Briar Rose

by Caroline Lee

The restaurant he’d one day have, that is. The restaurant that would be the talk of Everland…the talk of Wyoming. With her baking, it could be.

  Instead of mentioning his dream, though, he just swallowed with a smile, and then sighed and opened his eyes. Just in time to see her take a bite of the rest of the tart she held. Something about her nibbling at his sweet—where his lips had just touched—made his trousers just a bit tighter than usual. Maybe it was her pink tongue, darting out to catch not-quite-all of the crumbs, or maybe it was the look of genuine pleasure in her eyes.

  She sure was special.

  “Lass, I can honestly say that’s the best apple tart I’ve ever tasted.”

  Briar smiled, and he felt it in his stomach. Focus, Gordy lad, or you’ll lose control of your tongue again.

  “I’m glad to know that you enjoyed it, Mr. MacKinnon.”

  “Gordon, aye?” After all, they’d been working beside each other for the last month, out at her parents’ farm, even if he hadn’t been able to say more than a few words to her at a time.

  But she just blushed pink again, and dropped her gaze from his. “Gordon,” she all but whispered.

  “Ye’ve got a gift, Miss Briar, and we’re all lucky to taste part of it today.” He hadn’t even tried the wedding cake, but knew it would be delicious. It would have to be.

  “Just Briar, please.” He smiled to see her blush deepen. She really could turn pink, couldn’t she?

  “Oh, lass.” Maybe the hoarseness in his voice relayed something of his true feelings, because her gaze snapped back to his. “Ye could never be just Briar.” Not to me, anyhow.

  Her jaw slackened and her lips parted at that confession, and Gordon almost groaned. For months, he’d been working around and near her, and hadn’t been able to have this much of a conversation with her. And now, now that he was finally speaking to her, he found himself more attracted to her than he could’ve imagined, in those long, lonely nights staring at the ceiling in his room.

  But to see her looking at him, with that innocent expression? He might’ve thought himself attracted to her before this moment, but she’d never before looked up at him with such a mixture of confusion and hope and a sprinkling of want. He wasn’t sure what she was asking for, but he knew what he wanted to give her.

  The smart thing to do would’ve been to step back, to put some distance between them, to make his polite goodbyes while he was still able. The smart thing to do would’ve been to keep his hands fisted firmly in his pockets, and to keep smiling like the look in her eyes hadn’t done something deep in his belly.

  Well, no one had ever accused him of being a smart man.

  Gordon lifted his hand to her face, his fingers caressing her cheek as he used the pad of his thumb to brush against her lower lip. The crumbs fell from her skin, and he was almost overcome with the desire to taste them both—her lips and the crumbs.

  Briar had gone absolutely still when he’d touched her, and he realized she’d stopped breathing. That was alright, though; he was holding his breath, too. Somehow, it seemed right, to not ruin the moment with something as trivial as breathing.

  That moment was frozen, as they stood, him touching her lips and her staring up at him in wonder; a little pool of stillness among the frenzy of their neighbors. It was a moment that Gordon wanted to last forever.

  And maybe it would’ve, if a loud burst of conversation from behind him hadn’t startled them both, made them blink, made them remember where they were. And who they were.

  She stepped backward, bumping against the table and making the glasses beside the lemonade pitchers sway. “I…” She swallowed, and her eyes darted furiously around the room. “I have to go… Go…”

  And then, without finishing her excuse, she darted around him and through the crowd. Gordon sighed, and rubbed his hand—the hand that was still warm from her lips—over his eyes. He’d see her tomorrow, and the day after, and he hoped to God that this meant that he’d finally be able to talk to her, to have a real conversation. But would she forgive him for the way he’d touched her, just now?

  And a deeper, more desperate part of him wondered…would he ever be able to touch her again?

  CHAPTER TWO

  Briar wasn’t sure if it was unseasonably hot for early October, or if it was just the last few hours’ hard work that was making her so uncomfortable. Or maybe it was a different reason entirely.

