Rose (10 page)

“When should I leave?”

“Tomorrow.”

“We don’t have a mule or a wagon to bring back the lumber.”

“Then buy one.”

“Or a barn to put the mule in.”

“I expect we’ll have to build one sooner or later, for the bull if nothing else. He’s too valuable to leave out.”

“All of a sudden we’re doing a lot of buying and building,” Jeff said. He looked at Rose. It was clear he held her responsible for a situation he didn’t approve of.

“That’s normal, considering nothing’s been done for five years,” George pointed out, his temper getting rather short. “It’s my turn to sleep out. Anybody want game?”

“Venison,” Tyler suggested. “Hen says there’s plenty of deer eating our grass.”

“Don’t shoot anything until dawn,” Hen warned. “There’s panthers in some of those creek bottoms. You kill a deer at nightfall and you’ll have three or four panthers nosing about your camp before midnight.”

Rose shivered. “You didn’t say anything about panthers,” she said to George accusingly.

“They won’t come near the house. They don’t like the dogs.”

“Shouldn’t George take one of the dogs with him?” she asked. The idea of George sleeping out with panthers all around him upset her.

“They’re my dogs,” Monty said. “They won’t go with anybody except maybe Hen once in a while.”

“Maybe you should buy a dog, too,” Rose said to Jeff.

“I don’t need a dog to let me know if a panther is around,” George said, touched that Rose would worry about his safety. “My horse will do just as well.”

But Rose had never met a horse that inspired her with that kind of confidence. Something would have to be done about these bandits and rustlers, as well as the panthers. Preferably all three. She didn’t see why they should be allowed to terrorize
people, especially at night when people couldn’t see to defend themselves.

“You’ve got to anticipate which way the calf will turn,” George told Zac. “He won’t stand still while you throw a rope on him.”

“It don’t make no difference,” Zac complained, disgusted with himself. “Nobody’s going to let me rope no old calf no way.”

Rose had been watching George try to teach Zac to ride and rope. Without too much success. Zac was much longer on wanting to ride than on desire to learn how to do it correctly.

“If you don’t start paying more attention to your grammar, you’ll stay home and practice your sentences with Rose.”

“I done…I already practiced them all week,” Zac argued. “I can’t do no more.”

George cast his little brother a stern glance.

“Any more,” Zac corrected himself.

“You can’t rope properly until you ride so well you don’t have to pay attention to anything except the calf you’re after. And you can’t ride through the rough parts of the range until I feel sure you can stay on your horse.”

“I can,” Zac assured him. “I can stick like glue.”

“Maybe we’ll go for a ride this afternoon and see.”

“Promise?” Zac said. He had the skeptical look of a little boy who had seen too many promises come to nothing.

“I promise, as long as you get all your chores done and don’t give Rose any reason to complain about you.”

“I like Rose,” Zac said. “It’s Tyler and Jeff that cause all the trouble.”

George looked embarrassed to have led Zac into making a statement he didn’t want Rose to hear.

“They’ll come around,” George assured him.

“Jeff’s mean. I don’t like him,” Zac said.

“You don’t mean that,” George said.

“Yes, I do. He’s mean to Monty and he’s mean to me. He’s mean to you, too.”

“Jeff isn’t mean. He’s just unhappy. It’s hard to get used to having only one arm.”

“It’s hard to get used to being the littlest and getting told what to do all the time,” Zac argued. “But I don’t say mean things to nobody because of it.”

“Yes, you do, you little scamp,” George countered, scooping his brother up and tossing him up on his shoulders. “You complain about every chore I give you.”

“But I don’t mean it.”

“Neither does Jeff.”

The days when Tyler and Jeff were away were wonderful for Rose. Their absence didn’t remove all dissension—Rose decided no two members of this family could be together without arguing—but the spirit of anger left with them.

