With Mr. Wallace’s help, Ridge had invested some of the money his father had given him, and it had grown considerably. By now he had quite a large sum. It was more than enough to purchase a substantial piece of property, start up his own cattle business, and live rather comfortably in a nice home. Ridge enjoyed working for Angus though and had been putting off the inevitable. Maybe the time had come at last. If Georgiana convinced Dawson to stay out west instead of returning to New York, he didn’t think he could continue working for her grandfather. He knew he couldn’t, and he wanted to be long gone before that ever happened.
Involuntarily, a vision of Miss Cordelia Jamison’s face quickly flashed before him. That woman never ceased to surprise him with her nerve. When he’d gone to the bank to take care of his business, she was sitting outside. He had pretended not to notice her and hurried through the doors, but she proceeded to follow him. Mr. Wallace, realizing the situation and taking pity on him, called him into his office straightaway. Mr. Wallace closed the door authoritatively, barring Miss Jamison from following Ridge in, insisting their business needed to be conducted in private. As soon as they were safely inside, Ridge thanked Mr. Wallace profusely for the interference on his behalf.
“I’m afraid, dear boy, she has been watchin’ for you for days now. I think somehow she got wind you’re thinkin’ about purchasing some land and startin’ up your own ranch.” He snorted his disgust. “She’s lookin’ to find herself a rich husband, Ridge. Best you be avoidin’ that woman for your own good. That father of hers had no business runnin’ a bank any more than I did a farm, though at least I was honest. I hear tell he spends most of his days in the saloon down in Westchester. There he sits gamblin’ and drinkin’ away what little money his wife makes workin’ in the hotel there seven days a week. I’m sure the only reason they have a place to live is ’cause her boss takes pity on her. I don’t know how Miss Jamison can even afford to be stayin’ over at the boardin’ house. Heed my words, Ridge: steer clear of that filly.”
“Thanks for the warnin’, John,” Ridge said gratefully, even though the bank owner hadn’t divulged any information he wasn’t already aware of. “She’s not my type anyway.”
That made Mr. Wallace laugh.
“Well, I hear Miss Georgie is back in town,” he said, smiling encouragingly. Ridge pretended he didn’t notice. “Hard to believe she’s been here five weeks already, and I haven’t so much as said two words to her. Did see her out in front of the mercantile one day, though.” He let out a slow whistle. “Grew up to be a beauty, she did. Apparently she has some city boy head over heels for her too.” Ridge was starting to wonder if it would be better to take his chances outside with Miss Jamison rather than listen to Mr. Wallace go on about Georgiana and Dawson. The man continued to ramble. “She’s been to my house a number of times, but you know how all my time is spent here.” He chuckled again. “Thought the two of you would always end up together, if truth be told, but then her family up and left like they did.” He looked thoughtful for a moment. “Did you keep in touch? Never got one letter from her at our house. It broke my dear Samantha’s heart. Never saw those two hardly apart in all the time Miss Georgie lived here.”
“We didn’t keep in contact,” Ridge answered matter-of-factly. Though, not for lack of trying, he thought ruefully.
“Seems strange, if you ask me . . . strange indeed,” he said, shaking his head back and forth. “Never did like that aunt of hers, Ms. Cecelia Harrington. I met her once, you know, when Michael McLaughlin first brought his new bride home to live with Angus and Shannon. That Charlotte was a beauty, not unlike her daughter. Those golden locks and that figure . . .” Mr. Wallace whistled again and then rolled his eyes. Ridge had to suppress a grin at the man’s besotted expression. “Now I was married already, mind you, so don’t be tellin’ the missus, but there weren’t a man in this here town that wasn’t envious of Michael McLaughlin about his woman. Besides,” he lowered his voice as if suddenly worried he would be found out. “it don’t hurt none to look.”
“No, sir,” Ridge replied, and Mr. Wallace chuckled again before his face became serious once more.