  Today—just a day after Gordon had touched her at Zelle’s wedding—Briar and Thorn were paired with him out in the Jorgenson wheat fields. Was that a coincidence? Or did Fate somehow have a hand in keeping him this close to her? They’d worked together plenty in the past weeks, but today was different; today she knew what it felt like to be touched by him.

  And wasn’t that just torturous? To watch those grand hands, wrapped around the grain cradle’s handle, and remember what they felt like against her skin? Against her lip… Briar had lain awake in her little bed until almost midnight last night, reliving those glorious moments in the church hall, and wondering if she’d have the chance to be touched by him again.

  In the months that she’d known and admired him from afar, she hadn’t dreamed that he’d touch her. Their weekly evenings in Mrs. Spratt’s kitchen were usually quiet, only speaking when necessary. And even though he’d been working for her family for the last few weeks, helping with the harvest, he hadn’t said more than a few words at a time to her. Of course, she’d caught him looking more than once, but any time she’d tried to start a conversation with him, he’d been uninterested.

  It had been frustrating because Briar very much wanted to start a conversation with him. He was tall and strong, and so very fascinating. But a girl knew when a man just wasn’t interested in her, and despite his stares, Briar had known that about Gordon MacKinnon.

  Until yesterday. Until he’d touched her.

  “Come on, Briar! I’m catching up!” Thorn was twelve and already taller than his only sister, although still as skinny as a green bean. He had a few more years before he’d be as strong as his brothers, which is why their parents often paired him with Briar. She would stack the wheat that Gordon left in piles, and Thorn would bundle it into shocks. But while she sat here chewing on her lip—was it her imagination, or was it still sensitive from Gordon’s touch?—her youngest brother was getting impatient for more bundles.

  Sticking her tongue out at Thorn, she bent back over the line of cut grain, glad that she’d worn her boots and gloves to protect from the harsh winter wheat, but wishing her skirts weren’t so heavy in the hot noon sun. It felt like they’d been out there forever and her stomach was beginning to rumble.

  But still, another half-hour passed in the way it had all morning; Thorn chattering about absolutely anything that came to his mind, and Briar occasionally finding the breath to agree or disagree. Of the four Jorgenson children, the youngest was the most outgoing and probably the smartest, if Briar had to guess. Bram was seventeen and Brack was fifteen, and they were both big, brawny, and blonde, just like Pa. Nana Rose may have insisted they have Swenssen names, but they were Jorgensons through-and-through. Briar was the only one of the batch that inherited Nana Rose’s brown hair and shorter frame; even Thorn was showing signs of being Pa’s size. He was also the one who learned the most from Nana Rose’s outgoing nature.

  He was in the middle of explaining to a half-listening Briar about how steamships worked, when she happened to glance up. And stopped breathing.

  Gordon had worked his way back down the field toward them, and now swung his grain cradle not ten feet from where Briar stood, bent over at the waist, with her ample rear end in the air. Slowly, she straightened, the pain in her lower back and her brother’s chattering receding into the background. Absolutely every fiber of her being was focused on the broad back in front of her, the shoulders under the damp cotton and the trousers that seemed to hug every curve of his legs.

  He wore the high boots he’d brought to Everland in the spring, and she remembered
thinking how European he’d appeared then, with his heavenly accent and the courtly manners he’d learned from traveling with Vincenzo. Now though, he only wore those boots when he was working in the fields—with her—so they were sort of special.

  He wasn’t wearing a hat today, unlike her and Thorn, and his long blonde hair hung in a tail down his back, limp and somehow mysterious in the hot sun. He was the first man she’d ever met with hair longer than hers, and it continued to fascinate her.

  “Briar? Are you paying attention to what I’m saying?”

  Still completely enthralled by the sight of Gordon’s shoulders and upper arms while he swung the wooden cradle, Briar muttered, “No.”

  “Well, why not?” Thorn sounded peevish.

  Because I’m watching something much more interesting.

  Her brother snorted. “Like what?”

  Oh heavens, did I say that out loud?

  “Yeah, you did. And what’s so interesting about Gordon working? Bram works faster.”

  Briar frowned, wondering if she was muttering everything aloud again, one of her bad habits. And maybe she would’ve said something snippy to her youngest brother, about listening to her thoughts when he shouldn’t, but Gordon turned around then.