She understood Jeff’s resentment, but she had no idea what caused Tyler to be so antagonistic. He hated helping her. He particularly hated having to pick berries or gather nuts with Zac. Rose decided he must be going through a difficult time, no longer a boy but not quite a man. It couldn’t be easy to feel grown but not be treated that way. He was almost as tall as George, but he was so skinny he looked more like a prisoner of war than Jeff. His clothes hung off him, and he shuffled along like a boy grown so fast he had left his coordination a year behind.

The others had begun to accept her. Zac was young enough to still enjoy a woman’s softness. In fact, he was constantly underfoot. She suspected he was the one brother who was truly born to live indoors.

Monty and Hen had warmed considerably. Well, at least Monty had. Nearly every day he brought her some game he had shot. With so many mouths to feed, she was glad for the fresh meat, but she wasn’t glad of the work of cleaning, dressing, and preparing it.

Hen never said much, but he had the best natural manners of anybody except George. He remembered to thank her, say
good morning, and hold the door. Little things, to be sure, things he usually did without speaking, his face showing no expression, but touches of thoughtfulness which she appreciated.

But the greatest change was in George.

At first she had feared his interest might be the same as Luke Kearney’s. Despite the way he looked at her, despite the quality of his character, he said nothing to make her think he liked her. Her work maybe, but not her personally. How could she
know
he was interested in anything more than her body? It had been a physical touching, an accidental brushing, which turned the heat up to a blaze.

Had she left Austin and Luke Kearney only to discover that George was just like him?

If so, she would have to leave. It wouldn’t be as easy to refuse George as Luke.

It mortified her to think she was so weak that she would hesitate for as much as a moment. She wouldn’t mean to. She would struggle against it, but she had had a taste of the havoc George’s touch wrought in her body. She didn’t know if her willpower could withstand a prolonged attack.

But as the days passed, Rose’s fears began to recede. George was avoiding her once again, but his control was no longer absolute. Under his stiff manner she could see signs that his feelings were no longer cold.

He hardly took his eyes off her when he was at the ranch. He talked to each brother during each meal, but most often his eyes would be on her at the opposite end of the table. Whether he knew it or not, he included her more and more often in their conversations.

But it was the way he looked at her that made the difference, as if he couldn’t get enough, as if he wanted to learn everything about her there was to know, as if he had never seen such an entrancing woman before and he wanted to look his fill.

Rose tried not to attach too much importance to it. After
all, she was the only woman in sight and she wasn’t exactly ugly. Yet it did make her feel better to know he couldn’t ignore her, even if he meant to.

But the thing that caused her heart to beat a little fast, her limbs to tingle with excitement, was the warmth she noticed in George’s eyes.

And it wasn’t merely lust.

It amused her that stoic George—in her daydreams she had dubbed him St. George of the Texas plains—should have to struggle with his physical appetites like ordinary men. She didn’t want him to lose the struggle, but it would have hurt her vanity if he hadn’t been a little unsettled by her continual nearness.

And he liked her.

Despite the fact that she was a stranger, that he got angry with her at least once a day, he liked her. She could see it in the friendliness he showed when he didn’t remember to act cold. She could see it in his gaze when he looked at her when his mind was on something else. She could see it in the many little things he thought to do to make her work easier, her day more pleasant, her relationships with his brothers more smooth.

He might remember he didn’t mean to act so friendly—it was amusing to see him catch himself in the middle of some little act of kindness and struggle over whether to continue or bow out gracefully—but he couldn’t keep the warmth from his voice. Rose doubted he even knew it was there.

Rose was aware that her determination not to marry an army man was growing weaker. It wasn’t something she had done consciously, and it shocked her to find she was actively considering ways to make her dreams compatible with the life of an army officer’s wife. After all, hundreds of other women managed it. Why couldn’t she?

She had already thought of a dozen reasons why George wouldn’t act like her father.

Rose repeatedly cautioned herself to keep a tight rein on her
feelings—George had told her he didn’t want to be married—but it was a losing battle. She realized now she had lost it that morning George came into the Bon Ton Restaurant.

