three pair of mittens and three stocking caps. And oranges. ”
    Hunter smiled as he visualized Mrs. Johnson sniffing the fragrant citrus. He heard her rustle through the crate and its layers of surprises. In the yard, the boys made snowballs and pelted each other with the ammunition.
    Hunter eased his arms about Miranda and hugged her against his chest.
    “Oh