One Pink Rose; One White Rose; One Red Rose (26 page)

“You have no business asking me such personal questions.”

She was right about that, he told himself, yet it didn't stop him from trying to find out everything he could about her. “What are you afraid of, Isabel? Being honest about your late husband doesn't make you a traitor. We both know it had to have been awkward making love to your best friend.”

“Are you suggesting you can't be friends with your mate?”

“No,” he replied. “But there has to be another element involved besides friendship.”

“What element?”

He leaned forward. “Magic.”

She shook her head. “I don't wish to discuss this topic any longer. It's rude of you to try to guess what my marriage was like. You never met Parker.”

“I wasn't guessing,” he argued. “I've already figured it all out.”

“Is that so? How did you manage to do that?”

The sarcasm in her voice irritated him. “It was easy,” he snapped. “The way you respond to me . . . it's all new to you, isn't it? I can see it in your every reaction. You're actually frightened by what's happening to you.”

Her hands were balled into fists. “Oh? What exactly is happening to me? I'm sure you're just dying to tell me.”

He leaned over the table toward her. In a low whisper he said, “I'm what's happening to you, sugar.”

She bounded to her feet. “I'm going to bed. It's late.”

“Don't you mean it's time for you to run and hide from me?”

“No, that isn't what I mean to say.”

She took her time strolling into the bedroom. She wanted to run.

P
arker wasn't putting on weight as rapidly as Douglas had hoped he would. The baby was almost six weeks old, but he still seemed to be as tiny as the day he was born. Isabel disagreed and insisted that her son had gained quite a bit of weight. Parker seemed healthy enough for his size, and he certainly had a good appetite. Dr. Simpson was the expert, and he had ordered that Parker be kept inside the cabin for a minimum of eight weeks. Douglas didn't know why the physician had settled on that specific length of time, but Douglas was going to adhere to the number no matter how anxious he was to leave.

If Parker continued to do well, he and his mother could travel in a little over fourteen days. Douglas hoped to God the weather improved before then. The rain had let up, but it was still cold and damp, and anyone who hadn't kept track of the seasons would have thought it was the middle of autumn. The night air was cold enough to require heavy flannel shirts, and Douglas was worried about keeping Parker warm when he was taken outside. Would the night air be too harsh for him to breathe?

The baby wasn't the only one he was worried about. Honest to Pete, he didn't know how he was going to last another two weeks without touching Isabel. Being in the same room with her was all it took to get him bothered. Her scent was so damned appealing, and her skin was so soft and smooth, all he wanted to think about was taking her into his arms and stroking her.

He was determined not to give in to his natural inclinations. He didn't want any complication in his life, and if he kept busy every waking hour, he was sure he'd be too tired to think about her.

After he finished up the chores in the barn around dawn, he went inside the cabin and found Isabel sitting at the table with her head in her hands. Her hair was tousled; her eyes were bleary, and her nose was bright red. She looked hungover.

“Did Parker keep you up all night?”

She sneezed before she answered. “No, I caught a little cold,” she said, and promptly sneezed again.

“Maybe you should go back to bed.”

She wouldn't hear of it. She had never coddled herself before, and she wasn't about to start now. After doing the washing and ironing, she cooked supper, but she couldn't eat any of it, so she fixed herself a pot of tea before she headed to bed.

She had changed into her nightgown and robe and had wrapped around her shoulders an old tattered blanket that dragged on the floor behind her. She tripped over the hem and would have dropped the tray if he hadn't grabbed it from her.

“I'll bring it in,” he said. “You should probably eat something, shouldn't you? What about some toast?”

Didn't that man know how to fix anything else? “Will you try not to burn it?” she said, trying not to sound surly.

He nodded. “You probably got sick because you work too hard.”

“It's just a cold. I hope to heaven Parker doesn't catch it. What will we do if he gets a fever?”

He didn't want to think about the possibility. Parker couldn't afford to stop eating the way Isabel had.

“We'll deal with it,” he assured her.

When he came back with the tray, she was just drifting off to sleep. She opened her eyes as he was turning to leave. “I'm awake.”

He put the tray on the dresser, propped pillows behind her back, and then moved the tray to her lap.

He'd burned the toast again. He'd also put a white rose on the tray next to her mismatched teacup and saucer. The rose was such a sweet touch her mood improved, and she didn't mind eating the blackened bread at all.

“Is your throat sore?” he whispered.

“No. Please stop worrying.”

“Isabel, I want to worry, all right? I'm good at it.”

She patted the bed, waited for him to sit, and then picked up the rose. “You may be a worrier, but you're also a romantic at heart.”

He shook his head and continued to frown at her. Still, his concern was unreasonable, given the fact that she was only suffering from a stuffy head.

She reached up and stroked his cheek, loving the feel of his rough skin. He hadn't shaved this morning, and the dark growth of whiskers made him look even more ruggedly handsome and somewhat dangerous.

She remembered how afraid she'd been that dark, rainy night when they met. Silhouetted against the lightning with the rising wind howling around him and the huge beast of a horse with wild eyes beside him, he was a terrifying sight. She had been certain he was going to kill her . . . until he gave the rifle back to her. She should have realized before then that he would never harm her. The gentle tone of his voice when he turned to calm the animal was one indication. The way he so carefully lifted her into his arms was certainly another. His eyes, filled with such compassion and . . .

“Isabel, you look like hell. Stop daydreaming and drink your tea before it gets cold.”

She was jarred back to the present by his brisk order. “Has anyone ever told you how bossy you are, Douglas?”

