He dropped his arm over her waist and tugged her closer. She laughed as he proceeded to shower her face with kisses.
“Shouldn’t we get back?” she protested weakly.
“What for?” he asked with a yawn. It was a lazy Sunday afternoon, and he appeared fully prepared to make the most of his day of rest—if gathering wood could be called resting. Though for them it was more an enjoyable outing, spending hours alone among the trees. No customers to attend to, either for his blacksmith work or her sculptures.
People came from out of town these days, having heard of their shop. They came to see superior wrought-iron work and fanciful creatures carved from wood. Children gawked over one special display of a mermaid—not for sale—in honor of Rose’s father. And parents spent good money to buy items, both practical and whimsical, for their own homes.
“We have supper at the Stones’ this evening,” Rose reminded Emmett.
“Do we?”
“You know we do. And I want to give Aggie her baby blanket. I finished it last night.”
“How many, exactly, does that make?”
“One can never have too many baby blankets,” she said virtuously.
“That boy of theirs will be spoiled,” he warned.
“He deserves spoiling.” There was no arguing with that, surely. Caleb was such a sweet boy, just one month old now. Full of robust energy. How teensy tiny Aggie had ever produced such a strapping youngster was a mystery.
“All right then.” Emmett made a show of climbing to his feet, as if it were some great effort.
He extended his hands to Rose and helped her to her feet as well.
“And...” she continued coyly, playing with a button on his shirt, “I was thinking of starting another blanket later tonight...”
“Were you?” He shook his head in disbelief. “Another blanket for Caleb?”
“Oh no.” She turned and flounced the skirt of her white linen day dress as she walked around to her side of the wagon bench. “This one will be for ours.”
Emmett followed behind her. Perhaps her words hadn’t registered as yet, for he simply helped her up onto the bench. He then went around to the team and hitched them. She sat there, looking down at him from her perch, waiting.
“Ours?” he echoed, puzzled, as he adjusted this and that leather strap.
“Mmm-hmm.”
“A baby?”
“Indeed.” She folded her hands placidly in her lap. “Could you fetch my bonnet, dear?”
“Your bonnet?”
She pointed back to where she’d dropped it. “And those sticks as well, if you don’t mind.”
He frowned, that one familiar sliver of a line appearing between his brows, and jogged off to pick up her bonnet and the sticks. In his grasp, her bundle of wood appeared weightless. He looked prepared to toss it in the back of the wagon with the firewood.
“Take care with those,” she told him, turning halfway in her seat to see him better. “I want those separate. Please.”
It was a request he’d heard easily a hundred times by now.
“All right.” He carefully set her sticks to one side in a separate grouping. That done, he hurried around to the bench and climbed up. He settled her bonnet on her head, leaving her to tie the ribbons.
“Your boots?” she asked.
“They’re in the back.”
“You’re not going to put them on—”
“Rose,” he interrupted.
“Yes?”
Emmett stared at his own sweet Rose in wonder. “A baby...” he murmured. “Our baby?”
He watched as she finished tying a bow under her chin with neat efficient movements. She seemed so calm. He couldn’t have knotted the ribbons himself at the moment if he’d tried. A baby. Which meant they were to be parents. He’d be a father.
It was a good thing they’d moved into the Hammonds’ old house across the street... They’d need the room. Boston was there even now, lolling about in the shade of the front porch, no doubt. That was how they’d left him. He never wandered off.
Rose smiled at Emmett, obviously pleased to have surprised him so thoroughly.
“How long have you known?”
“I’ve suspected for the past few weeks. I’m certain now.” Rose’s cheeks pinkened delightfully.
“Which means we’ll have a baby when?” He couldn’t do even the simplest math at the moment.
“It’s early days yet, too soon to tell for sure, but I suspect sometime in April. Do you think your mother would come out?”
“For a grandbaby? We couldn’t stop her.” Rose hadn’t suggested her own mother, which wasn’t surprising. The two of them kept in contact, now and then, but their relationship was simply different. Cordial. Rose had only met his mother once in person, a few months ago when they’d traveled back to Virginia to visit his parents’ horse farm, and his mother had immediately drawn Rose into the family.
“Emmett?”
He waited, brows lifted in question, just looking at her. She didn’t appear any different. Not in any way whatsoever. Well, maybe her skin did glow a bit more than usual. He had put that down to an energetic walk through the woods.
“If it’s a boy,” she said, “would you mind if we named him after my father?”
Her father had meant the world to her. They’d been so close. But to Emmett’s memory, she’d never mentioned her father’s name.
“Tobias,” she added softly. It was a good name. Thankfully nothing that made an unfortunate rhyme.
Emmett took her hands in his. “I’d be delighted. Tobias Southerland sounds like the perfect name.”
“I love you. Did you know that?” It was his Rose’s way of saying “thank you.”
“Mmm-hmm.” Emmett proceeded to kiss her senseless, his way of saying most anything.
With glad tidings, we announce
the birth of our dear sweet daughter,
Aurora Tobias Southerland,
born April 5, 1882.
Dear Reader,
I hope you’ve enjoyed Rose and Emmett’s sweet story as much as I enjoyed writing it.
This story meant a lot to me. You see, it’s been a while since I’ve been able to complete a new book.
We moved last year, leaving our home of 24 years. I guess you could say I’m not one who adjusts easily to change. My dad also passed away recently. To say that touched my life doesn’t quite say enough.
Enter Rose. Now, I’m not Rose by a long stretch. But in writing her story, I found we shared some common ground, perhaps unsurprisingly. Writers do tend to subconsciously explore their feelings about life through their stories. However it came about, I’m thankful to Rose for helping me through a whole bunch of changes in my life.