“Wasn’t more than a mere two weeks after the weddin’ when that sour-faced Ms. Harrington showed up on the stage throwing dirty looks and insults at anyone who came near. Hired a wagon and driver, then rode straight out to Angus’s ranch and insisted Charlotte leave poor Michael and come home with her.” He slammed his fist on the desk for emphasis, and Ridge jumped. “Charlotte was a good girl, though, and wouldn’t leave, even when that sister of hers threatened to disinherit her if she didn’t return at once.” He shook his head sadly. “Hard to think of poor Miss Georgie and her two brothers havin’ to grow up in the same house as that woman. What could have possessed Charlotte to ever move back? I can only guess her grievin’ led her to it.”
Mr. Wallace was still shaking his head when Ridge stood up to leave.
“I suppose I best be getting’ on.” He reached over to shake the man’s hand. “Thank ya for your time, John.” He paused a moment and nodded his head toward the door. “And for the warnin’. I can assure you I don’t plan on gettin’ hooked on that line!”
Mr. Wallace stood up and grabbed Ridge by the hand, giving it a firm shake. Instead of releasing it right away, he leaned forward and spoke in a low voice. With his other hand, he pointed out the window just as Dawson was helping Georgiana down from the wagon in front of the mercantile.
“Just so you know, I’m still bettin’ on you.” He smiled and chuckled at the shocked look Ridge gave him. “And just a reminder, boy,” he added, looking Ridge straight in the eyes, “ ’cause I think you’re in need of a little advice. Before you go runnin’ off some place, tail between your legs, lickin’ your wounds, you remember . . . all bets are still on ’til the preacher says ‘man and wife.’ ”
Ridge was stunned for a moment, not knowing what to say. When Mr. Wallace released his hand and became all business-like again, Ridge opened the door to the office. He groaned inwardly as he saw Miss Jamison was still in the bank lobby chatting with the teller. As soon as he stepped out the door, she was at his side.
“I thought you’d never get done in there,” she exclaimed ceremoniously. “I was about to give up and leave.” Ridge wished she had. “But I’m glad I didn’t because I really needed to talk with you, Ridge.”
“Miss Jamison . . .”
“Cordelia, please. Must you be so formal, Ridge?”
“Miss Cordelia.” She smiled up at him, obviously pleased. “I haven’t finished my business here, if you wouldn’t mind . . .”
“Oh, I don’t mind waitin’ at all, Ridge dear. You go ahead, and I’ll just wait over there.”
She pointed to a corner by the door, but as he walked to the teller to make his deposit, she didn’t budge. He decided he would just have to ignore her.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Johnson.”
“Afternoon, Mr. Carson.”
“Would you please just deposit this into my savings account?” He handed her the money he’d brought, along with his bankbook. When she was finished counting the money and making a notation in his book, she handed it back.
“There you are, Mr. Carson. Is there anything else I can help you with?”
“No, thank you, Mrs. Johnson. That’s all I needed,” he replied, tucking the bankbook into his inside coat pocket.
“Well, you have a good afternoon then.” She smiled sweetly at him.
“Thank you, ma’am.” He reached up and tipped his hat to the woman politely. “And you do the same. Good day.”
“Good-bye, Mr. Carson.” She smiled again, lifting her hand in a small wave.
Walking toward the doors, he tipped his hat to another woman who’d just entered the bank. “Ma’am,” he greeted.
The woman smiled. “Good afternoon, Mr. Carson.”
Ridge headed out the door, but not before Miss Jamison attached herself to his arm again. No chance he was going to have a good after
noon. Not at this rate anyway. He stepped out of the bank and into the bright sun, wishing zealously that the woman had an aversion to sunlight.
He was not that lucky. Not only had he not been able to rid himself of her, she had been so bold as to ask him to escort her to the social the next evening. He told her that after taking today off, he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t have to spend the day tomorrow catching up on his work. He would not feel good about accepting her invitation without knowing what his boss had in mind.
“But, Ridge, you must at least come,” she pouted, running her fingers up and down his lapel. “I bet there isn’t anyone else in this town that dances as well as you. Besides, you’re the only one I want to dance with.”
