The Kissing Tree

by Bice, Prudence

  At first his face registered shock, and then curiously, of all things, a wide grin spread from ear to ear.

  “Thank you,” Ridge remarked, his grin widening even more. “That explains a lot.”

  She was bewildered, but before she could ask his meaning, he had secured her in his arms once more and was kissing her again!

  This time his kiss was softer yet fervent—gentle, yet rousing. She had only ever imagined being kissed in such a way. She was surprised at how quickly her temper quelled, and her heart took control as her own arms instinctively entwined themselves about his neck and her fingers found themselves lost in the soft waves of his hair. He pulled her even closer, and she returned his kiss eagerly and without restraint.

  In that moment, she cared for nothing at all except the feel of being in the arms of the man she loved—had loved for so long—feeling his heart beat in time with her own, fast and fierce.

  Too soon, he ended the kiss, but before stepping away, Ridge whispered in her ear, “You owed me that, you know.” His voice was deep and husky from their impassioned exchange. He pulled away slightly to look into her face, one corner of his mouth turned up into the half grin she loved. He added, “Now we’re even.”

  He released her then and, tipping his hat, turned and walked back to the boardwalk.

  In shock, Georgiana watched him as he left. Jimmy was standing in the street staring at her with his mouth hanging half open. Ridge tipped his hat to Jimmy in greeting as he walked past. Jimmy mumbled something inaudible in return and watched Ridge mount his horse and ride off. Jimmy glanced back to stare at her again. It was all too easy to read the shocked and hurt look on Jimmy’s face.

  Embarrassed, Georgiana hurried out of the alley and looked around to see if anyone else had witnessed the kiss she and Ridge had shared. Directly across the street, the curtain in one of the upper boarding house rooms fluttered like it had just been let down. She stared a moment in that direction but looked away abruptly, choosing to dismiss it. Adjusting her posture and lifting her chin slightly, Georgiana walked over to the wagon and climbed up without assistance.

  Thankfully, Jimmy didn’t say a word to her on the way home.

  8. Wishful Thinking

  Ridge slowed Storm to a trot and veered off the path toward the stream that ran along the ravine at the foot of the low-lying mountains.

  He tied his horse to a tree that had access to a small pool of water divided from the stream by a deserted beaver dam. Once his horse began drinking, Ridge turned and walked farther downstream, where the water curved slightly and offered a familiar and inviting place to sit.

  He bent down occasionally along his way, picking up a variety of small, flattened stones. When at last he sat down, he laid the stones beside him.

  Examining one of the stones a moment, Ridge tossed it into the middle of the stream, watching the ripples until they slowly faded away. A soft wind swept through the long wispy grass that grew along the water’s edge, and above him it whispered through the birch trees. Occasionally, a leaf would tear free from a branch and drift slowly down to the water.

  Usually the stream had a very calming effect on him, but not today. His mind was racing, and his thoughts were tumbling over themselves.

  He had gone into town today on the pretense of needing a new pair of boots. Glancing down at his shoes, he felt guilty for his deception. Though they showed a little wear, he was sure he hadn’t fooled Angus. Ridge had been working for the man quite a long time now. Angus knew he wasn’t wasteful, and his boots would certainly last him through another winter at least. Besides, he’d never even made it over to the mercantile. Instead, he had followed Georgiana and found himself standing beneath the old oak, watching her as she ran her delicate fingers across the words he had painstakingly carved long ago.

  The nostalgia at once took him back to the day he’d carved the inscription, the day she’d stolen a kiss. It had been the most incredible day of his young life. Of course he had fallen in love with her long before, but that day had been the one he’d realized she loved him back, or so he’d thought.

  He hadn’t seen it coming, he remembered, thinking of her wide-eyed grin after she’d kissed him. The three of them had spent most of the day fishing and playing down at the creek. When they were packing up their things to go and see what they could find to do in town, Samantha had pulled Georgie aside and whispered in her ear. He really didn’t think anything of it. They were girls, after all, and girls were always doing that sort of thing.

  When they got to the edge of town, Georgie handed her fishing pole and bucket to Samantha and turned toward him.

  “Hey, Ridge, I’ll race ya to the old oak,” she’d challenged.

  “Nah, I’m already tuckered out, and besides, I always win. If I beat ya while I’m tired, you’ll feel even worse.”

  “How do ya know I just haven’t been lettin’ ya win ta boost your male ego?”

  “Because ya wouldn’t do that, Georgie. You like ta win too much.”

  When he looked over at her, she raised an eyebrow at him, giving him a look that made him doubt whether he knew what he was talking about.

  “Oh, all right,” he gave in and started laying his things on the side of the road. “Just give me a sec to . . .”

  “Ready, set, go!” she chimed quickly and took off running before he had even finished speaking or emptying his hands.

  He immediately dropped everything in one heap and took off after her.

  Less than five minutes after that, he was sitting square on his bottom, watching as she and Samantha took off giggling hand in hand up the road.