Fun fact: I didn’t realize until over halfway through this journey with Rose that Sweet Briar Rose had an underlying Sleeping Beauty theme. Perhaps the name Rose should have clued me in sooner? Or all the references to sleeping? Such is the joy of the creative process.
One word of warning: Though Rose and Emmett contemplate burning driftwood to heat the house, evidently that produces toxic fumes. So, please do not try this at home!
Many thanks for coming along this journey with me. I appreciate it very much!
—Lena
Also By Lena Goldfinch
HISTORICAL ROMANCE
Sweet Briar Rose
THE BRIDES SERIES
(Historical Inspirational Romance)
The Unexpected Bride
Sleigh Bells & Mistletoe
The Bartered Bride
Only the Heart Knows
BOOKS FOR YOUNG ADULTS & TEENS
The Language of Souls
Aire
Songstone
Haunting Joy: Book 1
Haunting Joy: Book 2
Take a Picture
Only the Heart Knows
Lena Goldfinch
Mandy MacKenna is secretly the voice behind Ask Mack, an advice column for men, addressing all matters
ranching-related. And she's secretly in love with "Banks," one of her most devoted correspondents. But whenever she's around him, she can barely bring herself to make eye-contact with the man.
Adam Booker is a banker-turned-rancher, who's struggling to make his way after he inherits his uncle's place. If not for Ask Mack, he would have surely floundered by now. But the ranch is only one of his problems, because the woman he has a romantic interest in—a natural beauty by the name of Mandy MacKenna, daughter of the region's wealthiest rancher—seems less than interested in him.
A sweet romance of secrets and revelations ensues...
EXCERPT
A look of alarm crossed the postmistress's face. "Miss Amanda! Behind you!"
Mandy spun around, expecting to find a crate on the boardwalk behind her.
What she collided with instead was a wall of chest. A man. Strong arms fastened around her, preventing her from tumbling backward off the boardwalk into the street. He set her back a bit without releasing her.
"I'm so sorry..." she said. Her words stumbled to a stop as she found her bearings and met the man's eyes. A pair of piercing blue eyes that reminded her of the deepest blue sky.
Those eyes.
Adam Booker's eyes.
He stood before her, so close. His face oh-so familiar. Freshly shaven, it looked like. Handsome. Refined. And yet entirely masculine. The ends of his dark, richly brown hair curling to just above his collar. Broad shoulders. That brown Stetson. A bright blue chambray shirt. A pair of nicely worn denims. Polished boots.
A banker in rancher's duds.
Lordy.
All Mandy's breath hitched up in her chest, making her lightheaded.
"Miss MacKenna," he said. She wondered if he was aware that he was idly smoothing his hands down her sleeves in a most familiar fashion. As if checking her for damage. Leaving a trail of tingles wherever he touched.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
She shivered. Not from cold. For she wasn't cold. Not in the least.
"I'm fine, sir. I mean, Mr. Booker. Sir." Oh, why had she said that? She'd called him sir. Twice. She sounded a fool, all breathless and overwhelmed with his closeness.
Mandy felt Miss Judith's curious gaze resting on them from the post office doorway. Miss Judith, who knew Mandy's secret. That she was the real face behind Ask Mack. Mandy had never revealed that Adam was Banks, but Miss Judith may well have figured it out.
Mandy answered Adam privately these days. And they'd become friends through their letters. A treasure she didn't wish to share with all of Cross Creek.
And here she was, Mack, standing with Banks on the boardwalk.
With his hands clasping her shoulders. Which felt so...right.
Something shifted inside Mandy. The usual butterflies danced inside her stomach, as they always did whenever she saw him, but this time she also felt the tiniest of clicks. Like something broken coming together. And with it came a rush of awareness that just yesterday she'd felt something missing in her life.
Was it this? That she belonged with him, Banks? A rather romantic notion. Especially since they'd only shared a few lovely dances. Adam couldn't possibly know when she looked at him, she saw a dear friend. And she could hardly expect him to view her with the same deep regard. Adam Booker didn't see her as a dear friend. How could he? He was possibly no more interested in Miss Amanda MacKenna than he was in a grasshopper hopping down the middle of Main Street.
He certainly didn't know she was Mack.
Not that she wanted him to know. He'd feel betrayed. Duped.
By her.
Get your copy of Only the Heart Knows.
Acknowledgments
To all my family and friends, with love and appreciation.
To Amber Stokes Holcomb, my copyeditor, for our long-term, long-distance friendship. I appreciate your encouragement and help editing this book. It’s always a joy to work with you. Thank you!
Special thanks to my dear friend Linda Sproul for our Tuesday get-togethers. I appreciate your unwavering support and encouragement (especially over this past year). Your friendship is a lifeboat. I miss having you close by.
To Mom for your enthusiasm over every book.
To Eliza and Evan for encouraging my writing over the years.
And, finally, to Paul, with all my love.
LENA GOLDFINCH is the Amazon-bestselling author of historical romance and books for teens. She’s always been a sucker for a good old-fashioned romance, whether it’s a novel or short story, young adult or adult, fantasy or realistic, contemporary or historical. Lena has been a finalist in several national writing contests, including the RWA Golden Heart and ACFW Genesis contests.
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Where can reach me:
www.LenaGoldfinch.com
[email protected]
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual events or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
Sweet Briar Rose © 2018 by Lena Goldfinch
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover Design: Lena Goldfinch
Cover Images © Period Images, iStock, Pixabay
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Epilogue
Dear Reader,
Also By Lena Goldfinch
Excerpt
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Sweet Briar Rose Page 14
