Rose(83)

You have no idea, and you aren’t likely to figure it out by sitting up all night. The sensible thing to do is go to bed, get a good night’s sleep, and be ready to deal with it in the morning.

Suppose he didn’t come back?

She didn’t have to worry about that. George would be back. He took his responsibilities seriously.

But suppose he didn’t want to tell her what was wrong. How could she convince him to confide in her? He had to. No marriage could prosper when such secrets existed between husband and wife.

Her husband! She still couldn’t get used to it. She was married. To George. She was his wife. Their marriage had happened so suddenly and unexpectedly, it was hard to believe. Maybe George felt the same.

Maybe he had mistaken his feelings and was now drowning his sorrows in strong drink. Maybe he had married her for convenience and didn’t care about his wedding night. It was possible he was fond of her but that his feelings were very tepid.

Hers were powerful. More powerful than she had realized.

Rose had had no idea how much she loved George until he had escorted her upstairs after all the congratulations were over and told her he would be back after a while.

Only then did she realize how much she had looked forward to being alone with him. Only then did she fully realize how keenly it could hurt to know he didn’t return her love, that living with George might be far more painful than living without him.

Had she made a mistake in marrying a man who didn’t love her? Had she fixed her gaze too firmly on her dream and failed to see the man? Had she been too absorbed with her hopes for the future, the sounds of happy children filling every corner of the house, George’s love and devotion filling every corner of her heart?

Wake up, princess! Rose said harshly to herself. The dragon is dead and the knight has gone home. It’s time to get on with the rest of your life.

But without George’s love, there was no reason to bother.





Rose was startled awake by a knock at the door. She had been dozing. The lamp burned low. It must be long after midnight. She turned up the wick and reached for her wrap. “Who is it?” she said, her lips close to the door.

“It’s George.” It was Salty’s voice.

The fear she had pushed aside all night gripped her. Something had happened to George. In her haste to get the door open, she fumbled the key in the lock, then dropped it. She was almost frantic by the time she flung the door open.

Salty and George stood before her, Salty holding George up.

George had been drinking. She didn’t know how much, but it didn’t look as if he could stand by himself. Her fear changed to despair. It was useless to be angry.

“Bring him in,” she said, stepping back. “Where did you find him?”

She didn’t really want to know. She didn’t want to hear that George had gone through every saloon in town trying to forget he’d gotten married, that not even the lure of his wedding night could make him face his bride before he was practically insensible.

“You shouldn’t have waited up,” George said. His words came out slowly, with great effort.

“I was worried about you,” Rose said.

“Everybody in town had to drink his health,” Salty explained. “He’s got to have a head of steel just to be conscious after all that.”

Rose added another item to her list of barbaric customs men seemed to enjoy.

Salty started to help George enter the room, but George waved him away. “Would you see if you could find me some coffee?” he asked Salty.

“You hate coffee,” Rose said.

“I hate feeling drunk even more,” George said, sounding a little more like himself. “Besides, I only kept drinking to avoid having to face the truth. Any man foolish enough to do that deserves a worse punishment than coffee.”

“I’ll get some if I have to get the cook out of bed,” Salty promised. Then he disappeared.

George carefully closed the door behind Salty. He wasn’t entirely steady on his feet, but he could walk. He crossed the room and carefully lowered himself into a chair. Rose didn’t dare offer to help him. She sat down on the edge of the bed and waited, her hands in her lap.

Waited for the ax to fall. For George to tell her he didn’t love her, that their marriage had been a mistake, that he was going back to the ranch and leaving her in Austin.

Waited for him to say her life was over.

Yet despite her own heartache, she couldn’t help but feel some sympathy for him. He looked as miserable and unhappy as she felt. She had never seen him drunk. She hadn’t even seen him take a drink. He must feel truly desperate to go to such an extreme.

“My head isn’t working too well, so this may not make any sense,” George said. “It was stupid of me to drink all those toasts, especially when I don’t drink. I knew I’d have to explain everything to you in the end.” George fell silent. He seemed to be looking at something only he could see. “My father never got drunk. He just got mean. And reckless.”