As she limped back to her belongings, Georgiana felt the first few drops of rain. Trying to hurry, she made her way over to where her canvas now lay on the ground. Removing her shawl, she wrapped it around her painting as best she could. She hurriedly gathered her scattered tubes of paint and brushes, haphazardly tossing them into her satchel.
Just as she reached out to grab her easel, another powerful gust of wind ripped through the meadow, successfully knocking her and the easel over and throwing them against a fallen log.
For the second time, Georgiana cried out in pain as she came down hard on her wounded foot. How would she ever make it back in this storm with her injury? She needed to find where she had left her shoes and put them on. By now, the wind was blowing so hard, both dirt and debris were flying aimlessly through the air, and the rain was beginning to come down in sheets.
Getting down on her knees, Georgiana crawled around, trying to find her shoes and stockings. Mercilessly her hair became tangled in some brush as the wind whipped it about. She chastised herself for having even taken it down. It took forever to set herself free, but when she did, she hastily stood up, not wanting it to become entangled again. Glancing around her frantically, she wished for somewhere, anywhere, that looked safe. She needed to find some shelter fast.
As Georgiana tried to decide which direction to go, she heard a loud crack from behind her. Turning around, she watched as a large branch broke free from a tree across the meadow and began flying through the air directly at her. In shock, she stood frozen.
Just before it reached her, Georgiana closed her eyes. Something hard rammed into her side, knocking the breath out of her. The side of her head slammed into the ground, and she momentarily lost consciousness. When she came to, she could hardly breathe for the weight that was upon her, but at least she was alive. As she tried to push off the object, her fingers felt the texture of fabric, not tree bark. She realized it wasn’t the weight of the tree branch pinning her down, crushing the breath out of her, but a man. For a moment she panicked, but then she heard him shout above the chaos going on around them.
“Georgie, are ya hurt?” He leaned back, and she looked up into Ridge’s face.
“Ridge?” Her voice was barely audible because she could hardly gather enough air to speak “How did you . . . ?”
“Later,” he growled, a worried look etched on his features. “Right now we need to get outta here. We’re sittin’ targets here in the open. Didn’t ya hear me callin’ your name?” His face was directly above her, but most of his words were whipped away with the wind. She lay there, injured, frightened, the very life being squeezed out of her, but even in their precarious state, her heart raced because of his nearness.
She shook her head. “It’s too loud to hear you,” she whispered with great effort. As if he suddenly realized he was crushing her, Ridge shifted his weight and sat up. Georgiana immediately and eagerly sucked in big gulps of air. Ridge reached over and helped her to a sitting position, putting his arm around her shoulder protectively. Georgiana had often wondered what it would feel like to be cuddled beneath one of Ridge’s arms. How ironic that it would take a wicked storm to compel him to do it. Still, she found herself leaning in a little closer.
“Do you think you can stand?” he asked loudly. It was easier to hear him as they sat side-by-side, huddled close.
“I’m not sure. I’ve cut my foot pretty badly.”
Ridge released his arm and moved opposite her, grabbing her foot to examine it.
“Confound it, woman! Where are your shoes?” Ridge grumbled loudly when he saw her damaged foot. He took his handkerchief from his pocket, and with the aid of the rain, began wiping the dirt and blood gently away. As he worked, he muttered under his breath in frustration. Curious, she leaned closer to him to hear what he was saying. “Blasted female, always taking her shoes off,” was all she managed to hear.
When he was finished examining her foot, he grabbed onto her petticoat and tore a small section from it, wrapping the piece securely around the wound. Afterward, he pulled a bandanna from his back pocket and tied it over the top for extra protection.
“The cut is bad. We need to get your shoes back on so your foot doesn’t get hurt further.” This time he grasped her shoulders and pulled her closer to him as he spoke.
“I can’t seem to find them,” she cried out. He was less than happy with her new revelation, and it didn’t help that another branch, though much smaller this time, flew over their heads, barely missing them again.
