by Kaki Warner
“How many did you have?”
“A hundred, but they weren’t mine actually. They were originally planted by Elena’s mother. That’s how RosaRoja got its name—Red Rose Ranch.” Her smile seemed forced, but Daisy wasn’t sure why. “They endured for over a quarter century, poor dears, until fire destroyed all but the one Brady found when he began excavations for this house. Since he moved it onto the hill, something about the soil up there has caused the blooms to darken to a deep crimson. Almost a blood red.” She looked up with a wry smile. “A fitting color for a cemetery, don’t you think?”
Unsure how to answer, Daisy moved to a safer subject. “Would you like help? I may not know much about roses, but I’m a farm girl from Quebec, so I definitely know how to dig in dirt.”
Jessica laughed and glanced back at the worker. “I’m not sure Enrique could tolerate more help. But there’s always the vegetable garden. Let me send for the twins, and a blanket for the children to play on, and I’ll show you.”
It was more like a walled fortress than a vegetable plot, Daisy decided later when they walked around the side of the house. Apparently this family had a gift for overbuilding. Once she’d settled Kate beside the twins on a blanket by the fence, Daisy left her to Rosa Ortega’s care and followed her hostess on a tour.
“I know it’s rather much.” Jessica swept a hand in a gesture that encompassed the sprawling acre of garden. “But Brady always says, ‘Why build for today, when a century would be better?’”
At least a century, Daisy thought, looking around in amazement.
Built in stockade fashion, the fence was constructed of standing ten-foot-tall posts stuck in the ground and lashed together with stout rope. At one end of the enclosure was a heavy gate hung on horseshoe hinges. At the other end stood a log and stone outbuilding next to a railroad-style water tank on stilts. Budding fruit trees, their trunks wrapped to protect them against frost, stood along the fence. Lined up before them like troops awaiting inspection were rows of elevated beds separated by flagstone walkways. The beds were just budding now, showing the merest green tops of emerging seedlings. There was also—if Daisy surmised correctly from the grid of earthen pipes bordering the walkways—an elaborate gravity-fed watering system that linked the water tower to each bed. “How clever,” she remarked, studying it as they walked, not sure how it worked, but admiring the ingenuity. “Did you do this?”
“Hank.” Jessica paused to pluck out a weed that had dared send up shoots between the stones. “He’s quite the innovator, you see. One is never sure what he’ll come up with next.” This last was added as a murmured afterthought.
“Does it work well?”
“Eventually.” Straightening, Jessica tossed the weed aside and continued down the path. “The first year, the shutoff mechanism between the tank and pipes broke and the ensuing flood washed out everything, even the dirt.” Another pause, another weed torn from the earth. “The next year, carpenter ants damaged one of the posts supporting the water tank and it tipped over, taking down a section of fence. What didn’t wash away in that flood was quickly devoured by deer and rabbits. But last year, I am pleased to say, it worked beautifully.”
“You have rabbits?” Daisy had noted evidence here and there on their walks with Jack, but hadn’t seen any yet. Kate would be delighted.
Jessica shot her that wry smile again. “Another of Hank’s ideas. We have quite a few mouths to feed at RosaRoja and he thought rabbit would be a nice change of pace from the usual beef and venison.”
“That didn’t go well either?” Daisy wondered what new catastrophe this latest scheme of Hank’s had brought about. Apparently the poor man had everything going for him but luck.
“It did. At first. But then one of the children left the cages open, and several dozen rabbits escaped. And now,” she shrugged, “in addition to being overrun with rabbits, we also have packs of plump coyotes running about. Do keep an eye on Kate.”
Daisy stopped midstride. “Would they attack her?”
Her voice must have shown her fear. Jessica reached out and patted her arm, leaving dirt smudges on her sleeve. “They’re not that bold,” she assured her. “And there are always dogs about the place to warn us if they come too close. It’s just that ...” Taking her hand from Daisy’s arm, she looked around as if expecting to see ... what?
Frowning, not sure what she was looking for, Daisy looked around, too, wondering what other dangers could be lurking. “It’s just what?” she prodded.
