The Kissing Tree

by Bice, Prudence

  “You sound angry. I fear I have said something to upset you,” Dawson remarked, sounding genuinely apologetic.

  “It ain’t no fault of yours,” Ridge answered, his anger softening a bit.

  “Was she not speaking the truth then?” His voice sounded a little anxious.

  “Not exactly.” Ridge suddenly felt sorry for the man. “But you needn’t worry about me, Mr. Alexander.” As of tonight, at least, he thought to himself. “Miss McLaughlin and I are just friends.”

  “I must say, that is good to know,” Dawson said, sounding a little too relieved. Ridge supposed the man was more worried than he’d let on. “But please,” he continued while stifling a yawn, “call me Dawson.”

  Ridge was reminded how tired he was himself.

  “Good night then, Mr. Alexander—er . . . I mean, Dawson. Best ya get some sleep. Mornin’ comes early on a cattle ranch.”

  “Thank you, Ridge, and good night to you.”

  Ridge heard him roll over onto his back and then a few moments later onto his side again. He must have another question, Ridge surmised and waited patiently until Dawson spoke.

  “Don’t be offended, but . . . ,” Dawson began finally. With a beginning like that, Ridge thought, no wonder it took the man so long to get to the question. He hoped at least it was something he could answer honestly. “You know that thing you keep saying about getting some sleep?”

  “Mm-hmm,” Ridge responded both relieved and curious.

  “I’ve read a number of published works and have heard that phrase before. Doesn’t the saying actually go, ‘mornin’ comes early on a farm’?”

  “Yep,” Ridge agreed as he thought of the saying they had all adopted from Angus. “Mornin’ does come early on a farm.” He let a few seconds go by before adding, “. . . and a cattle ranch.”

  Dawson chuckled softly. “I think for the first time in a very long time, I might sleep well.”

  The conversation finally ended.

  Ridge lay in his bed and listened to Dawson’s breathing as the man eventually fell asleep. He wasn’t so lucky. Dawson had given him a lot to think about.

  Fate surely was on Dawson’s side as far as Georgiana was concerned. He needed to stop wishing and read the signs. Or at least reread them. His thoughts gravitated briefly to the stack of unopened letters hidden in the bottom of his trunk, all addressed to Miss Georgiana McLaughlin 725 West Glenwood Rd., New York City, New York. All of them—each and every one—stamped with a big red “Return to Sender” on them.

  It was time he concentrated on forgetting the girl he’d fallen in love with and the woman she’d become. He should never have allowed himself to begin dreaming of a life with her again. It was going to cost him dearly. She would be going back to New York, and it wasn’t fair to his heart to be broken twice by the same woman.

  When sleep finally claimed him, he was thankfully too tired to dream.

  13. Ulterior Motives

  Georgiana woke when she heard a soft knock at her door. Her room was bathed in the bright sun, and after looking out her window briefly, she could see it was already high in the sky. It must be almost noon, she thought, surprised she had slept so long. As she quickly sat up in her bed, her stomach groaned an angry plea. She had slept through another meal. Surely, the men couldn’t have been happy about that!

  Georgiana heard the soft knock again, this time followed by her grandfather’s voice.

  “Are ye awake, Georgie? May I come in now?”

  Georgiana quickly grabbed the quilt from the floor and pulled it up around her.

  “Yes, Grandad,” she called out to him. He opened the door tentatively and stepped inside.

  “How ye be feelin’ this mornin’? Ridge told me ’bout that there cut on yar foot. Do ye think it wise to be goin’ into town?” His face showed his worry.

  “I’ll be fine, Grandfather. It seems to have stopped throbbing.” At least for the moment, she thought. She’d promised Samantha she’d come over today. “I’m sorry I missed dinner . . . and breakfast. Are the men awfully angry at me for having to eat your cooking again?”

  Her grandfather laughed heartily. “To be tellin’ ye the truth, it weren’t none too bad this morn. Seems that there city lad of yers knows his way around a kitchen a bit. Offered to help me out, he did. The fellas actually seemed to be pleased well enough with their meal. Though the lad made me swear not to be tellin’ a soul who ’twas done the cookin’.”

