"I bet you didn't get Perrie a present, did you?" Sam asked.
"I guess I didn't think of it."
"She's your girlfriend, isn't she?"
Joe considered the boy's question for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah, I guess she is. At least, I want her to be."
"Then you better show her how much you like her."
Joe sighed. It was already too late to get her a gift. Flowers weren't an option in the dead of winter, and with all the bachelors in town angling for the brides' good graces, he suspected that Weller's General Store would be sold out of anything resembling a romantic gift.
He needed something to show Perrie that he no longer thought of her as just a guest or an acquaintance or a constant intrusion in his life. That he'd found a place for her in his heart. That he cared for her more than any other woman he'd known.
"Maybe you could make me a valentine for Perrie?"
Sam sent him a sideways glance, then shook his head. "That wouldn't be right. You need to make it yourself. My mom says that if you make a gift yourself, that means it's from the heart."
Joe sat down next to Sam and picked up a paper doily. "Where do I start?"
Sam handed him scissors and a piece of construction paper. "Make a heart. Just fold it in half and cut it out. Then paste it on a doily. Girls like doilies."
"How do you know?"
Sam held one up and studied it. "It looks like ruffles and lace. Girls like that stuff. And they like glitter and these little round sparklies."
"Sequins?"
Sam nodded and pointed to the bottle of glue. "Paste 'em on with that."
Joe watched Sam put together his valentine and then began to work on his own. He hadn't touched paper and glue since he left grade school. The glue seemed to stick to everything, and before too long, he had sequins stuck to his palms and glitter under his fingernails.
"What are you going to write on it?" Sam asked, carefully observing Joe's progress.
"I thought I'd sign my name."
Sam slowly shook his head. "You gotta write something sweet and mushy. Or make up a poem. Girls like poetry."
"I'm not good at poetry."
"Then you have to tell her how beautiful she is. Say her skin is like rose petals or her lips taste like cherry soda."
Joe blinked in surprise. "That's pretty good. Can I use that?"
"You should think of something on your own. What do you want to say to her?"
Joe wanted to tell her how beautiful she was, how much he loved to be with her. He wanted to ask her to spend the night with him. But he couldn't put that on a valentine. "How about if I ask her to go to the dance at Doyle's?"
"That's good," Sam replied. "Girls like dancing."
"I'm going to have to remember these tips. Girls like doilies, sequins, poetry and dancing." Joe finished the valentine, then took a few moments to compose his message before he stepped to the kitchen sink to wash the glitter off his hands.
"Are you gonna give it to her now?"
"I thought I would. She's out practicing her wood splitting."
Sammy picked up his valentine and held it out in front of him. "Just remember," he said distractedly, "if she tries to kiss you, run away as fast as you can."
Joe wasn't about to follow that bit of Sam's advice. If Perrie did decide to kiss him, he'd probably drag her into the cabin and begin where they had left off the night before. He grabbed his valentine from the table and tucked it inside his jacket, then ruffled Sam's hair as he walked past. "Thanks for the help, buddy."
Joe found Perrie back at her cabin. She sat on the porch, her attention centered on adjusting the straps on her snowshoes. "How's the training going?"
She glanced up and he thought he detected a blush rise on her already rosy cheeks. Her smile warmed his blood and he bent down and kissed her mouth. Strange how kissing her felt so natural, how he barely had to think before he pressed his lips to hers.
"I can't seem to get this strap right."
"Here, let me see." He took the snowshoe from her and carefully readjusted the strap. "How's that?"
"Why are you doing this? I thought you'd be the last person to help me."
"If you're going to compete, you should do your best."
"Do you really mean that?"
"Yes," Joe said, knowing the truth in his words. "I'd like to see you leave all those wimpy brides in the dust."
Her green eyes sparkled with surprise. "I'm getting really good at the wood splitting. I'm still a little shaky on the snowshoes, but I think, with Hawk's dog team, I've got the mushing competition sewn up."
"Did you know there's a dance at Doyle's after the games are over?"
She sent him a curious glance, the corners of her mouth quirking up. "I heard something about that."
Joe withdrew the valentine from his jacket and held it out to her. He didn't know what to say. To tell the truth, he felt a little silly handing her a handmade card. But all his reservations dissolved at the tender smile she gave him. He said a silent thank-you for Sam's advice, then sat down beside her on the steps.
"You made this yourself?"
"With some advice from Sam. He told me not to let you kiss me."
Perrie laughed. "You're taking your cues from a nine-year-old?"
Joe bumped against her shoulder playfully. "So, will you go to the dance with me, Kincaid?"
"Only if you kiss me again," Perrie teased.
He leaned closer, their noses nearly touching. "I think that could be arranged."
He kissed her then, a soft, simple kiss. He didn't know such an innocent act could bring such a powerful reaction. Desire flooded his senses and every thought dissolved in his mind until all he was conscious of was the feel of her lips on his. Her mouth was so sweet; he had become addicted to the taste, needing more and more.
Then she drew back, her gaze fixed on his mouth. "I'll go to the party at Doyle's with you," she murmured.
"Good," Joe said. He pushed to his feet, then brushed the snow from the back of his jeans. "I guess I'll see you after the competition."
"We aren't going to see each other tonight?"
He reached out and cupped her cheek in his palm. "Sweetheart, I think you better get some rest tonight."
"All right," Perrie said. "It's a date. I'll see you tomorrow."
Joe shoved his hands in the back pockets of his jeans and nodded. "Yeah, a date. I'll come down tomorrow morning and get you. We'll ride into Muleshoe together."
"That would be nice," Perrie said.
He whistled a cheery tune as he walked back down the path to the lodge. He'd never really set much store in romance. But he had to admit that a handmade valentine had touched Perrie's heart. His mind flashed an image of her reaction and he smiled to himself.
He was through with waiting. The next time he touched Perrie Kincaid, he wouldn't stop until every desire, every secret fantasy they shared had been completely satisfied.
Chapter Eight
Every person in Muleshoe, from the smallest child to the town's oldest citizen, one-hundred-year-old prospector Ed Bert Jarvis, gathered on Main Street to watch the games. In the middle of a long winter, any social activity was hailed as an "event." And this year's event was even more special.
Ed Bert, born in the year of Muleshoe's "boom," served as the grand marshal of the parade, a ragtag collection of decorated pickup trucks, dogsleds, snowmobiles and a pair of bicycles. They were accompanied by the town band, which consisted of Wally Weller on trumpet, his wife, Louise, on saxophone, and son, Wally Jr., on drums.
Perrie had never seen anything like it. Though the temperature still hovered around zero, no one seemed to notice. Fur parkas and mukluks were standard uniform for half the population, while the more stylish half chose down jackets and Sorel boots. No one stayed home.
She'd convinced Paddy Doyle to cover the event as a stringer for the Seattle Star. The barkeeper wandered around with his camera, hoping to find a few good shots to accompany Perrie's article on the mail-order brides and boasting about the press pass that she'd clipped to his collar.