Rose(50)

As Zac chattered away, proudly telling his brother which berries were ripe and showing him how to twist through the vines to reach the choicest fruit, George allowed his eyes to wander to where Rose picked, safely back from the creek bank. He continued to receive thorn pricks for his inattention until Zac sharply adjured him to stop looking at Rose and watch what he was doing.

“There’s nothing going to happen to her as long as she stays back from the creek,” he told his brother.

But he couldn’t. Those kisses, so few in number, had blasted a hole in the fortifications he had built around his heart, a breach he knew he could never repair. He was vulnerable now. He would never be able to forget the feel of her in his arms as they kissed.

But he would have to make himself act like he could. And he would have to begin by not looking at her every five minutes. He forced himself to keep his eyes on his work, to listen to Zac, to concentrate on avoiding the thorns. Slowly his body relaxed, the tension left his groin.

He didn’t like it, but he did it anyway. As Rose had said, there was no point in dreaming about what you couldn’t have. It only made you feel sorry for yourself. And George refused to do that.

“I want to apologize for my behavior back there,” George said to Rose. They had reached the house, their baskets full.

“There’s no need,” Rose said.

“Yes, there is. I employed you to work here. I had no right to take advantage of you that way.”

“You didn’t—”

“You’re a lovely woman, and I admire you tremendously. You’re kind to Zac, you placate Tyler and Jeff, you put up with Hen and Monty. I certainly have no right to ask you to put up with my attentions.”

“Is that all you feel about me?” Rose asked. She seemed hurt. “I’m kind, tolerant, and a good housekeeper?”

Why did she have to ask him that question? Did she have any idea how hard he tried not to think of the way he felt about her? How hard he was struggling this very minute to pretend he felt nothing, or not much?

“I feel a lot more.”

“Such as?”

He should have sent her into the house and busied himself unsaddling the horses. He should have kept his mind on his work and off his feelings for Rose.

“I like it when you’re around. I feel more at ease. We’re a happier family. You’ve brought a kind of magic, something we lacked.”

“So now I’m a chemical reaction.”

But George didn’t hear her. He seemed to be talking to himself more than her.

“I keep thinking how nice it is to have you here when we come home. I wonder what it would be like to hold you close on a winter’s evening when it’s snowing outside and the fire’s dying down. I wonder what it would feel like to witness the birth of your first child. What you’ll look like when you’re a grandmother. What it would be like to love someone, knowing you will love them even more forty years from now. I wonder all sorts of improper things.”

Rose swallowed. “There’s nothing improper about those thoughts. Any woman would be fortunate to have a husband who felt that way about her.”





Rose lay in her bed, unable to sleep. With all the work she had to do, she couldn’t afford to lie awake. Yet restless nights were getting to be a habit.

Why had she let George kiss her? More importantly, why had she enjoyed it so much she had kissed him back? Why had she let him think it was all right?

For days she had been telling herself not to read anything into his actions except kindness. He had no interest in her except as a housekeeper. He had said that. There was no chance of a future together.

She couldn’t get the memories of her father out of her mind. George would be just as bad. Maybe worse.

She couldn’t stand that.

Yet she hadn’t stopped him.

It wouldn’t have taken much, just a word or a gesture. But she had done nothing. Worse, she had encouraged him to think she welcomed his attention.

If he now thought she would sacrifice her virtue for him, she had no one to blame but herself. If he thought her a strumpet, it was her own fault. Worse still, knowing all this, she longed to feel his arms around her again.

She must have fallen in love with George.

There could be no other reason for her behavior. She would have fought, kicked, and screamed if Luke had dared kiss her. Yet she had melted into George’s arms as if she belonged there, and she hadn’t wanted to leave.

There could be only one end to this.

To give in to him, only to be abandoned later, would break her heart. She would have to be the one to exercise control. Though she could think of nothing more wonderful than to spend the night in his arms, one night, no matter how blissful, was not worth the rest of her life.