George wondered how he had been able to keep his hands off her for two weeks. He wondered even more why the need to touch her should suddenly overwhelm him. Maybe it had been this way with his father. If so, he understood why his father had failed so often.
“I’ll take you into town if you would like.”
“Maybe soon. I’m content to stay here for the time being.”
George didn’t realize he had been anxious about her answer until he felt himself relax. Apparently his jealousy extended to every man who might look at her. He waited for the wonderful feeling of contentment, but it didn’t come today. His whole body felt as taut as his groin.
“What do you plan to do with the berries?”
“I want to make a pie. Zac wants jam.”
Talking about jams and jellies, canning vegetables, digging potatoes, drying peas and beans, planting collards and spinach so they would have something green to eat during the winter, should have bored him.
But it excited him. It meant Rose was planning to stay.
George forgot he was like his father. He thought of nothing but Rose’s beauty and how much he longed to hold her in his arms and kiss her until they melted into one another.
They reached the berries too soon. George was out of the saddle and next to Rose in a flash.
“I can get down by myself,” she said.
But he already had his hands around her waist. They stayed there, and Rose stayed in the saddle.
“Are you going to let me down?” she asked.
She tried to turn it off lightly, but George could see she felt the tension between them just as much as he did. He lifted her down. Rose turned within the circle of his hands to untie her baskets from the saddle.
“Do you mean to keep me pinned against this horse all afternoon?”
George let his hands drop slowly. “I’ll let you go, but I’d rather not. I never realized how lovely you are.”
“It’s hard to look attractive slaving over a stove or a boiling wash pot,” Rose said, moving away from George toward the berries that hung heavy on the vines. She smiled at him, a little coquettishly, George thought. “It’s surprising what a new hat and a pretty dress can do.”
“It’s not the clothes—”
“Not that this hat or dress is new,” Rose continued, her gaze on the berries she had begun to pick rapidly. “I haven’t been able to buy anything this nice since Daddy died. Get a basket and start picking,” she directed when she looked around and saw George still standing by the horses. “We’ll be here all afternoon if I have to do it all myself.”
George staked the horses, picked up a basket, and started picking. But he spent so much time looking over at Rose that his fingers soon bore the marks of dozens of thorn pricks.
“They’re supposed to be blackberries, not red,” Rose said, noticing the drops of blood welling up on his hands.
“I don’t seem to have your skill at avoiding thorns.”
“You would if you’d watch what you’re doing.”
“I’d much rather watch you.”
George’s directness flustered Rose, but not enough to slow her work.
“Maybe I should have waited for Zac. He picks faster than you do.”
“He probably eats more, too.”
“Probably,” Rose agreed.
But the tension remained between them. The sky was cloudy and the breeze cool, but George’s blood grew hotter.
“He can’t appreciate you the way I do.”
“I don’t know. You ought to see the way he devours blackberry jam. I wonder what happened to him.”
George threw his basket down and marched over to Rose. He spun her around to face him. “You can’t prefer the attentions of a six-year-old to mine.”
“He’s safer.”
“I thought I was St. George, slayer of dragons and protector extraordinaire?”
“I always wondered what he did with the princess after he killed the dragon. My book didn’t say.”
“If she looked as lovely as you, he must have carried her off to his castle.”
George never intended to kiss Rose. He wanted her so badly his joints ached from the tension, his screaming nerves made his skin protest against the roughness of his clothes, but he never intended to touch her. Now it seemed impossible not to. She seemed to fit naturally into the circle of his arms. Her head seemed to automatically lean back to meet his lips as they descended on hers.
Everything seemed so natural, so right. Her lips felt soft and warm under his. Just as he had dreamed so many times. Her lips quivered in hesitation, then met his lips firm and eager. They tasted sweet. He wondered why he hadn’t thought to kiss her before. He wondered if his father had felt this way.