  Georgiana smiled. She’d have to make sure and thank Dawson when she saw him.

  “Where did Mr. Alexander sleep last night, Grandad? Surely you didn’t send him all the way back into town.” Georgiana looked questioningly at her grandfather.

  “Nah, I wouldn’t be doin’ that to the lad, now, and fer certain not after he be helpin’ out the way he did. ’Twas out in the bunkhouse he bedded down,” he announced unceremoniously. Georgiana was instantly horrified.

  “Grandfather! The bunkhouse? How could you? He’s our guest!”

  “An unexpected one, I be addin’ to that,” her grandfather answered, obviously not at all worried about her reaction. “And what’s wrong with the bunkhouse? ’Tis good enough for the other lads, mind ye, and besides . . . ’twas either that or the barn.”

  She was shocked he’d even suggest the barn, and she knew her face showed it. He continued his explanation, this time more sternly. “I’ll not have some lad, crazy in love with me only granddaughter, sleepin’ in the same house, in the very next room, no less.”

  “Grandfather! How could you even think—” Georgiana exclaimed again, shocked that he would imply Dawson was capable of anything so unthinkable.

  “Don’t ‘Grandfather’ me, girl,” he interrupted sternly. “I was a lad once too!” Georgiana’s face went from shocked to indignant, but as her grandfather’s expression softened, she realized how silly she was being. Dawson was surely not any worse for wear from sleeping one night out in the bunkhouse. When her grandfather spoke again, his voice was gentle and pleading. “Now don’t be angry with me, Georgiana. I just woke ye up to tell ye that if yer still planning on going into town, the wagon’s hitched up and ready to go. Asked that city lad of yars if he’d ever driven a team, and he said he could manage it. He’s a wantin’ real bad to get ye all to himself, he is. Been pacing back and forth all mornin’, worryin’ his head about ye ever since breakfast. ’Bout worn the planks clean through on the parlor floor.” Georgiana smiled, picturing Dawson, but then his face was suddenly replaced by Ridge’s.

  “Where will the men be working today?” Georgiana asked innocently.

  “Well now, mostly just securin’ up the fences some more and checkin’ on the herd. Makin’ sure none of them were injured in the storm. Ridge checked most things out real good last night, so I gave him the day off. The lad headed into town first thing this mornin’ to take care of some personal business.” Georgiana stood up instantly and tossed the quilt back up on the bed, all modesty forgotten.

  “Well, if you’ll excuse me, Grandad, I best hurry and get dressed. I don’t want to keep Dawson waiting.”

  “Fer certain, lass. I’ll get out of yar way.” He quickly exited the room and shut the door.

  Georgiana readied herself quickly and met Dawson in the parlor. Dawson seemed to relax as soon as the wagon was going and kept up a steady flow of conversation. Georgiana found herself easily distracted as her mind kept wandering. Before long, Dawson pulled the wagon up in front of the mercantile and brought the team to a halt. Georgiana had been impressed. He was actually quite efficient at driving them.

  Hopping down, he came around and helped her from her seat.

  “Where to first, milady? The mercantile?”

  She nodded her head as he linked his arm in hers, and they headed together toward the entrance.

  The instant they walked through the door, Mrs. Whitaker converged upon them, introducing herself and inquiring as to how she may assist them. The whole town knew about Mr. Alexander’s arrival and w
as eager to make his acquaintance. Truly, Georgiana had expected no less. This was a small town, after all.

  When they were through answering questions and purchasing the needed items, Dawson carried her things—along with two new pairs of Levis, a couple of cotton shirts, and a pair of sturdy leather gloves and work boots—and placed them in the wagon. Mrs. Whitaker took advantage of the time alone to beleaguer Georgiana with a few more intimate inquiries.

