The Kissing Tree

by Bice, Prudence

  In the afternoon, Georgiana picked up the bunch of vegetables Tiny had brought in after lunch. It seemed the big burly fellow had a knack for growing things and had been caring for her grandmother’s vegetable garden. Her grandfather had brought in some meat a little while ago, something never in short supply on a cattle ranch, and it was already stewing on the stove.

  Happily, Georgiana started to whistle one of Grandad’s Irish melodies as she washed the vegetables and began chopping them up for the stew.

  After only a moment, she stopped whistling. Smiling to herself, she recalled the somber look Ridge had worn on his face all through lunch. She had been attentive and forthcoming with all the other men but had ignored him completely. It serves him right, she thought. I am a grown woman now, not a little girl he can tease mercilessly. He’ll find it a greater challenge to best me in the future. She laughed conspiratorially and began whistling again as she scooped the vegetables into her gathered apron to carry over to the stew pot.

  “Well, ya seem to be in a better mood.”

  Georgiana jumped, letting go of her apron and sending vegetables flying everywhere. Immediately she knelt down, gathered her apron up, and began haphazardly throwing vegetables back into it. She was grateful she had just finished scrubbing the floors pristinely clean less than an hour before.

  Not daring to look up, she made no response to Ridge’s comment. Nevertheless, he came over and began helping her gather the vegetables. When they were finished, they both stood up and after giving the vegetables a good rinse, Georgiana dumped them into the waiting pot. When she turned back around, he was grinning at her.

  “I’m beginnin’ to think I have quite an effect on ya, Miss McLaughlin,” he bragged. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth and the mirth was back in his eyes.

  “Oh, don’t flatter yourself, Mr. Carson. You only startled me. I didn’t expect anyone back at the house for another couple of hours.”

  “Ah, well your grandfather sent me up to tell ya he had ta leave for a spell but would be back in time for supper.”

  “Well then, if that’s all you came here to say, you’ve said it. Now you may go.” She turned away from him but not before she saw Ridge raise one eyebrow slightly.

  “Dismissin’ me, are ya?” he asked, his voice sounding surprised.

  Georgiana was flustered. That wasn’t what she’d meant. She didn’t know why she had said it that way. She was just still so irritated with him. Maybe it was because she’d hoped he had come to apologize for this morning. She deserved that much, didn’t she? Even so, why couldn’t she keep from being so clumsy around him and always saying the wrong things? It was damaging her pride terribly.

  “I didn’t mean . . . I wasn’t . . . oh, would you stop looking at me that way!” she exclaimed in frustration.

  “And what way would that be?” he asked, feigning ignorance.

  “I don’t know. Like . . . well . . . like you’re waiting for me to do something to make you laugh.” She couldn’t help but glare at him as she answered. He was having fun once again at her expense. Why did he have to agitate her so? And where had all her controlled and proper training gone?

  “Is it so bad to laugh?” he asked, a small chuckle escaping.

  “Well, that depends, I suppose, on whether you’re being laughed with or laughed at,” she quipped.

  He really laughed then, and it only made her glare more intensely.

  “I ’spose I need ta be gettin’ back to work anyways,” he said while trying to keep a straight face but not succeeding very well. He turned away from her to leave, reaching for his hat that he had tossed on the table when he’d bent down to help her. After putting it on his head, he turned back around, reached toward her hair, and plucked a piece of carrot out that had found its way there. Grabbing hold of her hand, he put the carrot into her palm. “You missed one,” was all he said before tipping his hat to her and walking to the kitchen door. Before going through, he stopped and turned back again, another smile tugging at his mouth. “By the way, I see ya still don’t like wearin’ shoes.”

  Georgiana glanced down at her small pink toes peeking out from under her skirt. Her face turned pink to match. She had taken off her shoes earlier and had forgotten to put them back on. The truth was she loathed to do it. Ridge was right. She hated wearing shoes, had hated them ever since she was a small child. She might as well rip up her certificate from Ms. Wilmington’s school right there. She looked up from her feet to Ridge. He winked at her, chuckled, and shook his head back and forth as he went out the door. She could still hear him laughing as he crossed the yard to where the men were working on the new fence.

  Later that night, Georgiana sat pondering the day’s events as she methodically took the pins from her hair and began to brush out its soft, golden strands. She angled her face slightly away from the mirror so she did not have to look at herself any longer. Her normally vivid gray eyes were dull, and her long, dark lashes were matted from her profusion of tears, even though she had finally stopped crying. She knew from experience her eyes would remain red and swollen and the skin on her cheeks and forehead would be splotchy and uncomely for a long time still. The thought had occurred to her earlier in the day, when Ridge walked out of the kitchen door humored at her expense, that things couldn’t possibly get any worse. Of course that was before her grandfather had revealed a fact that had made her humiliation utterly complete.

  Everyone was sitting around the table, and she was beaming from all the compliments she had received for the meal. Between the bread and the stew, she had been surprised at how much the men could eat. She was excited to see what their reactions would be when she procured enough ingredients to begin making some pies and other desserts.