  Whoops. Had she thought his back and shoulders were impressive, the way sweat caused the cotton of his shirt to mold to the muscles he’d built by doing hard work? Well, his chest was even more exciting, and Briar couldn’t make herself stop staring at the dips and bulges under the white material. What was wrong with her?

  She heard the smile in his voice though, when he said, “Bram might work faster, lad, but I’m stronger.” Goodness gracious, yes he is! Briar tore her gaze away from the wet cotton to catch his grin. Did he know what had held her attention? Did he know that she was still thinking about the way he’d touched her lip yesterday?

  Thorn grunted rudely. “Alright, yeah. That’s why it takes two of us to keep up with you, I suppose.”

  Gordon’s smile grew as he shifted his weight until he was leaning on the long handle of the cradle, and looked up the long line of wheat bundles she and Thorn had done already that morning. “An’ ye’ve done a fine job. There’s still enough hours in the afternoon to finish this section, I think, but I could use a break.” And that’s when he pierced her with his gaze, and Briar felt a little faint. Probably from the heat. “Who else is hungry?”

  She couldn’t have answered if she had to, not with those mysterious amber-brown eyes on her, but Thorn had no such problem. “Me! I’ll go see what Ma’s got for Bram and Brack!”

  The boy pushed himself off his knees and went running toward the distant house with more energy than Briar would’ve thought he possessed, after the last few hours complaining about the heat. But she didn’t begrudge him the excitement. Besides, it left her alone with Gordon.

  Who was smiling at her.

  Heavens, he had a nice smile, didn’t he? It was—besides his hair—one of the first things she’d noticed about him when she’d started to surreptitiously watch him months ago. He sort of half-smiled, one side of his mouth drawn up much farther than the other, as if he was laughing at himself. She wondered if it was natural, or if he’d learned to do it to hide the two chipped teeth on his right side…and if those chipped teeth came from the same fight his broken nose had. Between that crooked nose, crooked smile, and all-too-sharp amber gaze, just a glance from Gordon could make her insides go all squishy.

  Like right now. Briar had no idea how long they’d stood there staring at one another after her brother scampered off…but it could’ve been forever as far as she was concerned. It might’ve been.

  Finally, he lifted a hand and ran it across his head. “Well, lass? Will ye join me fer a meal? I left my hat an’ my lunch pail by the stream, an’ I thought that’d be a nice place t’ rest.” Was it her imagination, or did he lack the confidence she’d seen him display with his friends?

  And did it matter? “Of course!” She preferred her own company to her family’s during their daily lunch break, but she’d happily join Gordon instead. “Lead the way.”

  That crooked smile again, and then he dropped the wooden tool and ambled toward the copse of trees that hid the stream. Her own lunch pail was under the aspens, so she scooped it up as she went by. In no time, they were seated in the shades beside the stream, enjoying the sound of the water over the rocks.

  As she unpacked her meal of leftover ham and chocolate eclairs, Briar watched him spread his food out on a napkin. Fried chicken, some cheese, and a few apples. Since he worked at Spratt’s Eatery in the evening, he probably just ate leftovers from the night before.

  He didn’t seem inclined to chat, so they both settled to eat. While he was occupied, Briar pulled off her heavy work boots and stockings, and then scooted to the edge of the stream, where she could dangle her feet in the cool water and eat one of her eclairs. They were her—and Zelle’s—favorites, and these were the last of the batch she’d made for her friend’s wedding.

  “So… Briar?” Gordon’s deep voice startled her, and she twisted to see what he wanted. He cleared his throat when she met his eyes and looked away. Was he…was he nervous? “Bram an’ Brack?” Oh, he was just asking about their names, she supposed. They were unusual. “I heard yer mother call him Bracken once, aye?”

  Briar swallowed and shrugged slightly before pulling out a chunk of ham, sandwiched between two pieces of bread, to munch on in an entirely unladylike manner. “Bracken and Bramble, yep.”

  “And Briar?”