Jessica chewed her bottom lip for a moment then sighed. “I don’t want to worry you. Truly, I don’t. But since you’re unfamiliar with the area and Kate is so small—”
“What?” Fully alarmed now, Daisy had to struggle not to snatch Kate from the ground and flee into the house. “What else should I be watching for?”
It had to be snakes. She’d heard the West was full of snakes. And poisonous spiders. And scorpions and giant lizards and wild pigs that attacked for no reason, and bears and wolves and mountain lions and crazed buffalo.
At least in San Francisco she only had to be wary of rats and villainous humans.
“I don’t want you to become overly concerned,” Jessica began in a voice that concerned Daisy mightily. “But I should probably mention a few things of which you should be aware.”
Her list of horrors seemed enormous and included every threat Daisy had imagined, in addition to the occasional Indian war party, drunken desert dwellers, flash floods, rock slides, frostbite, and heat-stroke.
Even as Jessica spoke, Daisy was mentally packing her valise.
“Try not to worry.” This time Jessica patted Daisy’s shoulder, no doubt smearing it with dirt as well. “As Hank often says, ‘Being aware is the best defense against the unexpected.’ And don’t forget”—she gave Daisy a bright smile—“Molly is a remarkably gifted nurse.”
“I THINK I FRIGHTENED DAISY TODAY,” HIS WIFE SAID AS Brady came out of the dressing room, wearing nothing but a damp towel and high hopes.
“Why?” He paused to check his chin in the vanity mirror. He didn’t want to give her whisker burn. “Want me to shave?” he asked, hoping not.
“I don’t care.” She flipped back the counterpane so hard it almost sailed off the bottom of the bed. “She needs to be aware, that’s why. Especially with Kate toddling about.”
She should care. She had a redhead’s sensitive skin, after all. Everywhere. Gaze pinned to the mirror, he watched her shrug out of her robe, admiring every familiar dip and hollow that showed through the thin cloth of her gown. The towel hanging at his waist twitched in expectation. “Aware of what?”
“Snakes, tarantulas, whatnot.” She began her normal bed preparations, but with more vigor than usual—fluffing the pillows with grim-faced efficiency then shaking out the quilt so hard it snapped like a billowing sail. By the time she was done, the bed would be a shambles, at which point she would spend the next quarter hour righting the mess she had made until nary a wrinkle showed.
He knew the routine well. She was upset, for sure.
Sensing trouble but not knowing the cause or how it might impact his bedtime plans, Brady settled a hip on the corner of the vanity, folded his arms over his damp chest, and waited her out. As he watched her assault the bedding, he mentally sorted through the day’s events for any blunders he might have made. He couldn’t think of a one. All in all, it had been a good day. Even the Army had cooperated, sending word they would take as many of their horses as they could get. In fact, as far as Brady could tell, other than his concerns over ranch finances, Jack, and losing his herd of prized horses, it had been a damn near perfect day.
But not, apparently, for his wife. She was definitely fretting about something. And if not him, then what?
“You were right to warn her,” he said, tossing out a line.
“Of course I was. That’s all put to rights. It’s Molly who concerns me.”
Molly? He must have missed something. But rather than admit that,
he kept his mouth shut. She would eventually tell him what was worrying her. Then he would fix it and she would be happy again, which would make him happy again.
Climbing into bed, she began smoothing out all the wrinkles she had made. “She’s so melancholy of late, Brady. I scarcely hear her laugh anymore.”
Ah. Now he understood. If there was one thing that could upset his wife faster than him, it was problems with her family. Or Hank’s family. Or now even Jack’s family. Or any one of the dozen families that made up the bigger family of RosaRoja. She was the mother of them all.
“It’s Hank,” she said with conviction. “He’s done something or said something to upset her. You need to find out what it is and fix it.”
Brady bit back a smile. A brother telling him to butt out and a wife telling him to butt in. And they wondered why he seemed arbitrary sometimes. Pushing away from the vanity, he walked toward her. “It’s not something I can fix.”