  They all had taken turns thanking her grandfather abundantly for bringing her here and then thanked her for agreeing to come. It reminded her that she had forgotten to thank her grandfather for his thoughtfulness earlier that morning on her behalf.

  “Grandad, I neglected to thank you for bringing my trunk into my bedroom this morning.”

  Her grandfather smiled rather coyly and took a quick look at Ridge before turning to her.

  “Truth be told, me girl,” her grandfather began, sheepishly, “I can’t in good conscience be acceptin’ yar thanks fer that, now. ’Twouldn’t be right if I did. Ya see, me old back just ain’t what it used to be. I s’pect it’s Ridge here who would be deservin’ of yar gratitude. ’Twas he who carried yar trunk in for ya.” Ridge had not dared look up from his bowl of stew and so had not seen the utter look of shock and humiliation cross Georgiana’s face.

  “Grandfather Angus McLaughlin!” she scolded, standing up from the table. She quickly tossed her napkin down and put both hands on her hips. Georgiana had never before spoken to him with such formality and anger. He immediately wore a look of chagrin. “How could you?” She felt the heat rising up from her neck. “How could you allow a man into my room while I was sleeping? It’s utterly improper and . . . and . . .” Her eyes got as big as saucers as she recalled she had not even worn a nightgown because all of her nightclothes had been packed in her trunk. The heat reached her face, turning it beet red from both embarrassment and anger.

  The room was deathly quiet as Georgiana stood glaring at her grandfather. She didn’t dare to venture a glance at any of the other men to see the looks on their faces or contemplate what they might be thinking of her. She was already determinedly fighting the tears that threatened. She couldn’t hold them back much longer. Finally, she turned away from the table, hurried to the door of the kitchen, and paused.

  “I suppose you can manage the dishes,” she pronounced while keeping her back to them. “I am suddenly not feeling very well. If you’ll please . . . excuse me.” Her voice broke from her pent-up emotion, and she rushed to her room as the tears began to stream down her face. Flinging herself onto her bed, she had cried until she’d fallen asleep.

  An hour later, she woke up, dressed in her night clothes,
and sat down to begin removing the uncomfortable pins from her hair.

  Georgiana paused in her brushing and looked directly into the mirror, scrutinizing her reflection. What must he think of me? she asked herself. Oh, why do I care? He’s nothing but a boy who looks like a man. She turned away from the mirror again. Maybe I shouldn’t have come home! The unbidden thought popped into her mind. She discarded it immediately. She knew she couldn’t have stayed away. Ridge or no Ridge, this was where she was needed, where she belonged.

  At least when I woke up this morning, I was still snuggled under my bedding, Georgiana contemplated, trying to console herself. She had an awful habit of kicking off her blankets during the night and was forever having to get up and retrieve them from the floor before morning. Thankfully, she considered further, with full-grown men such as Ridge Carson wandering about my room, at least my modesty was preserved. A gentleman—humph—he most certainly is not!

  Georgiana turned her thoughts from Ridge and instead thought about Dawson and their last meeting before she left for the train station.

  She already felt the loss of his companionship. They were comfortable together, and he rarely gave her cause for annoyance. Often, they were seen walking arm in arm through central park or attending the theater. Whenever a gallant affair or party worthy of attendance was held, Dawson was her escort. It was assumed by most that it was only a matter of time before their intentions were officially announced.

  When he arrived that morning to bid her farewell, she feared he would once again renew his sentiments and endeavor to convince her to make a commitment. She hadn’t been wrong. Scarcely had he stepped foot into the garden, where she was awaiting his arrival, than he had rushed forward and begun pleading his cause.

  “I can’t bear that you’re leaving me.” Dawson took both her hands in his. “Why must you go? Please stay. I will do anything . . . just marry me.”

  “Dawson, I . . .” Her heart was filled with guilt at leaving without committing to him one way or the other. “I told you why I must go. My grandfather needs me. My mother can’t possibly leave William or Aden here alone. Aunt Cecelia would never approve of interrupting their education, even to visit their grandfather they haven’t seen in five years,” she added bitterly.

  Dawson placed his hands at her waist, closing the distance between them. She allowed him to do so, despite Ms. Wilmington’s rules and her own reservations. She sincerely cared for Dawson.

  When he pulled her even closer, encouraged by her allowances, Georgiana still did not push him away. She had not permitted any intimacies between them thus far because she did not want to lead him into falsely believing she had made her mind up concerning their relationship. When he laid his head to the side of hers and nuzzled it lovingly against her cheek, she secretly hoped she was not allowing her guilt to cause her to falter.

  “Georgiana,” he whispered into her hair, “you must promise you will return to me. I cannot bear to let you go otherwise.” She felt a tear escape her eye and travel down her cheek. “Promise you will return and then we can be married.”

  “I cannot make that promise, Dawson. As much as I would like to, I cannot. It would not be fair to you.”

  He pushed her back and looked into her eyes.

  “I don’t care if it is fair or not, make me the promise anyway.” His eyes begged her. “It’s unfair that you are leaving me. So lie to me, tell me you love me, that I may have but a little hope you will one day be mine.”

  “I do care for you, Dawson . . . deeply. I just . . .”