Ridge walked over to his horse, hoping she would release him.
“I’m afraid I can’t make any promises,” he insisted, hoping to deter her.
Just then she leaned in close to him, too close, and made a pretense of brushing something from his shoulder.
“There,” she said and stood back up again. “I dare say you’ve been playin’ in the hay today.”
He hadn’t stepped foot in the stables this morning. When he had gone out to fetch his horse and get it saddled, Tiny had come out with the work already done. Ridge smiled at the big man’s thoughtfulness.
Miss Jamison beamed up at him, thinking his smile had been for her. He quickly let the smile drop. He surely had no desire to encourage the woman.
Suddenly she laughed, for no reason at all, and leaned closer to him again. This time when she took a step back, she stumbled as if she were going to fall. Instinctively, his hands shot out to steady her. He knew it had been a ploy to have him hold her when she’d coyly put her hands on his shoulders.
That was when he’d seen them.
Ridge picked up the last stone and threw it as hard as he could toward the water’s surface, then he stood up and walked back toward Storm. After today, it would be a long time before he allowed Angus to give him another day off. It just wasn’t worth the trouble.
15. Confessions
Georgiana watched Dawson from Samantha’s bedroom window as he helped young Matthew Wallace get a kite into the air. A moderate breeze was blowing, and Dawson hadn’t stepped more than two feet up the Wallace’s walk before he was converged upon by Matthew, who pleaded for him to assist with the kite flying adventure before the wind died down. They were having a difficult time dodging the trees, and twice already Dawson had fallen onto his behind while running backward. She couldn’t help but laugh when after each tumble, he spent an inordinate amount of time brushing himself off.
Dawson was out of his element here in Colorado. He never did like getting dirty, even for all his playing in the park with his younger brother. The problem was that his benevolence was forever getting him into situations that contradicted his need for cleanliness. She had spied him earlier looking woefully at his hands and nails. Even though he purchased some gloves, with all his help in the storm, they were probably in pretty poor condition.
Now she, on the other hand, even after five years of being pampered, didn’t mind getting her hands dirty at all. She’d grown up playing in the mud, scaling trees, swimming in murky ponds, and fording streams after she and her friends had tired of fishing. Chuckling to herself, Georgiana tried to picture Dawson baiting a worm on a hook. Try as she might, she just couldn’t fathom it. Even after countless kitchen rendezvous, Dawson was still squeamish about some things. It wasn’t his fault, she admitted freely. He’d just grown up differently.
Turning somber, Georgiana admitted this new realization was more evidence against their sharing a future together. The truth was, Dawson loved New York, with its pristine houses and manicured lawns. Though he had a deep appreciation for all walks of life, he especially thrived in a crowded room and reveled in attending one glorious event after another. If she asked him, she knew Dawson would stay here in Colorado just to be with her, but the light would go out of him. He’d still be a wonderful man, but he’d never truly be happy.
Georgiana despised New York and almost everything about it. Being in a crowd was stifling, and the parties and dances seemed to be nothing more than excuses to flaunt one’s title and wealth. Her aunt’s house certainly hadn’t helped her adjust to the change. Though even in Dawson’s home, where she’d been embraced as part of the family, it never once compared to the innate comfort of her grandmother’s parlor. There was also something about the open expanse of the land in Colorado that made her spirit feel free, not trapped as it had been for many years.
Georgiana chuckled when Dawson became wrapped up in the kite string he was trying to untangle from a tree branch. He scrunched his face, and Matthew fell to the ground laughing. Even with his ridiculous expression, he was still so charming. Amazingly, and much to his credit, he was even more appealing on the inside. Dawson was a more than worthy catch, to be sure.
As Mrs. Whitaker had insinuated, there were all sorts of women waiting back in New York, more than ready to pounce at the first given opportunity. Maybe even his soul mate, Georgiana thought despondently. Shamefully, she realized just how selfish she’d been in keeping him to herself all this time when she knew in her heart they could never marry.
“He’s really going to be a good husband and father for some lucky girl someday.”