“Why would you want to leave a town like Austin to come out here?” Monty asked Rose. They had fallen into the habit of relaxing around the table after dinner.

“Not everybody likes living in a town,” Rose replied.

“I know that. Tyler wants to live in the mountains. But you’re different.”

“What makes you say that?”

“You’re a woman.”

Rose chuckled. “Don’t men who live in mountains need women who want to live in mountains?”

“Sure they do, but you’re too pretty for that.”

“Can’t a pretty woman like to live in the country?”

“Yes, but not until after she’s married.”

George could see that Rose was uncomfortable with the drift of the conversation, but he was reluctant to interrupt. It was inevitable the boys should become curious about her. He was curious, too.

“You aren’t running away from some man, are you?”

“Not the way you mean. If you spent more time in town, you’d know men don’t look at an unmarried woman the same way they do a married one.”

“I should think not,” Monty said, a devilish gleam in his eyes.

“Don’t be stupid,” Hen said. “She’s not talking about men wanting to marry her.”

“You mean they…” He couldn’t find any words he wanted to use.

George almost laughed at Monty’s indignant response. He wasn’t as sophisticated as he liked to believe.

“Yes,” Rose said, coming to Monty’s rescue.

“Why didn’t your brothers shoot them?” Zac wanted to know.

“I don’t have any brothers,” Rose said. “I don’t have any family at all.”

“Then you can be part of our family,” Zac offered.

“Thanks,” Rose said, her lips quivering slightly, “but one of your brothers would have to marry me for that to happen.”

“George can marry you.”

Zac’s words caused chills of excitement and dread to shoot through George. The notion that Rose would continue to be near him gave birth to a feeling of pleasant anticipation from deep within. But the realization that he would be bound to one person
for the rest of his life
caused an even greater feeling of apprehension.

“You can’t expect George to marry me just to protect me,” Rose said to Zac. “Men get married for quite different reasons.”

“What reasons?” he asked.

Rose didn’t want to answer that question, especially not in front of George.

“Why don’t you ask your brother?”

“You made the statement,” George said, the suggestion of a smile on his lips. “You ought to answer it. Besides, I’d be curious to know why a woman thinks a man marries.”

“You’re just trying to embarrass me,” Rose objected. “All three of you will probably pounce on anything I say.”

“I promise we won’t crack a smile.”

“Speak for yourself,” said Monty. “I can’t wait to pounce on her.”

Monty was obviously trying to be provocative, but Rose couldn’t take him seriously. How could any woman be interested in a seventeen-year-old boy, no matter how well-grown and handsome, when he had a twenty-four-year-old brother like George sitting in the same room? George’s shoulders would make two of Monty. And all Monty’s youthful enthusiasm paled before George’s masterful calm. Monty was as transparent as still water. George was a tangle of dark secrets, suppressed
passions, and barely restrained tensions, an irresistible challenge to any woman.

Rose ignored the others and looked straight at Zac. “A man has to like a woman so much he doesn’t want her to leave.”

“I don’t want you to leave. Can I marry you?”

Rose had to turn away to hide her watery eyes. “Thank you, Zac, but there are rules against little boys getting married.”

“There’s rules against everything I want to do,” he said, disgusted. “You’ll have to marry Hen. He’ll shoot those fellas.”

Rose got up from the table. “I’m sure he would, but he’s too young, too.”

“Is George old enough?”

“Yes.”

“Then why—”

“I think you’ve asked enough questions for tonight,” Rose said. “It’s time to get ready for bed.”

“Wonder why she isn’t married,” Monty said later when they were settling into bed.

“I guess nobody asked her,” George said.

“With that face and body! If they had any notion how she can cook, there’d be a line from here to Austin. I’m tempted to ask her myself.”

“You!” George could hardly credit how much the idea of Monty’s marrying Rose upset him.