  Ridge’s thoughts came back to the present as he slipped his hand in his pocket and made sure the soft satin was still there. He had seen it fly into the bush that day and fetched it out before he’d headed back home. It was one of the blue satin ones he had given her himself. She’d worn them often.

  Ridge pulled his mind away from his memories and picked up another stone. Instead of throwing it, though, he worked it back and forth between his fingers.

  When he first saw her standing under the oak today and had looked into her troubled eyes, he knew she needed to know how he felt about her, how he’d always felt. He’d promised himself right then and there she would not walk away from him until she knew one way or another.

  Well, if she didn’t know now, she’d never know because he finally kissed her . . . kissed her soundly too. Oh boy, had she been mad! When he’d kissed her again though, she’d melted in his arms, and her kiss had been the sweet confection of his dreams.

  His last thought before he stood up to fetch his horse and head back to the ranch was of the old Irish tale Angus had recited to him.

  Take heart, me lad, she’s your true love,

  If her flame with ye be bold.

  Ridge rubbed his cheek where the skin still burned slightly, and smiled.

  9. Regrets

  Charlotte McLaughlin refolded the letter from Georgiana and sighed peacefully.

  The lighthearted tone of her daughter’s words reminded her of a time when Georgiana was much younger and full of exuberance and zest for life, before they had come to New York. She missed her child dearly but once again felt a deep confirmation she had made the right decision in letting her go.

  Painfully, Charlotte recalled how quickly her sweet young daughter had accepted her lot and settled into a dull existence in New York. Crippled by her grief, Charlotte wished she had possessed the strength to remedy the mistake of running from their life in Colorado. But she had not and watched helplessly as her vibrant daughter became more and more introverted. Georgiana spent her days either reading or wandering aimlessly through the gardens that bordered the estate instead of laughing with friends and exploring the world around her.

  When Georgiana had come of age to attend finishing school, Charlotte was overjoyed. When she’d attended the same school, she’d made so many friends and had thoroughly enjoyed herself. She hoped for the same for Georgian
a. Much to her delight, Georgiana seemed to thrive there, even though she kept mostly to herself.

  Throwing back her coverlet, Charlotte rose from her bed and picked up the oil lamp she had been reading by. She was drawn to her dresser, where a small photo of Georgiana sat. She picked up the photo and carried it to the blue velvet wing-backed chair sitting near the hearth. The fire was almost out, but a steady warmth still radiated from the coals that burned red and gold. It seemed she was always cold as of late, and she feared her health was failing. She’d suffered more illness in the last five years than in the first twenty-nine of her life. The pure Colorado air had definitely been more beneficial to her health.

  Charlotte spread the small crocheted blanket lying on the arm of the chair over her legs and looked lovingly down at the photo she held in her hands. Georgiana was no longer a child, that was for certain, and Charlotte well understood that all too soon her daughter would find herself as both a wife and a mother. If the honorable and companionable Mr. Alexander had anything to say about it, it would be soon indeed.

  She found Dawson Alexander to be a gentleman in every form of the word and was pleased to have such a man so taken with her daughter. Georgiana was a prize as well, having grown into a great beauty whose looks were only rivaled by her inner strength and maturity. Charlotte wasn’t fully convinced her daughter’s silent demeanor wasn’t anything more than a façade, and inside there was still a lost and lonely child.

  A loud knocking pulled Charlotte from her musings.

  “Yes,” she called out softly, her voice raspy from lack of use. After Cecelia’s last tirade, Charlotte decided avoidance would be the best avenue to take, at least until her sister’s mood was placated. So she had spent the better part of the week in her room, even having her meals brought up.

  “Charlotte, dear, it is late. You should go to sleep now.”

  Cecelia’s voice bore a distinct note of authority, as always. Even after so many years, her sister still treated her like an imprudent child. It hadn’t always been this way between them. Though Cecelia was nearly six years her senior, there was a time when they were close, a time when she’d looked up to her elder sister and longed to be just like her. Charlotte smiled at the memories. They were few and so long ago, but she held them dear. Such memories of how her sister used to be gave her the courage and the compassion to continue living with the hard, unfeeling woman Cecelia had become.

  If only Cecelia had never met Lionel Bradley! Charlotte shuddered even thinking the man’s name. He had deceived her sister in the worst way—had deceived them all! Again Charlotte shuddered, wondering how such cunning and wickedness could be hidden under the guise of a seemingly upstanding and honorable gentleman. Cecelia had fallen for him almost immediately, with all his lavished attentions and magnetically handsome face. So had many of her friends, but Mr. Bradley only had eyes for Cecelia.

  One night, as Charlotte was sitting on the stairs absentmindedly petting their rather overindulged cat, Cecelia came floating through the door, giddy after returning from an evening with Mr. Bradley. When she spotted Charlotte, she sat next to her and pulled the reluctant animal onto her lap.

  “Oh, Charlotte!” she exclaimed blissfully as she scratched their cat’s belly, forgetting he hated that and barely missing an encounter with his sharp claws, “he makes me feel as if I am the most beautiful woman in the world!”