  “Briar Rose. Which is even worse, if you ask me. And Thorn is actually Thomas because Pa demand that one of them be named after his side of the family; but we all call him Thorn because…” She waved the sandwich back toward the house, trying unsuccessfully to encompass everyone’s silly names. “…Well, obviously we call him Thorn.”

  His chuckle warned her that he was moving, so that she didn’t startle too much when he sunk down beside her by the stream, his boots already off and his trousers rolled up, a chicken drumstick in his hand. He sighed in pleasure when his feet hit the cool water, and Briar did her best not to stare at the way the sun-dappled shadows seemed to caress the strong line of his throat when he tilted his head backward.

  After a long moment, he sighed again but still didn’t open his eyes. “An’ why do ye have such an interesting name, Briar Rose? An’ yer brothers?”

  “Nana Rose insisted we be named after her and her brothers.” He raised a brow then, and straightened, obviously interested. “You’ve met her a few times, haven’t you? She’s very…strong-willed.” For all that she only came up to Briar’s nose. “I don’t think she was very pleased with Ma’s choice of husband, and she definitely didn’t want to move out here with us from Minnesota, but she said she had to come along so that we children were raised properly.”

  Around a bite of the chicken, Gordon asked, “An’ what did that entail?”

  Briar shrugged. “She’s always trying to teach me poise and presence—her words—and how to be the center of attention. She was a famous stage singer, and I think she’s trying to mold me into being more like her. My parents are desperate for me to ‘catch’ a husband, and I think Nana Rose is trying to help.” She sighed, staring down at the food in her hand. “It’s not very much fun, I know that.”

  “Why?” His quiet question surprised her.

  “Well…because it’s frustrating to be told that you’re doing something wrong, I suppose.”

  “Is that what yer family thinks?”

  “It’s certainly what it feels like when they’re constantly telling me what I could improve upon.”

  His chuckle caught her by surprise and she looked over to meet his eyes. “I don’t think there’s much ye can improve upon, Briar Rose.”

  The feeling that shot through her at his soft tone was almost like the one that his touch had caused yesterday. She knew she was blushing—could feel herself turning as bright as her strawberry preserves—and had t
o turn back to her suddenly unappealing sandwich.

  Months of watching him, admiring him. Months of him not saying more than a few words to her, while he laughed and was at ease with his friends. Months of being sure it was an unrequited interest on her part… And then he goes and says something like that?

  In an effort to give her shaking hands something to do, she dug into her lunch bundle and pulled out the other chocolate éclair. Holding it though, and feeling him beside her, she knew that she should be polite. “Éclair?” she offered, holding it toward him without actually meeting his eyes.

  He snorted. “Are ye kiddin’? I’d love one.” Their fingers brushed when he took it from her hand, and she wondered if he could feel it—that spark that traveled up her arm—too.

  Suddenly, she wished that she were wearing her fancy blue dress, rather than the faded skirt and Bram’s old work shirt that she wore in the fields. She wanted to look special for Gordon; but on the other hand, she’d looked just about as special as she could manage yesterday, and he was still treating her just as specially today.

  She snuck a peek up at him and saw the look of pleasure on his face when he bit into her treat. And why not? It was the one thing she was good at, after all. To her family’s chagrin.

  He hummed in pleasure, and she tried not to echo the sound when she watched his tongue flick out to grab a few crumbs off his lip. “I’m telling ye, Briar, ye’ve got a special talent here. People would come from far and wide to taste yer baking. The apple tarts from the wedding yesterday, the cakes and cookies you make at Spratt’s…an’ now chocolate eclairs? Ye’re an artist.”

  “Thank you.” Did she sound like she was choking? “I love baking and always have.” Her empty hands were now folded on her lap, and she stared at them to avoid the entirely too-sensual way he enjoyed her dessert. “It’s the one thing I’ve ever been good at.”

  “Well now, I just can’t believe that.”

  “It’s true! My parents want me to grow up to be a good housewife to some rich farmer who’ll help my brothers with the land. So I’ve had all sorts of lessons hammered into me over the years about running a farm. Ma actually taught me how to sew and spin my own thread on her antique spinning wheel, just so that I can be a good wife. But…” But I don’t want to be a farmer’s wife!