“Oh, honey, I do need you. You know what we’ve been through. You are my daughter, the only child I have left.” Louise pulled her to her side. “If I marry Mr. Bradford, I won’t need a ranch hand or a gardener, but I still need a family.”
Rosa didn’t budge.
Louise tightened her lips and shook her head. “They’ll be out looking for you when the rain starts. I bet Eliza is already worried sick.” She stepped back while Rosa washed the soil from her hands and watched the dirt swirl away down the drain.
“No matter where I go, you’re welcome. That old house of Deacon’s will have plenty of room for you, but you have to plan for your future. Don’t reject what you’ve got without thinking it through. You’ll break a lot of hearts, and not just your own.”
24
THE RAIN WAS GENTLE, leaving Rosa soaked but not battered. Using the crate in Smokey’s stall to stand on, she pulled the heavy saddle off, letting it fall to the floor.
“Sorry about that,” she said to the startled horse. “I’m not as strong as the vaqueros.” She slipped her hand into the back of the broad brush and began rubbing down her mount, calming him before wiping down the wet leather.
Pandora’s stall stood empty, her saddle and bridle gone from the tack room. Was Weston out looking for her? Several times during her ride she felt someone watching her but chalked it up to Tillerton. When she was done with Smokey, not wanting to answer questions about her visit with Louise, she hurried around to the kitchen door, sliding in the slimy mud at the edge of the doorstep.
“Stop right there, Miss Rosa. Don’t you go tracking through my kitchen in those boots.” Octavia continued scrubbing on the dinner pans.
Rosa pulled the damp pistol from her waistband and handed it to a disapproving Octavia, then stooped to unlace her boots and leave them on the porch. “I’m afraid I’m going to drip, just the same.”
“Don’t worry about that. I can throw a towel down. Go on to your room, and I’ll bring some warm water for your basin. Don’t want you catching cold.”
Would the water be any warmer than the rain? But even as Rosa climbed the stairs she had to admit she was chilled. Safe in her room, she discarded the sopping clothes and hung them over her quilt rack once the quilt was snuggly wrapped around her.
She took the rocker by the window and watched the drops splatter lazily on the glass. It was a refreshing rain. The cattle and sheep would find green pasture now. Still water would abound in every hollow. What was the rest of that Bible poem? It was one of Louise’s favorites. The next part said that God restored souls. Would He do that for her?
Through all the heartbreak—her family’s rejection, her husband’s death, financial ruin—Louise had remained at her side. When she had felt like unraveling, Rosa had knotted the frayed strings of her heart together with the knowledge that Louise couldn’t make it on her own.
In Mexico Louise was helpless. Rosa had taught her how to prepare the corn kernels for masa, then make the masa into tortillas. She had introduced her to the fruits and vegetables that would feed her men. Louise had needed her, and when the men were gone, she’d needed her more than ever. She had relied on Rosa, but now Louise was leaving—leaving Rosa with no purpose in this new land.
The move to Texas had sapped Rosa’s reserves, and when she couldn’t carry Louise’s burdens alone any longer, Weston had appeared. Not just with money. Even before that. The sheep shearing, the shooting lesson, replacing the shingles. All his help she’d accepted with the understanding that she and Louise would someday reciprocate, but Louise had defaulted. She’d left Rosa to make up the difference alone.
Rosa couldn’t tell from her reflection which drops of moisture were tears on her cheeks and which were raindrops on the windowpane. She pulled the quilt tighter. She’d been through the valley of the shadow of death, and God had been with her then. His rod and His staff had comforted her. But now she was seated at a table with a cup overflowing with blessings, and she was miserable. She didn’t belong.
She heard footsteps in the hallway and movement in the room next door. Resting her forehead against the window, she listened as drawers slid open, a chair creaked, and boots dropped to the floor. Her sigh turned into another sob.