“Where is your coat then?” he shouted. The noise around them was getting louder and stole the sound of his voice away. She shook her head confused as she felt herself starting to panic, her heart rate increasing.
“Georgie,” he grabbed her shoulders and pulled her close this time so his mouth was next to her ear. “Your coat . . . where did you leave it?” Despite the cold rain and wind beating down on them, his warm breath still managed to tickle her neck. She could feel goose bumps forming, and her heart raced even faster. She couldn’t blame it all on the storm.
“I didn’t bring one . . . only a shawl.” She leaned her head against the side of his as she shouted back.
“Georgie! Have you completely forgotten how fast the weather can change up here?” He looked angry now as he pushed her back to study her face. “Well, where’s your shawl then?”
Sheepishly, Georgiana pointed over to her painting. It was not doing any good protecting her work anymore, and her shawl was rendered useless, being soaked with rain and covered with paint.
Ridge shook his head, took off his own coat, and began helping her into it.
“Please, Ridge. I’ll be fine,” she protested, but he shook his head again and looked at her sternly.
“Hush, woman, we need to get outta here . . . now!” he said harshly. “I left my horse tied up there,” he continued, pointing to the trees that bordered the meadow on the right. He was worried. She could hear it in his voice and see it in his face as she watched his eyes scanning the trees for the exact spot his horse waited, even though it was near impossible to see anything through rain and flying debris around them.
Ridge stood up and gently helped her to her feet. Without warning, he scooped her up into his arms and began running in the direction he had just pointed. Georgiana gasped when another loud crack thundered behind her. Closing her eyes, she held onto Ridge more tightly.
When they reached the trees, the force of the wind immediately lessened and the sheets of rain were replaced by a hard drizzle. She spotted Ridge’s horse right away.
Ridge lifted her up into the saddle, careful not to hurt her foot, and climbed up behind her. He held the reins tightly in one hand and wrapped his other securely around her waist. Georgiana tried hard not to think of the effect it was having on her to be so close to him. She was sure he could feel her heart pounding. She worked hard to steady her breathing in an attempt to calm herself.
It didn’t take much encouragement to get Storm moving. The horse seemed to be as eager as they were to get out of there, and consequently they made good time getting back.
Once home, Ridge hopped down, opened the barn door, and led them through. He eased Georgiana back into his arms and sat her down on a bale of hay while he removed his horse’s saddle and put him into his stall. Walking over to Georgiana, he lifted her into his arms again and carried her to the house.
Setting her down on one of the kitchen chairs, Ridge lit a lantern and quickly went to work stoking the fire and putting water on to boil. He dropped a threaded needle into the pot. Next, removing his wet coat from around her, he hung it by the door and fetched a quilt from one of the parlor chairs, wrapping it securely around her shoulders.
“Ridge?” she called his name softly, but he didn’t seem to hear. Instead, he walked to the cupboard, withdrew a bottle of whisky and some clean strips of linen, and laid them out on the table.
By this time, the water had started to boil, and Ridge dipped a clean wash rag i
nto it. Grabbing the soap from the sink, he brought it and the pot with him to the table. Finally, he pulled up a chair in front of her and sat down.
He gently lifted her foot onto his lap and unwrapped the bloodied bandanna and cloth. Her cut was still bleeding, but not as profusely. Ridge cleaned it thoroughly, first with the soap and then with the whisky. Both stung her raw skin, but she tried to hold her foot still, managing to wince only a time or two.
When at last he retrieved the needle and thread from the pot, he paused. For the first time since making it back to the ranch, Ridge looked into her eyes.
“This will hurt,” he warned, all harshness gone from his voice, “but it is a deep wound and will heal faster if it is stitched.” Georgiana nodded but said nothing.
He had been right about it hurting, and she was grateful she had been able to keep from crying out. However, she couldn’t keep the tears from her eyes.
