Rose(51)

Still her hope remained suspended by a slender thread.

In George’s last words, she finally got another glimpse of the man who had come to her rescue in the Bon Ton. No man still in his prime could think of being in love with the same woman for forty years unless he was the kind of man that dreams were made of. Nor wonder about the magic of giving birth.

This was the George she had first seen, the George who had caused her to take this job, the George she had fallen in love with. Could she rescue him from himself? She didn’t know, but as long as she knew he still existed, she would try.





“Make sure you do everything your brothers tell you.”

Zac looked mulish. “I won’t listen to Tyler.”

“Nobody but Hen and Monty will give you orders,” George said, “but if you get into trouble, you latch on to the person closest to you.” This was the first time Zac would be going out without him, and George was a little nervous. Anything could happen with longhorns.

Zac’s expression didn’t change.

“If you don’t promise, you’ll have to stay home.”

That threat broke Zac’s resistance. George was certain he would have agreed to obey a girl in order to go with his brothers.

“Don’t let him out of your sight,” Rose said to Hen. “You know Monty is too impatient to keep an eye on him.”

George found himself feeling jealous of the bond of understanding he saw developing between Hen and Rose. She allowed Monty to flirt with her, even tease and flatter her, but she depended on Hen.

She depends on you more than anyone else.

But knowing that didn’t eliminate the feeling of jealousy. George groaned inwardly. He was tired of being jealous and feeling bad about it. Would it always be this way with women, or was it just Rose?

“Bye,” Zac called back as he rode away, his sunny mood restored by getting to ride between Monty and Hen.

“You realize you won’t be able to keep him home after this,” Rose said.

“He should never have been kept here this long,” George said, his thoughts taking a leap back through the years. “My father gave me my first horse on my second birthday. On my third he taught me how to jump. I fell off. He cursed me and my mother when I cried.”

“I’m surprised you ever got back on a horse again,” Rose said.

“He put me back on before I’d stopped crying, and made me take the jump again. I’m told I fell off a total of eleven times that afternoon, but I learned to jump. Before I was four, I was following my father over some of the roughest country in northern Virginia.”

He was certain Rose could hear the rancor in his voice. After all this time, it was as strong as ever.

“My child won’t be put on a horse until he’s old enough to know how to stay there,” Rose stated emphatically. “And he won’t be put over any jumps until he wants to.”

“Then don’t marry a Virginian or an Englishman,” George warned. “They believe a man should come into the world knowing how to jump.”

George found it difficult to concentrate on the tasks Rose gave him. All he could think about was her nearness. Her appearance had changed as she had become more relaxed around them. She now wore her hair loose. Though it deprived him of the opportunity to glimpse the tempting spot at the back of her neck, it made her look even prettier. Younger and more innocent. More piquant.

Exercise had put color in her cheeks. Working under the hot Texas sun had given her a fine dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose and her cheekbones. Her ears disappeared under the cascading ringlets of her hair, but she wore tighter-fitting dresses of thinner material with lower necklines. Apparently she had quite a store of clothes purchased before her father’s death.

George noticed that fine droplets of perspiration had caused the dress to mold itself to her body and become nearly transparent. At such times, no matter how hard he tried to concentrate on his work, his attention kept coming back to Rose.

And her body.

Every night since they had gone berry picking, he had lain in his bed dreaming of her lips, her kisses, the feel of her in his arms. It was driving him mad to keep his distance, not to touch her.

“Why don’t we go for a walk?” George suggested. “It’s too hot to work.”

Rose didn’t look at him. “I can’t. I’ve got a stew on the stove. And I still have to put the dishes up, straighten your room, and change the beds.”

“I’ll help.”

“No.” She didn’t look at him, but she sounded definite.

George put his hand under her chin and lifted it until their gazes met.

“Why not?”