“No.”

“Then let me be the first. You're very bossy. Do you remember the night we met?”

The question was laughable. He shuddered every time he thought about it. “I'll never forget it.”

The scowl on his face made her smile. “It wasn't that terrible.”

“Yeah, it was.”

“Was I difficult?”

“Oh, yes.”

“I couldn't have been any worse than any of the other women you helped. I wasn't, was I?”

“I've helped lots of . . . females.”

“Yes?”

He shrugged. “Yes, what?”

“Was I more difficult than the others?”

“Definitely.”

“How?” she demanded.

“The others didn't try to strangle me.”

“I didn't—”

“Yes, you did.”

“What else did I do? It's all right. You can tell me. I promise I won't get mad.” She picked up the teacup and saucer and took a long sip. “I'm waiting.”

“I remember you accused me of a lot of crimes.”

The glint in his eyes made it difficult for her to tell if he was being honest or not.

“Such as?”

“Let's see,” he drawled out. “There were so many it's hard to keep them straight. Oh, yeah, I remember. You blamed me for getting you pregnant.”

The teacup rattled in the saucer. “I didn't,” she whispered.

“Yes, you did. You almost had me convinced too. Hell, I apologized,” he added with a grin. “I wasn't responsible though. Trust me, sugar. I would have remembered taking you to bed.”

Her blush was as red as her nose. She put the cup down on the tray but kept her attention centered on Douglas. He could tell she was trying hard not to laugh.

“What else did I accuse you of?”

“Being responsible for your agony.”

“You already mentioned that one.”

“Sorry. It's just kind of hard to get past it.”

“Please try.”

“Let's see. I was also responsible for the rain, and, oh, yeah, this one's a doozy. It was my fault you had an unhappy childhood.”

“I didn't have an unhappy childhood.”

“Could have fooled me. I apologized.”

She burst into laughter. “You do love to exaggerate, don't you? I'm certain the other women you helped were just as difficult.”

“No, they weren't.”

“Who were these women? Saints?”

He moved the tray to the side table as a precautionary measure before he answered. “They weren't exactly women, at least not the way you're thinking. . . .”

She stopped smiling. “Then what were they?”

“Horses.”

Her mouth dropped open. Much to his relief, she didn't become angry. She laughed instead. “Oh, Lord, you must have been as terrified as I was.”

“Yes.”

“Did you have any idea what to do?”

He grinned. “Not really.”

She laughed until tears came into her eyes, then realized the noise would wake Parker and quickly covered her mouth with her hand. “You were so . . . calm . . . and . . . reassuring about it all.”

“I was scared.”

“You?”

“Yes, me. You got real mean. That was even scarier.”

“No, I didn't. Quit teasing me. I remember exactly what happened. I was in control at all times. I do recall raising my voice once or twice so you could hear me in the other room, but other than that, labor wasn't bad at all.”

“Isabel, are we talking about childbirth or a tea party you attended?”

“I've never been to a tea party, but I have given birth, and I want you to know that my little aches and pains were insignificant compared to the beautiful gift I received. He's wonderful.”

“Who's wonderful?”

She was exasperated. “My son. Who did you think I was talking about?”

“Me.”

She would have laughed again if she hadn't started sneezing. He handed her a fresh handkerchief, told her to rest, and finally left her alone so she could.

Much to his relief, she got better in a couple of days, and thus far, Parker still hadn't caught her cold. By late Monday afternoon, Douglas was exhausted. He was drifting off to sleep in the rocker with Parker cradled in his arms when he heard the distinct sound of horses approaching. Isabel was fixing supper. She had spotted the unwanted visitors at the same time that he had heard them, for they met by the table on their way to alert one another. She reached for her son and hurried to get ready.

Douglas went to the window to check their progress. He muttered every blasphemy he could think of while he watched Boyle and a stranger who he assumed was one of the hired men coming across the yard. Douglas made up his mind to personally greet the two men. No way in hell was he going to let Isabel go outside. The terror tactics were going to stop. He actually smiled as he reached for the doorknob.

She watched him draw his weapon. She didn't have to be a mind reader to know what he was planning to do. There wasn't time to say a prayer for the sin she was going to commit. “Douglas, we're going to have to let Boyle wait. You need to look at Parker. I think he has a fever. Let Boyle wait,” she repeated in a much more forceful voice.

She waited until Douglas had bolted the door and gone rushing past her, and then she asked for God's forgiveness as she picked up the rifle and ran to greet Boyle. She had to get outside before Douglas realized she'd tricked him. He was going to be furious.

Boyle was just raising his gun to fire in the air when she stepped outside. She kept one hand behind her back on the doorknob, holding it closed, and propped the rifle under her arm. Her finger was on the trigger.

“What do you want?” she demanded.

Boyle grinned at her. Isabel could barely stomach the sight. The stranger sitting atop a black mount sneered at her. She couldn't see his eyes because the brim of his hat was pulled down low over his brow, but she could feel his gaze boring into her. Like Boyle, the stranger apparently didn't consider the rifle much of a threat. He had both hands stacked on top of his pommel.

“You ain't being very sociable, Isabel, pointing your rifle at me.”

“Get off my land, Boyle.”

“I'll go when I'm ready. I came here to tell you I'm going to be away for a spell. Don't go getting your hopes up 'cause I'm coming back. I'm going to my annual family get-together, and I expect I'll be away a good six weeks, maybe even longer. Now, I don't want you feeling lonely while I'm gone, so I'm putting my right-hand man in charge of you. His name is Spear.”