When the last stitch was completed, he took the clean strips of linen and wrapped them around her foot. Leaning back in his chair, he let out a weary sigh. She could visually see the tension releasing from his body as he relaxed.
The house was so quiet, so peaceful, that it made the storm outside seem even more brutal. It was then she realized that all this time they had been alone. She hadn’t seen her grandfather or the others.
“Where is everyone?” she asked thoughtfully. “And how did you know where to find me?”
“A large birch tree in the west pasture was blown over by the wind and breached a portion of the fence. Some of the cattle got through. I ’spect everyone is still out either gatherin’ the cattle or movin’ the tree and fixin’ the fence.” He lifted her foot from his lap and placed it on the floor before he continued. “Your grandfather was worried ’bout ya when the storm started and sent Jeremiah to the house to warn ya to secure the windows and be prepared for a bad one. That was ’bout the time the wind really got wild. We headed over to check on the herd and spotted the felled tree. When Jeremiah came ridin’ up with the note ya left about headin’ out to paint for a bit before supper, your grandfather asked me ta hurry and find ya.”
“But how did you know where I was?”
“From your paintings,” he replied. “I was hopin’ you’d gone off to the same place today. I’ve seen them mountains before. Storm and I like to get out by ourselves once in a while. That there meadow was a particular favorite spot a summer ago. Though after today, I’m thinkin’ I might be inclined to avoid it permanently.”
On an impulse, Georgiana leaned forward and grabbed one of his hands, holding it between both of hers. At once goose bumps broke out on her skin and her breathing increased. She tried hard to ignore her body’s reaction.
“Thank you, Ridge. Thank you for saving my life out there.” Then, surprising herself, she lifted the palm of his hand to her lips and kissed it.
“Georgiana, I . . .” He didn’t finish the sentence but instead stood and took a small step forward so he was directly in front of her. She let go of his hand. Leaning forward, he placed both his hands about her waist and lifted her up to stand before him.
The quilt fell from around her shoulders to the floor.
Releasing her waist, he lifted a hand slowly to her face, brushed a strand of her long blonde hair to the side, and tucked it behind her ear. His fingers then delicately traced her jawline until his hand came to rest beneath her chin. Tilting her head up slightly, he looked deeply into her eyes.
“Georgiana,” he spoke her name softly, the sound of it so tender and loving, its intonation resounded in her heart. She was spellbound, staring into the warmth of his eyes. As his lips neared her own, she instinctively closed her eyes and eagerly awaited his touch.
“Georgie girl?”
Georgiana was startled when she heard her grandfather call out her name from the other side of the door. Then, instead of feeling the anticipated touch of Ridge’s lips, she felt herself being gently but firmly pushed back into the chair she had just been so beautifully drawn out of. She watched as Ridge barely missed stumbling over the chair standing behind him and scrambled to the opposite side of the room.
“Georgie?” her grandfather called again, but this time the door slammed open from the force of the wind behind it. Georgiana jumped from both the sound and the sight, because there in the doorway next to her grandfather, looking like a drowned city rat, stood Dawson.
11. Surprise!
Georgiana stood up for a moment, sat back down, and stood up once again. She couldn’t believe Dawson was here, but there he stood, dripping wet and smiling from ear to ear. He made no move to step forward but waited politely to be invited in. Even with the rain beating hard against his back, he was ever a gentleman. Sadly, she was having trouble finding her voice. Her grandfather came to her rescue.
“Look who Tiny found in town today.”
Georgiana still said nothing. He came into the house and beckoned Dawson to follow him. “Come on in out of the rain, lad. If ye stand any longer in that there storm, ye will surely be blown away.”
Dawson came inside, and Angus took his overcoat while Georgiana stood gawking. What was he doing here? Had he written to say he was coming? Admittedly she still hadn’t read the last batch of letters.
She quickly glanced at Ridge, aware he was monitoring her reactions closely, and turned her attention back to Dawson. He was smiling at her tentatively. It was good to see him, despite the shock and the fact that his timing was extremely bad.