She couldn’t let Weston throw his future away because of her. Yes, there was an attraction between them, or there had been in the beginning, until he’d made it clear that he had no interest in pursuing it. He’d done the chivalrous deed at the courthouse, but she knew it wouldn’t work. He would meet someone else. He would resent her someday.
She remembered his easy laugh when they rode together, his teasing about the ewe—all of that before she’d asked too much. Now he cut her a wide swath, obviously not trusting her, and she didn’t blame him. She couldn’t claim innocence when her actions had stolen his freedom.
Voices sounded in the hall, followed by a knock on their adjoining door.
“Come in.”
She’d never mistake his stride, not even in stocking feet. His wet clothes clung to him, but he brought her the first basin of warm water and placed it on the vanity. She could tell when he noticed her tears, for he halted suddenly.
“Is everything all right? Anything I can do?”
Rosa’s chin puckered and she shook her head. “No, you can’t fix it. This is my problem.” Her shoulders heaved as she fell back into her rocker. She had to figure it out alone. She watched as the windmill spun in spurts, its blades blurring when the rain gusted. She couldn’t let her emotions spin her out of control as easily.
Weston pulled a chair next to her, intentionally turned it toward the window and sat as she rocked. He wasn’t leaving. If he planned to stay until she stopped crying, she’d better hit a drought.
When the rocking chair halted, he offered her a bandanna, but Rosa had no free hand to receive it without dropping the blanket. He wiped her face himself with the worn cotton rag.
“Blow,” he said, then, “good girl” when her nose cleared. She gave him a watery smile, and although nothing had changed, she did feel better.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do with you,” Weston said at length. “My daddy taught me to help where there’s a hurt, and obviously there’s a hurt here somewhere. How can I make you happy?”
A powerful blast sent the windmill to whirling again. She willed her emotions down and took a deep breath, pushing all the unsaid regrets out voicelessly. “I have to find my own way. You can’t help me, but I will be happy. I am, I mean, already. Of course, I’m grateful.” She paused. Her words weren’t convincing. The least said, the better.
She sniffed. When he pulled his bandanna out again, she shook her head. “Please don’t. That’s embarrassing. . . .”
“Nothing to be embarrassed over. Just yesterday Jake had this giant booger—”
Rosa’s eyes bugged wide, and she accidentally snorted.
“That’s more like it.”
Of everything he’d done, moments like this meant the most to her. He didn’t run when she was angry, or heartbroken. Hadn’t he stayed at her side through the roughest times? This is what she couldn’t jeopardize. She needed his strength and his friendship. She’d learn to live without love.
“You remember when we were by the creek?” Weston’s low voice held steady under the howling wind. “You listened as I talked about Cora, and then you did something that surprised me. You held my hand.”
She blinked, surprised by his words. “I’d wanted to do that all summer—ever since we sat on Mary’s porch and you worried that my opinion of you was too high. I wanted to help you, but I had no right.”
“You do now.”
Rosa nodded. They were friends and had been before that piece of paper at the courthouse caused any confusion. If the ceremony allowed her to comfort him, so be it.
Weston stood, his clothes soaked through, down to his stocking feet. He went to the window, the gray light sharply framing his muscular silhouette. “Remember that Sunday when we were stuck in th
e closet? I barely knew you then. You heard some hurtful things, and all I could do was stand by and watch you take it.”
“You laid your hand on my head.”
“It wasn’t enough. I wanted to keep the pain away, to shield you from the sting of their words. I wanted to hold you . . . but I had no right.”
Rosa trembled beneath her quilt, and tears pooled in her eyes. She looked at him from behind with his soggy socks and curly damp hair, and knew this was her invitation.
“You do now,” she whispered and left the rocker.
Weston turned and opened his arms to her. She fell against his chest, her forehead and cheek pressed against his warm, wet shirt. He held on, even as sobs racked her exhausted body. Could he forgive her for her mistake? If he trusted her enough to let her this close, he must know she hadn’t tried to hurt him.
They must protect this bond, this delicate balance. Tenderness, understanding, and safety. She couldn’t ask for more.
