Sixty Acres and a Bride (14 page)

“Yes, I reckon it is.” He enunciated each word carefully, knowing that he was on thin ice.

“Oh!” Her eyes grew large. She paced the porch a few turns before continuing. “Then I should be the one apologizing. I am sorry. I didn’t mean to make you this . . . um . . . what is the word? Alert?”

His mouth dropped open.
Please, God, don’t let her talk to anyone else like this.
“That’s an interesting choice of words, ma’am.” He heard the ice cracking under his feet. It was time to flee again. “I accept your apology. Now, if you’d excuse me . . .”

“But wait! People have dances like this. What if I’m invited? How could I?”

“You don’t have to. No one will force you to dance with them, but I wish you’d give it another try. A ballroom filled with people is a much better setting than”—he gestured to himself—“this.”

“I don’t think so.”

She didn’t think she’d
try
to dance, or she didn’t
want
to dance with anyone else? He couldn’t decipher her meaning, but the thought of holding her in his arms reminded him of one more thing.

He scratched the back of his neck and studied his boots. “But if you decide to dance, may I make a suggestion?”

“What is it?”

“Please wear a corset.”

From her reaction, she’d been told that before. Her face reddened and she plucked at her blouse, loosening it where it strained.

“I don’t know what to say. Louise told me that if a man mentioned . . . well . . .” She tilted her head. “I want you to think I’m a lady. . . .”

“There’s no doubt in my mind—” But before he could finish what he’d been about to say, she’d slapped him and slipped into the house.

B
AILEY STUMBLED OUT
of the barn, right into Weston’s path, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Whoa, there. You just getting up?” Weston asked. He couldn’t sleep in if he wanted to. His mind had kicked in at daybreak, been spinning ever since.

“Yeah, we were up till about sunrise.”

“I’m not surprised. Did it rain last night?”

Bailey yawned, displaying his molars to the world. “Don’t think so. Ground wasn’t wet when we went to bed.”

“That’s odd. Sure looks green this morning.” Weston pushed against his gun belt, making it ride snug. “But you’re probably right. The dew is light and there’s no mud.”

Bailey blinked a few times. “Nope. No mud. Looks like it always does to me. But you’re awfully chipper. What’d you find in your stocking?”

Wes shrugged. He really couldn’t answer that question. Maybe the festivities of the night before caused the unaccustomed feeling of hope, although when he analyzed the evening, he couldn’t think of one positive event that had occurred.

“I don’t know. Good supper. Fine music. Maybe I needed a holiday more than I realized.”

“You turned in early enough. Right after that Mexican dance.”

Ah, the dance. An incident he’d like to forget. The looks, the music, the heat—and his gaping like a dumbstruck moron until he threw a fit and ended it. Should’ve ruined his night, but it didn’t. And he wasn’t going to dwell on it, either. He didn’t want anything to choke out the optimism trying to put out a taproot in his barren heart.

Hungry. Everyone was getting around late this morning. Understandable, considering their activities the night before, but Aunt Mary would have breakfast ready soon.

“Yeah, well, I best wash up before food’s on the table. Don’t dawdle. Your ma won’t be pleased.”

Bailey grunted and staggered to the outhouse.

It didn’t bother him too bad, the dance. Not since he’d had a chance to talk it out with Rosa.

He rolled up his sleeves and troubled the cake of soap under the spout, enjoying the crisp scent. Was this a new fragrance? He’d have to ask Mary about it. Sure smelled good.

What did Rosa think about last night? Would she want to see him? Their parting was confusing, to say the least. The soap squirted from his hands and landed on the ground. Retrieving it, he picked the bits of grass out of the suds and chuckled. That slap had to be one of the most ridiculous events of his life.

Weston couldn’t remember ever being slapped before. Bad words, insults, forwardness—that’s what usually earned a smack. No lady had ever convicted Mr. Self-Control of any of those failures. And the slap was so regretful, so apologetic. She wasn’t truly offended. He’d seen her mad. If the corset comment had really angered her, his cheek would be blistered.

But he could tell he was getting nearer to the source of his good temper. His reason for hope sprouted from their time on the porch. Since last night he felt he knew her better and admired her more. They’d reached a crisis that could have set them at odds, but through some direct, difficult discussion they’d pulled together. Now he wondered if anyone in the county understood him as well as she did. If there was anyone else who saw him not as who he had been, or who he was, but as the man he was trying to be.

Wasn’t that a kicker?

Lord, I can tell things are changing. I don’t know where you’re leading me, but I’m trying to follow. I’m tired of fighting. I want to smile if I feel like it, fix what needs fixing, and care for your children who need help. Is it all right if I start there? I can’t make any promises about the results, but can I start out like a tenderfoot and see how I get along?

If his mood was any indication, God granted His permission.

“I’ll take you home.”