  Charlotte had smiled at the look of love evident on her sister’s face while stealthily lifting their pet from her sister’s lap and setting him down out of her sister’s reach. It wasn’t until she was dressing for bed that night she recalled a conversation she had heard months ago that made her sister’s joyful exclamation take on a deeper meaning.

  “The poor thing,” her mother’s chambermaid had commented. Charlotte had just reached the top of the stairs. The two servants were standing in front of the window at the end of the hall, looking down on the courtyard as they conversed. Charlotte stepped back onto the stairwell, pressing her back against the wall so she could listen unnoticed. “She’ll have a hard time finding a good one, she will. And her mother so beautiful! A cruel twist of fate, she having taken her looks from her father instead. ’Tis a shame!”

  “Hush, Bridgette,” Midge, the old housekeeper, scolded. “You shouldn’t say such things.”

  Charlotte smiled; she always liked Midge the best.

  “Besides,” the housekeeper continued. “Plain or not, at least she has a good dowry, which is more than you’ll ever have. Some man will come along. I hope he’ll be worthy of her heart.”

  Midge was right. Cecelia had always been especially kind and thoughtful of her family and friends. This, to Charlotte, made her beautiful.

  Then Mr. Lionel Bradley had come to New York, and Cecelia fell in love. When Mr. Bradley apparently returned those affections, many couldn’t believe her good fortune, and for the first time, her friends were jealous of her.

  A wedding date was set, and all was going as planned. They were to be married at the end of April and would spend four months honeymooning in Europe. It had all been such an exciting time for Charlotte. Cecelia had included her in everything. The dresses, the flowers, the decisions regarding what foods they would entertain their guests with. Charlotte had never seen her sister so happy. Mother and Father were deep in all the preparations as well. Everything was in perfect order until disaster struck.

  It was a week before the wedding when things began to go awry. Many of their out-of-town guests had already arrived, some even coming from as far as London, from which Mr. Bradley hailed. His widowed father had arrived two weeks previously, expressing an interest in relocating to America.

  He had brought servants with him who would continue working for the young Mr. Bradley in their new home. The servants all immediately set about helping with the wedding preparations. However, one serving girl in particular carried an air of disdain and refused duties not assigned directly from her employer’s son. After the first week, Charlotte’s mother became exasperated with the servant and requested an audience with Cecelia’s fiancé concerning the obstinate girl. Much to her dismay, Mr. Bradley made excuses for the girl’s behavior. His actions, as well as the snide, knowing look the girl gave her, made her mother suspicious of what the girl’s real role would be in Mr. Bradley and her daughter’s new household. Being the shrewd woman she was, Charlotte’s mother thought it prudent to enlist one of her own servants to watch the comings and goings of Mr. Lionel Bradley.

  It was because of her mother’s intuition and zeal that his true nature and intentions were exposed. That very night, her mother awoke Cecelia and bade her come with her to the stables. Their servant informed them that the young Mr. Bradley was, at that very moment, entertaining a guest in the hayloft. It was perhaps a cruel thing to force Cecelia to discover them, but her mother feared she would not believe it otherwise.

  Needless to say, Cecelia was heartbroken, and Mr. Lionel Bradley and their guests were asked to leave immediately. When the shame should have been all Mr. Bradley’s for his deplorable actions, Cecelia was hit with a cruel and undeserving amount of ridicule. Later it was found out that Mr. Bradley had lost his family’s fortune in an unscrupulous business venture. He had needed an heiress to save his family from humiliation.

  Cecelia went to Europe, taking only her personal maid. If for no other reason, the time away would free her from the seemingly endless hushed voices and pitiful looks that incessantly followed in her wake. When she returned home, she was different. At first the change in her seemed subtle: she chose to eat alone in her room and avoided people whenever possible. Mother allowed it because she knew Cecelia was still heartsick and anguished over the whole affair. But after being home two months with nothing seeming to improve, Mother insisted Cecelia eat her meals with the family and attend church on Sunday. That’s when the true damage became noticeable. Cecelia was by far no longer sweet and thoughtful but instead cynical, controlling, and abrasive. She had allowed the heinous actions
of one person to rot inside her and spoil that which was good.

  “Maybe she can’t help being so cruel,” Charlotte whispered as she ran her hand across Georgiana’s photo. She knew in her heart Cecelia had allowed what happened to damage her soul. It was much like how she had allowed her grief to overrule good judgment time and time again. Well, she thought suddenly and with conviction, a change is certainly overdue. Quickly she placed the photo back on her bureau and climbed back into her bed. Before she drifted off, she said a prayer.

  “Please, Father, watch over my children. Bless my dear daughter, so far away. I pray she has found the peace she seeks and the answers she is looking for.” She paused for a moment and repeated her familiar nightly plea. “Bless Cecelia, Father, that she can one day find a way to forgive. Amen.” With that, Charlotte drifted off to sleep, determined that tomorrow would be a new beginning.