“You can try.”
Sitting on the edge of the bed beside her hip, he smiled down at her, thinking how beautiful she looked to him with her hair spread across the pillows like fiery wings and her whiskey brown eyes so full of trust and love. Through all the violence and turmoil in his life, how had he found his way to this remarkable woman? Even after almost four years, it was still a wonderment to him.
“Please, Brady, just give it a go. If anyone can make it right, you can.”
When she looked at him like that, he almost believed it. She had a way of making him think anything was possible and there was nothing he couldn’t do. Which was mostly true most of the time. Hell, he was here, wasn’t he? Wearing nothing but a towel and a hopeful smile, sitting beside the most exciting and beautiful woman in the world. He must be pretty damn good to deserve all that.
Leaning down, he kissed her brow then straightened. “Don’t say anything to her, okay? You know how private Molly is, and this is between her and Hank.” He waited for her reluctant nod, then said, “She’s upset because there’s no baby.”
He watched surprise give way to understanding. She let out a sigh of relief. “Of course. How silly of me. She’s mentioned how much she looks forward to adding to their family. I should have known that was what was bothering her.”
“But if you still want me to fix it, I could ask Hank if he needs any help.”
“Dolt.” She punched his shoulder then laughed, letting her fingertips trail down his bicep and across to his chest.
His skin prickled. He saw something change in her eyes as she watched the way his muscles flexed beneath her touch, and it sent blood pumping through him.
“On second thought ...” She glanced up at him through her cinnamon-colored lashes. “Maybe you should shave after all.”
Grinning, he pulled back the covers. “Too late.”
“A MUSTANG’S BIGGER AND STRONGER,” BRADY SAID, CARRYING the argument from the kitchen table to the big room where the family had congregated after supper.
“Aye, but the garron is more surefooted,” Dougal countered from his spot in front of the hearth, where he was toasting his backside.
Daisy relaxed on a couch, watching Jessica read a picture book to Ben and Abigail and Kate, who gathered by her rocker. Charlie and Hank sat shoulder to shoulder on one end of another couch drawing plans for a three-wheeled scoot-along, while Molly sat at the other end, helping Penny bandage Miss Apple’s arm.
“So are burros,” Brady pointed out, dropping into one of the chairs beside the hearth. “But you wouldn’t want to ride one. Unless you’re a stump-legged Scotsman, of course.”
“Haud yer wheesht, ye craiker numptie. Yer lettin’ yer feet outrun yer shoes.”
Brady looked around. “Does anyone know what he’s saying?”
“Best not ask,” Hank advised without looking up from his tablet.
“I think you’ve been told to shut your geggie.” Molly ran another loop of gauze around Miss Apple’s arm then grinned over at the old man. “Do I have that right, Dougal?”
“Aye, lass. No tha’ ’twill dew any guid. Easier tae kiss a bolt o’ lightnin’ as talk sense intae the yammerin’ trout.”
“Jack kiss Mama,” Kate piped in. “Kiss Titty too.”
Brady’s brows shot up. “Good God. In front of his daughter?”
Daisy smothered a laugh. “She was talking about her toy kitty.”
“Ye’re a sick mon, ye are, tae think such a thing,” Dougal said in disgust.
“Gentlemen.” Jessica paused in her reading to send them chiding smiles. “Carry it outside if you must argue.”
“Tae cold,” Dougal mumbled, hiking his kilt higher to the fire.
“Wouldn’t be if you wore pants instead of a dress,” Brady reminded him, which set them off again, but thankfully at a lower volume, until finally Dougal gave up the fight and stomped out, calling for Consuelo.
“I thought he’d never leave,” Brady said with a labored sigh.
“Don’t you like Mr. Dougal?” Charlie asked him.
“I do. Especially when he’s in another room.”
“Make it tighter, Aunt Molly,” Penny instructed, waggling the doll’s arm. “Or it’ll fall off.”