“You needn’t say it that way. I’m not bad looking, and she likes me.”

“What makes you say that?”

“She’s nice to me.”

“She’s paid to be nice to you.”

“I know, but there’s a difference.”

George didn’t want to own up to the rising tide of irritation within himself.

“I’m not going to dignify that remark by asking what you mean. Besides, she’s older than you.”

“No law against a man marrying an older woman. Seems like a good idea in Rose’s case.”

George wished he could enlist Hen’s aid in making his twin talk sense, but it was Hen’s night to sleep out.

“I agree it’s unusual for such a nice-looking girl to be unmarried, but I can’t see why that should make you want to marry her.”

“Nice-looking!” Monty exclaimed. “Girl! That
woman
is beautiful, and you know it. I don’t know what tale you told her to get her out here, but if you weren’t such a cold-hearted bastard, I’d be sure you were after her yourself.”

“I’m not planning to get married. I didn’t know you were either.”

“I was just joking,” Monty confessed, “but it’s not a bad idea. Then she could go on cooking for us forever.”

“Go to sleep, Monty. And for God’s sake don’t let her guess you thought of marrying her just so she could cook for you.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“You’ll know one of these days, and then you’ll squirm every time you remember what you said.”

“I can’t go to sleep with you talking,” Zac complained.

“We’re done,” George said.

But George couldn’t sleep either. The feelings hurtling around inside him were too numerous, strong, and unexpected to allow him to rest. The thought of anybody marrying Rose had thoroughly upset him.

But why? What business was it of his who she married? Besides, marrying Monty would solve just about all his problems.

But it was a solution he would hate.

He was jealous. Monty had said Rose liked him. That implied a very special kind of liking, and George realized he wanted Rose to like him more than anyone else.

No. He wanted her to like him
and no one else.

George was suspicious when Monty held Rose’s chair at breakfast. He became irritated when he kept telling her how good everything tasted. He grew furious when he told her how pretty she was.

“For God’s sake, Monty, shut up. How can you expect Rose to swallow your overblown compliments with her breakfast?”

“It’s not hard for a woman to accept compliments any time of the day,” Rose informed him. “I haven’t gotten all that many.”

“I can’t imagine why,” Monty said. “You’re certainly the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen.”

He came out with that awfully quick,
George thought.
Probably just said it so I couldn’t.

“You didn’t seem all that bowled over that first evening,” Rose pointed out.

“I like having my way,” Monty confessed, flashing his ingratiating grin. “But it didn’t take me long to see that you were just what this family needed.”

You saw it so quickly you threw a temper tantrum at nearly everything she said,
George thought.

“If I remember your exact words—”

“Never mind my exact words,” Monty said. “I’ve seen the light.”

“Bullshit,” Hen muttered.

George couldn’t stand it any longer. “For God’s sake, Monty, shut up.”

“George doesn’t think you’re beautiful,” Monty said. “I’m not even sure he likes your cooking.”

It was obvious to everybody that Monty was out to provoke him, but George could take only so much. His fork landed on his plate with a noisy clatter. “I’ll thank you not to put words into my mouth, especially words which can get me poisoned.”

“You think I’d do that?” Rose exclaimed.

“You’d have every right if I said such things.”

“Now George is being gallant,” Monty said. “I think I do it better. You ought to have me, not him.”

“Miss Thornton is not
having
anybody,” George stated, barely keeping his temper. “I’m certainly not going to enter into a contest with you for some woman’s attention.”

“George can’t like you as much as I do,” Monty said. “Not if he’s going to call you
some woman.
He doesn’t like me much either.” The devil gleamed in his eyes.

“You are right about the latter point,” George said between clenched teeth. “To set the record straight once and for all, I think Miss Thornton is very pretty, I like her quite a bit, and I very much enjoy her cooking.”

“So you are going to compete with me for her affections,” Monty said, a gleam of devilish pleasure in his eyes.