Grasping her quilt in one hand, she tried to wipe her tears off his shirt.
“Don’t worry about that. It’s drenched through.” He squeezed her tight. “Just checking up on a little filly of mine that left the ranch today.”
So he had followed her? She thought she’d sensed someone near. Rosa wormed her way closer, not ready to leave.
“I remember after Independence Day.” She wouldn’t dwell on her fear when he banged on the door of the empty house—when she thought he was Tillerton. She just wanted him to know she understood the boundaries he’d set. “I wanted you to touch me.” Rosa pulled back to watch his face. She braved a small grin, having learned the magic phrase. “But you had no right.”
His breath caught and his eyes filled with awe. He slid his hand along her jaw and turned her face up toward his. “I do now.”
Rosa’s eyes widened as he lowered his lips over hers. She wanted to protest, convinced he’d ruin everything, but instead he calmed her. He was so cautious. So gentle. Her stomach fluttered, but she didn’t feel threatened.
A kiss—and they’d both survived. No boundaries were broken.
But the next kiss shattered them all. He took her like she was his. Like he had every right, and in terror she realized he did. She tried to turn away, shaken by his desperation, but Weston held her firm, giving her no escape until she was as insatiable as he. Alert? The word didn’t even approach what she felt. She dissolved into him. Her bones melted into lava that burned up all her hopes for a companionable relationship.
With a groan, Weston lifted his head and pressed her against his chest until the room stopped spinning. “You hear my heart? You did that.” His voice was raw. “How did you get in? I didn’t think I would ever . . .” He buried his face in her hair, while his other hand roamed up and down her back, reminding her that she was once again corsetless.
“Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you for giving me permission.”
“What?” Her head spun. She wouldn’t be surprised if neither of them made any sense right now. It was all she could do to stand upright, and that with his help.
“You told me to kiss you.” His chest heaved against her face. “That took a lot of courage. Courage I didn’t have.”
Rosa hated to be the one to pull away, but with all the misunderstandings between them, she couldn’t let him get away with a purposeful one. She touched her lips, surprised they were still there. “I didn’t tell you to kiss me.”
“Oh yes, you did. You said you wanted me to touch you when we were riding after Independence Day. . . .”
“Not when we were riding. I meant at the house. You came in, swinging your gun.” She swallowed before she could go any further. Forming a coherent thought was painful. Communication impossible. “I nearly attacked you, remember? And then collapsed. You didn’t even hug me. You let me lie huddled on the staircase while you found a rifle.”
His flushed face went white. His eyes flickered over the quilt draped tightly around her and then to the pile of her wet clothes in the corner. Did he believe her?
“At the house? A hug? Not when we were riding?” He looked like he might be sick.
She nodded.
Weston’s hands balled up into fists and his arms tensed. His lips disappeared, and he stood as still as a statue.
“Arrrggghhh!” he bellowed, then stomped back to his room, slamming the door behind him.
At the house, of course. She’d been scared. She’d wanted comforting. Wasn’t that what they were talking about? Fear and sorrow? Not desire.
Weston peeled off his clothing and grabbed his towel. He was a fool, and once again, he had run. What stopped him in the first place? Rosa hadn’t rebuffed him. Best he could tell, she’d liked it.
Fire raced through his veins again. Only a wooden door stood between them. Was it too late to go back? Had she recovered her senses enough to remember why they weren’t sleeping in the same bed? He sure hadn’t.
He’d promised her no pressure. He’d told himself he wouldn’t get closer without her permission. But what now? The herd had stampeded and there was no corralling them.
His skin was wet, but it wasn’t chilled. He scrubbed before wrestling himself into some dry duds. The rain pelted the window and didn’t look like it was going to let up. Terrific. He was imprisoned inside—with energy to burn.
He paced his room, with the door to the hallway open, and waited for her to emerge. No way could he plan his words. Coursing emotions washed rational debate away, but they needed to renegotiate. The deal they’d formed back when he’d proposed was hopelessly outdated. Heaven and earth had moved since then, praise God.