The words were out of her mouth before she could take them back. Georgiana glanced over her shoulder to see if her friend had been paying attention. Instantly, Samantha set the big satin bow she was fiddling with down on the bed. She and Samantha had spent the last couple of hours tying bows to adorn the baskets of flowers, which were part of the social’s decorations. Her bed was covered with them.
One look at Samantha’s face, and she knew she wouldn’t be going anywhere until she explained herself. Turning away from the window, she walked over to Samantha’s bed, pushed a few of the bows aside, and sat down.
Tears sprang to her eyes, and before she could even open her mouth, they were trailing down her cheeks. Immediately her friend’s arm encircled her shoulder consolingly.
“Oh, Samantha . . . I don’t know what to do!”
“Why don’t you start by first tellin’ me what you meant? I thought you were going to marry Dawson.” Samantha took hold of both her hands. “Georgie, you love him, don’t you?”
“Of course I love him.” Georgiana swallowed hard. For the first time, she was about to say aloud the doubts her heart had been harboring for so long. “What’s not to love?” she added wistfully, not daring to look up into her friend’s face as her tears continued to fall. “It’s just that . . . that I’ve finally accepted what I’ve known for a long time. I love him more like a brother, a friend. How could I have been so . . . so selfish? I’ve . . .” Georgiana chewed on her lip for a moment, not wanting to continue. Finally she blurted out, “I’ve been so unfair to him!” Speaking the words out loud was so much harder than thinking them, and feelings of shame and guilt poured over her, causing a tumult of emotion that wracked her body with sobs. When after a while her sobbing subsided, she curled up on the bed and laid her head in Samantha’s lap. Samantha stroked her hair soothingly, brushing it off her tear-streaked face.
“Oh, Georgie. I’m so sorry,” Samantha spoke sympathetically. “You were just confused. You didn’t know.”
Samantha was wrong—Georgiana did know. Deep down, the answer was there. She’d just been too afraid to look. Dawson had become her lifeline, and she hadn’t known how to give him up.
Forcing herself up, Georgiana walked back to the window. Just as she did, Dawson looked up at her and waved. Taking a deep breath, she forced down another swelling of emotion and tentatively waved back.
“He’s such a wonderful man . . . and a dear friend,” she said, watching him resume his play. “How can I bear to hurt him?” Georgiana turned away from the window to look at her friend. “Many times I’ve contemplated marrying him anyway. I know I’ll grow to love him more like a wife should love her husband with time
.” She turned to look at Dawson once more. “It could work,” she added, trying to convince herself. She absentmindedly traced a heart with her finger on the glass. “He deserves better though.” She looked down at the handsome man entangled once again in the kite strings. “He deserves a woman who swoons at his touch and whose heart begins to race whenever he is near. A woman who longs for the feel of his lips against hers and is eager to be held in the warmth of his arms . . . a woman who will feel the things Ridge makes me feel.” Georgiana quickly stopped speaking. Once again her thoughts betrayed her openly. She looked over at Samantha and sighed.
◁ ◊ ▷
Samantha looked into the eyes of her friend and struggled to hide the sudden desire to smile. She had suspected long before Dawson had shown up that Georgiana was still in love with Ridge. Ridge, she knew without a doubt, was still in love with Georgiana. Over the last five weeks since Georgiana had returned, she could see something in both of them come alive. She was actually quite surprised when Dawson arrived. She’d almost forgotten about him since she’d first peppered her friend with questions about her city beau.
Unexpectedly, Samantha felt a familiar pain clench her heart when it suddenly called upon her memories of Mitch. Talk about unfair! Here was Georgiana, faced with the dilemma of choosing between two worthy men who adored her, and she had none. A measure of jealously fought hard to find its well-deserved place in her heart, but she suppressed it. She wouldn’t give in to it now. Her friend needed her. She would wait to feel sorry for herself until later, when the dark, lonely hours found her exhausted and spent from the tears that were her nightly ritual.
The Kissing Tree Page 17