Her grandfather cleared his throat loudly. They were all staring at her, waiting for her to speak, and here she stood, still gaping at them in silence as she sorted her thoughts. From somewhere in her memory, she heard the voice of Ms. Wilmington saying, “A lady never gawks, but rather, when caught by surprise, she exercises the utmost control in both her facial expressions and her mannerisms, thus quickly gaining the upper hand in any situation.” Encouraged by that thought, Georgiana finally found her voice.
“Dawson . . . ,” she began. Ridge continued to watch. Feeling the weight of his stare was causing her mind to have trouble forming cognitive thoughts. “Dawson, I . . . I . . . ” Suddenly Dawson hurried forward and gathered her up into his arms.
“I’ve missed you too, Georgiana, most terribly. I warned you I would come to fetch you if you stayed away too long.”
“But Dawson . . . how . . . when did you—”
Before she could finish her sentence, his lips were upon hers. She was so stunned, so taken aback, she couldn’t think how to respond until she heard the front door slam shut.
She managed to push Dawson off just in time to see her grandfather follow Ridge out the door.
“Dawson, what are you doing here?”
“What do you mean, love? I told you . . . I missed you and I couldn’t stand to be away from you a moment longer.” She had freed herself from his embrace, so he reached down and took her hands. “Didn’t you miss me?” His eyes seemed to be pleading with her to answer in the affirmative.
“Yes, of course I’ve missed you,” she answered, feeling a twinge of guilt. “It’s just that I’m surprised to see you. So much has happened today. I’m afraid you’re the last person I expected to see standing in the doorway in the middle of this wicked storm.” She let go of his hands and sat down again in the chair, clasping her hands conveniently together so he couldn’t grab them. “When did you arrive?”
Dawson sat down in the chair opposite her that Ridge had been sitting in moments before.
“On the afternoon stage. It was pure luck I happened upon one of your grandfather’s cowhands.” He stopped to smile charmingly, and she couldn’t help but return his smile. “Especially since I loathed wasting any of the time I have to spend with you. I promised my father I wouldn’t stay longer than two weeks. That reminds me, Mother sends her love and asked me to tell you she misses your visits immensely.”
“Your mother is very kind.”
“Alysa also wanted you to know the leaves are just beginning to turn,
and if you hurry home, you won’t miss painting them.” Alysa was Dawson’s ten-year-old sister. Georgiana adored her.
“And how are Thomas and Viviana, and, of course, your father?”
“They are all in good health, but they miss you terribly as well.”
When he finished speaking, his eyes fell to her lips. Georgiana worried he might try repeating his earlier unexpected greeting. Suddenly, her mouth became very dry, so she stood up and limped over to the sink.
“Can I offer you any refreshment?” she asked, reaching for a cup from the cupboard. “I could make some herb tea if you like.”
“Still the gracious hostess, I see,” Dawson teased, a smile alighting his face.
Georgiana had almost forgotten his playful manner and how it was so endearing.
“It might do well to take the chill off,” she suggested.
“I believe you might be right, so yes, my lady, I graciously accept your offer.”
He continued to talk about his family while Georgiana took down the kettle, pumped water into it, and placed it on the cook stove, which was still warm. She didn’t bother stoking the fire. She knew Dawson liked his tea warm, not hot. She took down another cup and filled it with water for herself, being careful not to splash any on the floor as she hobbled back over to her chair.
It was then Dawson finally noticed she was limping.
“My dear, you’ve been injured.” Dawson leapt to his feet to aid her the rest of the way to the table. “What has happened to your foot?” he asked, helping her into the chair, and sat back down across from her.
The sincere look of concern on his face touched her. She did miss this man. She had been lonely for such a long time before they had become friends. She had reveled in the fact she had found a confidant and friend in Mr. Dawson Alexander.
The Kissing Tree Page 13