George threw down his napkin and pushed back from the table. “What I’m not going to do is stay here and listen to any more of your twaddle. If I do, I’m liable to break your neck.”

George stalked out of the kitchen. It was the first time Rose had seen him lose his temper.

“George didn’t deserve that,” Hen said, disapproval in his voice. “You did that intentionally.”

“Considering how George and I met, you ought to be blushing with shame,” Rose said.

The brothers looked at her expectantly.

“George saved me from a man who was trying to force me to become his mistress,” she explained.

“He was just showing off,” Monty said, guilt making him angry at himself.

“Luke drew a gun on him. He would have shot George if he hadn’t been faster and stronger.”

“What happened?” Zac asked, enthralled to see his adored brother in this new light.

“George knocked Luke down and tossed him into the street. Now you go out there and apologize,” Rose said, turning back to
Monty. “If you don’t, you’ll be a lot older before you taste any more roast turkey.”

“George beat him up?” Zac asked, his eyes wide with excitement.

“He chopped him up into little pieces,” Rose said, pandering shamelessly to the boy’s thirst for gory details. “It wasn’t a pretty sight.”

“Yippee!” Zac shouted. “I wish I had seen it.”

“And George complains about me exaggerating,” Monty muttered.

“Do what Rose told you,” Hen said.

“I’m going,” Monty said, getting up, sulky, “but I wasn’t just kidding. I do think you’re the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen. And the nicest. I don’t understand why there weren’t dozens of men wanting to marry you. If I were the marrying kind, I’d be proud to have you for my wife.”

“Thank you, Monty.”

“He didn’t mean any harm,” Hen said after his twin had left. “He just likes to aggravate George.”

“He shouldn’t. George never thinks of anything except this family.”

“Monty knows that. He’s just not very good at showing gratitude. He’s better at fighting. I am too.”

“But you understand.”

“So does Monty,” Hen said. He paused. “Do you mind if Zac and I sit here for a while? Monty will get along better if there’s nobody watching him.”

“Stay as long as you like,” Rose said.

Zac held out his biscuit. “If I got to stay here, I want some more jam.”

George could have kicked himself. He had known all along that Monty was only trying to annoy him, and he had let himself get angry just the same. He was acting as jealous as a spurned lover. Ever since Monty mentioned the possibility of
Rose being in love with anybody else, he had been as sore as a bear with a bee sting on the end of his nose. He didn’t know why he had felt so angry and jealous, but he had. He had been ready to fight Monty.

Maybe it was time he figured out just what his interest was in Rose. Surely it wasn’t normal for a man to get this upset just because his brother said the housekeeper was pretty.

Not unless he was in love with her.

He wasn’t in love with Rose, but he obviously hadn’t been able to keep from developing feelings about her. Ever since he touched her cheek, he hadn’t been able to get her out of his mind. He liked her. He liked her so much he wanted her to like him back. Clearly he’d passed the point of merely desiring her body.

But how could an honorable man say he had become this attached to a woman in little more than a week? He thought of his father’s numerous affairs. Did he want Rose only because somebody else wanted her? Would he lose interest as soon as he met a new, more attractive, and more exciting woman?

He had known many exciting and attractive women, but he’d never become emotionally attached to one before. Did it mean his interest in Rose was deep and true?

His father had fought a duel over a woman who bored him just six months later. Would he do the same?

George had never kidded himself. Every time he looked in the mirror he saw William Henry Randolph all over again. He saw the same appetites that had ruined his father’s life, the same aversion to responsibility that nearly destroyed his family as well. Whatever his feelings for Rose might seem to be now, no matter how hot the passion might flame, in the end it would fade just as it had with his father.

Knowing that, George couldn’t take a chance on falling in love. Even worse, he couldn’t allow Rose to fall in love with him. He must never do to any woman what his father had done to his mother.

“Rose said you beat up some man because of her.”

George was checking his guns in preparation for saddling up.