Daisy sighed with contentment, enjoying the ebb and flow of conversation and the comfortable camaraderie of this big, rowdy family. It had been a long but lovely day. Even though the evenings were still quite cool, the afternoons were growing steadily warmer. On their hike earlier, she had seen tiny flowers bursting through the damp soil, heralding the end of winter even though the spring equinox wasn’t due for another few days. The cold fog of San Francisco seemed such a distant memory, she could scarcely remember the chill of it soaking into her bones.
The couch sagged as Jack plopped down beside her. “Been looking for you,” he said. “I thought you’d be upstairs putting Kate to sleep.”
“Later,” she mumbled around a yawn.
“Tired?”
“A bit.”
He leaned closer until his hard-muscled shoulder touched hers. “Why don’t you take off your clothes and hop into bed for a while?” he whispered. “I could watch over you to be sure you weren’t disturbed.”
“But I’d be disturbed anyway, just knowing you were watching me.”
“Then I’ll keep my eyes closed. Promise.”
She tried to stifle a laugh but choked a bit instead.
“That’s a nasty cough,” Jack murmured once she’d caught her breath. “Maybe I should take a look at your chest.”
“Hush!” She glanced at the others, but they all seemed engrossed in other things. Too engrossed perhaps. “You love another woman, remember?” A tired refrain, but true nonetheless.
“I love lots of women,” he whispered back. “But I’m marrying you.” He took her hand in his. “You’ve captured my heart, my little desert flower. You’ve found a warm place inside me that’s yours alone. I’m just trying to do the same.” He waggled his brows. “Want to go upstairs and try to find it together?”
She snatched her hand back. The man was incorrigible and growing more so ever since he’d thrown down the gauntlet of marriage again a few days ago. His attentions were unrelenting. And flattering. And impossible to ignore. Especially after that kiss. Daisy smiled, remembering. Even though she doubted the sincerity of his pursuit, Jack was so charmingly outrageous about it, she couldn’t take offense.
“Where’s Elena?” she asked, hoping to pull him off track.
He looked around in surprise, as if he’d only just realized she was absent from the room. “Probably at prayers. Now where were we?” He leaned close again. “Oh yeah, you were thinking about taking off your clothes.”
“I was not.” He was so near she could smell the sandalwood soap he had used in his bath before supper. She had heard him in there, splashing and humming in his monotone. It had aroused all sorts of images in her mind—sleek, wet, honey-colored skin—muscles bunching and—
Suddenly aware that Jack had spoken and was waiting for a respo
nse, she faked another yawn to cover her inattention.
“Am I boring you?” he asked.
“No more than usual.”
“We can’t have that. Hmm, here’s an idea.” His lips brushed against her ear as he whispered, “Why don’t you take off your clothes and sit on my lap and I’ll read to you?”
She reared back to give him an arch look. “You can read?”
That slow grin. Mercy, the things it did to her stomach.
“Oh, I’m an excellent reader, Daisy. Come upstairs and I’ll show you.”
“Are you whispering secrets?” Penny called, studying them with curious brown eyes. “Aunt Molly says secrets aren’t nice. Isn’t that so, Aunt Molly?”
Molly made a garbled sound but didn’t look up from her bandaging.
“No secrets,” Jack said. “I was worried Daisy might have picked up some ticks on our hike today and was just asking if she wanted me to check.”
“Ticks?” Daisy squeaked.
“They’re itchy,” Penny explained. “Aunt Molly found one on my bum once and it itched me forever. Isn’t that so, Aunt Molly?”
Molly didn’t—or couldn’t—answer. Jessica seemed to be stumbling over the words of a simple picture book, and Jack’s older brothers stared into the fire, as stony faced as cigar-store Indians. Daisy felt her skin tickle and hoped it wasn’t tiny feet.
Her distress must have shown. Jack reached over and patted her hand. “If she won’t let me check for ticks, maybe we can get our little Daisy to sing for us.”
Jessica jumped on that like a hen on a pill bug. “You sing, Daisy?”
“She does,” Jack answered before Daisy could. “She was the star of the Silver Spur Saloon.”
“You sang in a saloon?” Jessica’s smile faltered. “How splendid.”