But Weston was still terrified. Fear that he might not be ready had kept him paralyzed before. How could he be certain what he wanted? Now, he knew.
Rosa.
And now he realized that knowing what he wanted was even more frightening if he couldn’t have it.
He popped a peppermint into his mouth. Rosa wasn’t persuaded he could love her. No wonder. He’d flat out told her he didn’t want to remarry. Ever.
And she had to notice how he fled every time she got near. He was right. He couldn’t get close and be safe, but maybe safety didn’t have the appeal it once did.
Rosa’s door opened. She stepped toward the staircase without ever looking to her right.
Weston cleared his throat, causing her to jump. “Do you remember when we were riding? I held your hand.”
Her back was as straight as a branding iron. She clutched the banister in a death grip. Without turning a degree, she answered, “Yes. I know the exact moment you’re talking about.”
“Do you see why . . . ?”
Her chignon bobbed as she nodded and began her descent. “You made an honest mistake. No need to apologize. You’ve kept your end of our bargain nobly.”
He choked out the words before he lost the courage.
“That’s fixin’ to change.”
Rosa’s skirt flew as she spun around. Her skin glowed against her yellow blouse. “What?” She ran up, skipping the top step altogether. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”
Weston recognized the embroidery on her blouse. It matched his pillowcase. Maybe he could do a side by side comparison. Shaking his head, he forced the riotous thought from him. “You said you couldn’t pretend—that you didn’t want intimacy without love. It’s time to give me a chance, Rosa.”
“There is no chance for us. The moment caught you off guard. Both of us, really. That’s not love. It could’ve been Molly, should’ve been Molly.”
“It’s never been Molly.”
“But it’ll be someone, someday. I pray for you, Weston. I pray that God heals you and brings you closer to Him. Part of the healing might mean falling in love and getting married.”
“I am married.”
Rosa pounded her fist on the banister. “To the wrong woman.”
Eliza’s voice wafted up from below. “Rosa, is that you?”
“Yes, be down in a minute.” She looked
to Weston and lowered her voice. “I owe you. We both know how far in your debt I am. If this is a way you’ve come up with for me to make amends, then be honest. Don’t pretend otherwise.”
“I’m not Tillerton,” he ground out. She knew how to hurt a man. “When I kiss you again, it’ll be because you asked me to, just like in there.”
“Shh!” She cast nervous eyes down the stairwell. “I didn’t ask . . . All right, fine. If you need to blame someone, then blame me. I’m sorry for tricking you into something so distasteful, but I’ll take the responsibility to see that it doesn’t occur again. If you can’t forget what happened in there, I’m leaving. I won’t have another resentful husband on my hands. You won’t rue the day I rolled into town.”
“You can’t go. It’d be a mistake to squelch what could come of this.”
“Nothing will come of this besides pain and resentment. Can you honestly tell me that you love me? That you’ll love me forever?”
He took a step back. She’d gone all in before he even had a chance to look at his cards. “I, uh . . . I do care for . . .”
Her eyes, snapping with fire, cooled to dull chunks of ice.
“Rosa, don’t. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Then stay away.”
“Are you and Weston fighting?” Eliza called. “I wondered what’s kept you up there so long.”
“Just a minute, sis.” Weston crossed his arms. “You can’t go back. Speaking of Tillerton—”
“I haven’t seen hide nor hair of him for a week. I don’t think he’d dare bother me now.”
“What about Eliza?” He was grasping for straws, desperation rolling through him.
Eliza appeared at the foot of the stairs. “Don’t make me climb up there. If you’re going to fight, come on down. I don’t want to miss it.”
Weston stepped around Rosa and called down. “We were just discussing your confinement. Did you plan on Rosa assisting you?”
“You’re wasting my time with a question like that. What’s this really about?”
Rosa sent him a withering look but kept her voice sweet. “I need to help Louise on the ranch. I can’t stay here.”
Sixty Acres and a Bride Page 24