“He was hurting her.”

“I guess I looked pretty foolish in there, talking about men lining up wanting her.”

“Yes, you did.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt her feelings.”

“You never do, Monty,” George said, looking up. “But you never stop to think, either, before you blow up or say something just to get a rise out of people.”

“But she is pretty, and I do like her. She’d make someone a wonderful wife.”

“That’s all the more reason not to say anything. She’s got to feel it, being twenty years old and unmarried.”

“Why? What’s wrong with her?”

“You’ll have to ask her that.”

“I may be unfeeling and stupid, but I’m not that dumb.”

“I never thought you were,” George said, all the anger draining out of him. “I don’t think Pa meant to be, either, but you know what he was like.”

“Son-of-a-bitch!” Monty swore. “If you ever say I’m like that damned bastard, I’ll kill you.”

“We’re all like him,” George said. “And we can’t ever forget that.”

“You just say that because you know you aren’t.”

George laughed, a mocking, hollow laugh. “I’m exactly like him, and it scares me to death.”

Four days later Rose was surprised to see Tyler return alone with the wood and supplies. Jeff had decided to stay in town a few extra days to learn more about Richard King. Over the next two days all the boys took their turn plowing the garden. Since none of them knew how to manage a plow, and the mule didn’t seem to know any more than they did, the job took the better
part of a day and the combined efforts of George, Monty, and Hen. Rose was certain this part of Texas hadn’t heard so much cussing since the Spaniards came through more than three hundred years earlier looking for gold.

The boys finally resorted to leading the mule with two of them struggling to hold the plow straight. It tossed them about like rag dolls.

Zac spent most of his time pitching clods at his older brothers and then trying to stay out of their reach. Tyler worked on the chicken coop.

Rose laughed until her sides hurt.

There were no straight rows when they finished. There were patches of untilled sod throughout the garden, but enough of the deep, rich soil had been turned for Rose to plant her vegetables.

“I want to plant the garden today,” Rose told George next morning. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all. What do you want me to do?”

“Dig the rows so I can drop the seeds in. Zac can cover them.”

“You always give me the hard job,” Zac complained.

“The hard job is making the rows,” Rose told him.

“I’ll dig the rows,” George agreed, “and put up the poles when the vines begin to grow, but don’t ask me to pick anything.”

“That’s Zac’s job,” Rose said.

Zac made a face.

“Or shell or snap or peel,” George added.

“That’s my job,” Rose said.

Zac looked relieved.

George couldn’t remember feeling so contented, not even when he had lived in a household staffed by servants and supplied with the best that money could buy. He knew he’d be hoodwinked into digging potatoes, picking beans and squash, and he didn’t know what else, but he didn’t mind. Already he had uprooted berry bushes and grapevines and planted them
along the corral fence. There were enough pecan trees along the creeks to supply a household much bigger than theirs, but Rose had already talked to him about ordering fruit trees.

“There’s no substitute for fresh fruit,” she had said.

“Don’t you think this is an awfully big garden?” George asked, surveying the full acre of ground. They had put the garden in the old corral to protect it from the ravenous longhorns, deer, antelope, wild horses, or anything else that might want to dine off its succulent plants. The mule and cow would be staked out until they could build a corral for them. Maybe a shed would come sometime after that.

“You have no idea how much you men eat,” Rose said. “I have to put up enough to last through the winter.”

“We can buy what we need from town.”

“You can’t carry squash and tomatoes and beans from town,” Rose said. “Besides, I thought you might like some fresh corn instead of corn mush for a change.”

So they proceeded to plant the garden, George digging the rows, Rose carefully spacing the seeds as she dropped them, and Zac happily pushing the soft dirt over the seeds with his bare feet.

And George continued to wonder at the feeling of contentment which seemed to seep out of the soil into his body. He felt more relaxed, more optimistic, more at peace with the world than he could ever remember. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if things could stay like this forever?