  Her explanation was lost as his lips came crashing down upon hers. At first his kiss was desperate, but slowly it became almost soft and pleading. Her heart ached for him, and she allowed his kiss to linger, though she made no move to return it . . . or his embrace. She began tasting the bitter salt from her own tears as they mingled with his kiss. When at length Dawson ended their exchange, he leaned back and gazed into her eyes. She saw the flame of hope burning brightly there now, and she was suddenly fearful she had allowed him too much.

  “Will you write to me?” he asked hopefully. She smiled and nodded, not trusting herself to speak. His arms tightened again around her waist. “I will write you too . . . every day. And if you take too long in coming back, I will go and fetch you myself.”

  Just then Georgiana’s mother had called out from the entrance of the gardens that she needed to make haste, for her carriage had arrived.

  “I must leave.” Georgiana turned quickly to walk away, needing an emotional reprieve, but he grabbed her hand once more and pulled her to him for one last desperate kiss. This time she ended his kiss quickly. “Dawson, I really must—!” she began. She pulled her hand from his grasp and fled from the garden while a torrent of tears finally broke free.

  Inhaling deeply, Georgiana laid her brush down. She would write a letter to Dawson in the morning. He would be waiting, and she had promised. Standing up, she walked over to her bed, crawled in, and sank deep under the covers. The late summer days were still warm, but the nights were getting cooler. It was just the way she remembered. She sighed in pure contentment knowing she would sleep well.

  3. Ribbons of Blue Remind Me of You

  Ridge Carson leaned up against the outside wall of the bunkhouse and looked up into the velvet night sky. Somehow the stars seemed to be a little closer and a little brighter these last two evenings. He smiled to himself. Could it be because one Miss Georgiana Anne McLaughlin has returned to Colorado? My “Georgie,” as I used to call her? he mused.

  She was different than he recalled. He smiled at the thought of how she had felt in his arms. Not a young girl anymore, but a fully-grown woman, and more beautiful than he ever remembered. Pigtails, ribboned braids, and a stolen kiss was what had come to mind when her grandfather had told him she would be coming for an extended visit. Not anymore! Her hair was as long and glorious as he ever remembered it being. When they’d had their little escapade at the stage depot, it had been piled atop her head. But that next morning when he’d brought her trunk into her room, he had stopped to admire her as she’d slept. Her hair was, of course, let loose and spilling in magnificent waves across her shoulders and pillow. Though her hair was blonde, her eyebrows and long curly lashes were darker, complimenting her soft and creamy skin. It was all he could do to restrain from running the back of his hand along her cheek, slightly flushed pink from the cool morning air. A vision she was, serene and peaceful.

  She would be horrified if she knew that he had picked up her covers from the floor and gently laid them back over her as she’d slept. She would also be horrified if she knew he’d seen the little rose-shaped birthmark on the back of her left shoulder. He had seen it before, a time or two, but had forgotten, probably because he possessed the good sense not to tease her about it when they were young. Women never liked such little imperfections. Personally, even then he’d found it endearing. He would never have seen it this morning, though, had the sleeve of her camisole not slipped slightly off her shoulder when she sighed and shifted in her sleep. Likewise, he would never have stopped to look had her modesty been compromised. He was a gentleman, despite what she might think. All the ribbons and lace adorning her undergarments kept her covered up quite sufficiently. Though after this morning’s tirade, he suspected her opinion might differ strongly on the subject.

  When they were young, Georgiana, Samantha, and he swam in the lake together quite often on hot summer days in only their underclothes. Of course, they were innocent young girls and he a naïve young boy. Well, she wasn’t a little girl any longer, and the feelings she stirred within him were those of a man. But he was ever honorable, though she threatened to bring out the rogue in him.

  Ridge chuckled quietly to himself as he recalled the happy memory of her running hand in hand with Samantha Wallace. He, of course, was on his rear end where she had knocked him down after stealing a kiss from him under the old oak tree in the center of town. He hadn’t realized it would be the last time he would
see her for a very long time. If he had known, he might have run after her that day. She had stolen his heart long before she had stolen his kiss. Maybe that was why, at almost twenty years of age, he had never even courted a girl.

  Plenty of women had made their desires toward him known, and some he found attractive enough, but something seemed missing . . . something they lacked. Some were too serious and didn’t have any sense of humor . . . or any sense at all, for that matter. A few talked way too much or too little, and yet others thought too highly of themselves, and he knew they would be impossible to please. Every time he got close to a gal, there was always some fault or hidden trait he discovered that would cause him to back off.

  His thoughts returned to Georgiana. Dash! The gal had a temper, that was for sure. She’d always had one, and he remembered it well. He recalled the way she had stormed off this morning and at dinner tonight. When they were young, he liked to do nothing better than to tease her and—boy, oh, boy—would she get angry. He chuckled. She never would stay mad at him for too long though, always forgiving him by the next day. That is, except the time he had tied her braids together around the stair railing of the schoolhouse.

  Georgie had the longest blonde hair of any girl he had ever seen. She always wore it in either pigtails or braids, which hung down almost to her waist. Yes, he thought, I will never forget that day. He could picture it as if it were yesterday.