  “Have you announced the engagement yet? My, he must be such a romantic. Just imagine . . . five letters in one week and so many since! And to think he came all this way just to see ya. Better hold on to that one, Miss Georgiana. Don’t turn your head for a minute or some sweet thing might come along and snatch him up from under your very nose.” She gave Georgiana a brief warning look before sighing again. “Not all women are so lucky, you know. My Robert doesn’t have a romantic bone in his entire body.” The woman’s eyes inadvertently looked up above the counter. Georgiana’s eyes followed in the same direction. There, proud as pie, hung Mr. Whitaker’s twelve-point deer head. Georgiana tried to stifle the giggle welling within her by concentrating hard on Mrs. Whitaker’s next question. “Will you be going back to New York with him soon? Your mother must be so thrilled. He looks as though he comes from a fine family,” she gushed. Putting a hand to the side of her mouth, she added more conspiratorially, “And wealthy too, by the way he’s dressed.”

  Dawson returned to get her before she had a chance to answer or dispute any of the woman’s assumptions, nor could she deny anything in front of Dawson. It might embarrass him horribly to know he was already the subject of the town’s local gossip circle. So she quickly excused herself and said good-bye, allowing Dawson to take her arm and lead her toward the door without setting the record straight to Mrs. Whitaker that she was not engaged.

  Before they exited, Mrs. Whitaker called after them again, “Thanks for coming in, my dear, and you too, Mr. Alexander. And, Georgiana, you must come back soon—alone—so we can have a good long talk.”

  I must avoid the mercantile at all cost, Georgiana noted as she hurried Dawson through the door.

  “What was all that about?” Dawson queried, purposely slowing her quick pace to a leisurely stroll.

  “Nothing really,” Georgiana answered, thinking it best not to go into too much detail. “Mrs. Whitaker leads the town gossip circle. She likes to be the first one up on the local news.” He raised an eyebrow at her, but she ignored it. “Let’s hurry over to Samantha’s house. I’m so excited for you to meet her,” she urged, walking quickly, despite a slight limp.

  Of course, Dawson knew who Samantha was. She had explained to him in one of her recent letters before he came out to Crystal Creek how they had come to renew their friendship. He was happy for her and seemed genuinely interested in acquainting himself with her friend.

  As they crossed the street, Georgiana stopped abruptly when Ridge walked out of the bank with Miss Cordelia Jamison. One of her hands held tightly onto his arm, while the other played flirtatiously with the lapel of his coat. She was smiling demurely up at him. By chance, Cordelia glanced her way, and Georgiana could have sworn she glared at her threateningly as if to say, “He’s mine—hands off,” but she quickly turned back to Ridge, smiling again. Why would the woman feel threatened by her? She knew nothing of Georgiana’s feelings for Ridge. How could she?

  Ridge walked over to his horse with Miss Jamison still attached to his arm. Miss Jamison leaned in very close to him, certainly breaking a number of Ms. Wilmington’s rules. The woman obviously lacked a sense of propriety. Leaning in even more, she coyly whispered something into his ear. Georgiana was watching Ridge closely for his reaction, so she jumped when Dawson spoke, startling her.

  “Seems you and I aren’t the only two lovers out for an afternoon stroll.”

  “What do you mean by that?” Georgiana asked, annoyed by his comment, hastily turning her head in the direction they were walking and pretending she was unaware of anyone else’s presence but his.

  “Well . . . nothing,” he answered, too content to notice her irritated demeanor. “Other than it’s a beautiful day and love is obviously in the air.”

  “Love?” She gave him a dubious look.

  He laughed and stopped walking before turning to face her while simultaneously taking both her hands in his.

  “Yes, love, my dear Miss McLaughlin. For I most definitely am in love with you and hope you return my affections.”

  He looked over to where Ridge and Miss Jamison stood. Obviously he’d just witnessed Miss Jamison’s brazen attempts at garnering Ridge’s attentions too. She was about to make a comment along such lines, rebuking such a display of audacious behavior when he began speaking again.

  “Though I can’t say exactly what Ridge’s intentions are toward Miss Cordelia, I am pretty certain she has romantic intentions toward him.”

  Georgiana was confused by his comment. He was speaking as if they were sweethearts. How did he know Cordelia and what feelings she might have for Ridge? And more important, why did he think Ridge might have feelings for Cordelia? Dawson’s face suddenly lit up.

  “That reminds me, I hear tell there is a grand social planned for tomorrow night. You do remember how much I love to dance?” Theatrically, he lifted one of her hands and put his other hand at her back as if they were about to begin the waltz. “Might I have the honor of being your escort?” Dawson smiled encouragingly down at her.

