Rose(14)

“Shoot people?” Rose asked as she poured the bucket of water in the now empty tub and settled it directly over the burner under which Zac was building the fire.

“People who want our cows. If they try to take them, Hen and Monty shoot them. Especially Hen. He likes shooting people.”

Rose couldn’t think of anything to say to that.

“Jeff doesn’t like it a bit. He hollers at Hen and Monty all the time. They won’t come to the house anymore because of him.”

“Where do they stay?” Rose asked. This family sounded more and more peculiar.

“Out there,” Zac said, making a gesture that took in the whole outdoors. “Hen says you can’t catch a thief by sleeping in a bed.”

“That sounds reasonable,” Rose agreed, rummaging around until she found a cake of soap. It had become so hard from disuse she could scarcely cut off a piece.

“Monty likes cows,” Zac continued. “Tyler hates them. He hates Texas, too. I don’t think Tyler likes much of anything.”

“Where is Tyler?”

“Gone. He hates women.”

“Oh,” Rose said, wondering what kind of nightmare she’d wandered into. “Isn’t he going to help me fix dinner?”

“Tyler won’t help nobody do nothing.”

Rose bit her tongue to keep from correcting Zac.

That means you have to figure out what to cook. This little boy has no intention of increasing the number of his duties.

Zac stepped back from the stove. “Fire’s going.”

“Are you leaving?”

“Yeah. All you got to do is feed it.”

“But I don’t know where anything is.”

“You’ll find it if you look.”

“Meat,” Rose said, nearly desperate.

“In the larder. Potatoes under the house. Some carrots, too.” He began backing toward the door. “There’s butter and milk in the well. George won’t drink it if it ain’t sweet. Monty and Hen like buttermilk, but Tyler wants it sour.”

“How about you?”

“I hate milk. I drink whiskey.” With that he disappeared through the door.

Rose closed her mouth, then burst out laughing. She wondered if Texas had a law against a twenty-year-old woman marrying a little boy. Zac had about ten times as much charm as his older brother.

But as delightful a rascal as Zac might be, Rose had to admit she found George far more intriguing. She didn’t know him yet—she had to accept that and start all over again—but she felt something when she was with George that she had never felt with anyone. A kind of peace. Maybe a feeling of belonging. Though how she could feel that way after he had treated her as cold as yesterday’s fish supper she didn’t understand.

She couldn’t forget those ten minutes in the Bon Ton. She had offered to work for the George Randolph she met there. Somewhere, somehow, she had lost him. She must find him again because she had seen in the stranger in the restaurant the kind of man she wanted to marry.

She would never forget her mother’s unhappiness during the long months when her father was away. She could still see the tears glistening on her mother’s cheeks as she sat and stared at her father’s picture. She could still remember her own tears when her mother died and her father wasn’t there to comfort her.

His wife and daughter had always been second to his career.

Maybe she had read too many fairy tales, but she had always dreamed of finding a man who would never leave her, who would make her the center of his life, who would always keep her safe.

The kind of man she thought George was.

She hadn’t realized it until just now, but she had come perilously close to falling in love with him.

What woman wouldn’t?

He had rescued her when danger threatened. He had been concerned for her welfare. He had been considerate of her feelings. He had thrown a cordon of protection around her that no one could breach. She had felt cherished. Well, perhaps that was an overstatement, but she had felt valued, important.

Now all traces of that man had disappeared. She didn’t know whether George had been acting the part of the Southern gentleman or whether he had a reason for pretending to be much colder than he really was. Everyone in this family seemed a little peculiar. And from what she’d heard from the two she’d met, nobody seemed to get along with anyone else.

Maybe George had been acting a part.

No, her original impression had to be true. Something had caused him to close her out. If she could just discover what it was, maybe she could bring back the man who had made such an indelible impression on her heart.

In the meantime, however, she had dishes to wash, a kitchen to clean, and dinner to fix. And she’d have to hurry if she intended to be ready at seven o’clock. She had every confidence George and his legion of brothers would be knocking at the door at six fifty-nine.