  The social! She had totally forgotten—and she had promised Samantha she would attend. Georgiana looked up at Dawson. He looked so happy, so hopeful.

  A sense of guilt washed over her. What should she do? It had only been last week that she had been daydreaming of what it would feel like to be held in Ridge’s arms as he spun her about the room.

  Apprehensively, her attention was drawn back over to Ridge. Miss Jamison was still pawing at him. Obviously, he must have been dreaming about being in the arms of someone other than herself. Quickly, her mind saw his face again as he had been about to kiss her the other night. She was so sure of what she had seen in his eyes. How could she have been so dead wrong?

  Miss Jamison laughed and leaned toward Ridge again, her strawberry curls brushing up against the side of his face. When she stepped back this time, she stumbled slightly as if she were about to lose her balance. Ridge’s hands were immediately at her waist to steady her. Miss Jamison took advantage of the opportunity to place both of her hands on his shoulders.

  Georgiana pulled her own hands away from Dawson and turned around. Her stomach tightened, and her arms encircled her waist where she could still recall the feel of Ridge holding her. Instantly, the thought of attending the social seemed daunting. She suddenly wasn’t feeling very well at all.

  “Georgiana, are you all right?” Dawson asked, concern evident in his voice. When she looked up at him, the encouraging smile plastered on his face was gone. His brow was now creased with worry, any semblance of cheerful demeanor vanquished.

  She took a deep breath to calm herself and turned back in the direction they were headed. One quick glance told her Ridge had now noticed her and Dawson, but Miss Jamison was still standing awfully close.

  Well, if that’s how he wanted to play it, she would give him an eyeful! Pushing away her guilt and suppressing the thought that she was acting no better than some of her more deplorable female friends back in New York, she turned to Dawson at her side.

  “Yes, Dawson. I’m fine. It’s just this foot. It’s beginning to throb again.” She looked up at him, forcing a shamefully helpless expression, and slipped both arms around his waist. “Do you mind?” she asked innocently, leaning her head against his shoulder as they began walking once again toward Samantha’s.

  “Don’t mind at all,” he proclaimed readily.

  Georgiana felt a deep, sharp pang of guilt as he wrapped a supportive arm around her waist and began to whistle cheerfully as they walked.

  After they’d traveled a ways down th
e street, Georgiana snuck one final peek over her shoulder. Ridge was gone, and Miss Jamison was standing in the street glaring at her again.

  14. Women!

  As soon as Ridge was out of sight of the town, he urged his horse into a full gallop. He wished to get as far away from those two women as fast as he could. It wasn’t long before he found himself sitting at his favorite stream again. Reaching over, he picked up a couple of stones lying conveniently where he had piled them on his last visit. Methodically, he began tossing them into the water. He let his mind wander back to Georgiana and the day before, despite all his concessions to Dawson the previous night concerning her.

  For those few moments that he’d held her after he had tended to her foot, the ache in his heart had totally disappeared. It felt so right, her being there, so close. If only her grandfather and Dawson Alexander hadn’t shown up!

  The man was clearly enamored. It was written all over his face as he stood there in his fancy clothes, dripping wet, not able to tear his eyes away. She’d hardly got two words out before Dawson had gone to her, and in the next moment, instead of the sweet nectar of her kiss belonging to Ridge, the city boy had claimed it. How could she have kissed Dawson, when only moments before she’d been in Ridge’s arms?

  Last night, he promised himself he would stay away, not interfere. Why then could he still not get her out of his head? Seeing them together was proving to be too much. Then there was that insufferable woman, Miss Jamison. What a day it had been so far!

  When Angus had given him the day off, he decided to take care of some business in town. He’d been needing to make a deposit at the bank for a while now, and he wanted to make a few inquiries at the local land office.

  When his father had sold his ranch and moved back east, he had given Ridge half the sum of the ranch’s value to go toward purchasing his own place. Even though he had told his father he didn’t need it, his father had insisted it was the right thing to do. Ridge had been a partner with his father in their business ever since he was barely more than a boy and could pull his own weight. Ridge had also been tucking away his earnings from Angus.