Weston meant it as an offer, but it came out sounding like a command. He stood, causing Susannah and Ida to bounce on the bench as he left it. Rosa froze with her breakfast dish still in hand. She hadn’t spoken a word the whole meal. Thank goodness for the youngsters. They filled the silence succinctly, but Weston doubted George and Mary were fooled. Last night they saw Rosa running out of the barn with him following her like an angry bull. They knew he’d scared her.

Weston heard Mary’s boot connect with George’s shin under the table. George winced but took the hint. “Oh! Don’t bother, Wes. I’ll take her. You probably have things to do today.”

Nothing more important than spending time with the confused little lady.

“It’s no bother. I insist.”

Rosa moved like winter sap. She reached for the feed sack apron to start on the dishes when Mary stopped her.

“No. We’ll get those.” She nodded toward him. “I think Weston means to leave now.”

Was Rosa that afraid? She disappeared into the girls’ room and came back with her overnight bag. She gave quick kisses to the girls, tousled Tuck’s hair, and touched each of the George Garner men on the back in farewell as she walked behind their bench and out the door.

“Uncle Weston, what’s wrong with Aunt Rosa?” Ida asked. “She’s acting sad.”

“She’s acting like she has a date with the hangman,” Samuel corrected.

Weston hadn’t spoken to her all morning. Not that Rosa was surprised. Their last conversation hadn’t ended well. She picked at the trunk of the sweet gum tree she was hiding behind. No wonder he wanted to get her alone. After a night of preparation, he probably had scads of lectures for her.

Pandora stood patiently, ripping up mouthfuls of Mary’s yard as Weston saddled Smokey. Rosa stayed out of his way as long as she could, but his task was almost complete. He was looking for her now. She might as well take her medicine.

She edged her way to the animals. Was that a smile from him?

“Who are the horses for?”

He squinted at her. “Us.”

“I don’t know how to ride a horse.”

“You said you got bored in Texas, so here’s something new for you to try. Come on over. He won’t bite.” He lowered his chin and peeked out from under the brim of his hat. “I won’t bite, either.”

Still unsure, she held out her bag to him and tied on her bonnet while he secured the bag to his saddle. To her surprise, he came over to stand toe to toe with her. What was he doing? She couldn’t see his face over her bonnet brim. Just his chest. He pretty much blocked any other view. Heat rushed through her body at the memories from the night before. She prepared for him to take her in his arms for another dance, but he didn’t. Instead, he wrapped his hands around her waist and swung her up on Smokey’s back.

Now Rosa could see his face, and it was red.

“Reckon you didn’t have a chance to make any purchases since last night.”

She gasped. “Are you talking about corsets again?”

“I was thinking . . . Oh, I’d best keep my mouth shut. Sorry, okay? I’ve already decided that today’s going to be a good day, so let’s not get cross with each other.”

Just as well. If he wasn’t mad after last night, she had no right to be.

She sat crossways in the saddle, just where he put her, then taking advantage of her full skirts, she swung her leg over the saddle horn to sit astride.

He turned his head quickly.

Had she already messed up? “Let me guess, this isn’t how ladies ride horses?”

“It’s how I ride horses and how you ride burros, so we’ll let it be. You don’t need to learn on a sidesaddle yet. That can wait for another day.”

Rosa released a breath of relief. She didn’t want to repeat last night’s argument, especially on such a beautiful day. At least her full Mexican skirts draped decently. If she’d been wearing a hobble skirt, then she’d have trouble.

She picked up the supple leather reins and tried to reach the stirrups, glad to have something to do besides invent conversation.

Weston came to her side and reached for her ankle. She didn’t mean to jump like that. Really. Why was she so skittish? She stared straight ahead at the sheep-filled pasture as he directed her foot forward and adjusted the stirrup length, fumbling with the buckle in the process.

The silence was unbearable.

“What do I do?” Rosa asked. “Will this horse ride like a burro?”

“He’ll follow me. Just don’t fall off.”

Weston went around to the left side, but she had already moved her foot out of the way. The buckle fastened quickly, and they set off.

Why, it was easy. The motion never halted but fluidly rolled her saddle from side to side. She gripped the saddle horn but didn’t need to pull on the reins. Smokey stayed contentedly at Weston’s side.

“You’re doing great. You’re absorbing the movement without bouncing. That’s hard to teach people.” He observed her a moment more. “You know, after watching you, I’m inclined to believe your stories about athletic escapades in Mexico. How do you like your mount?”

“He’s a lot smoother than a burro.” She stood in her stirrups, arranged her skirts, and sat back down.

“You really notice the difference when they gallop. You don’t know what true freedom feels like until—”

Gallop? Her eyebrows went up, knees tightened, and she leaned forward.

“Whoa, there!” Weston grabbed her reins and captured her hand in the bargain. “You’re not going to try it yet.”

“But why not?”

“Because five minutes ago you were too scared to climb on this beast. Remember? I think teaching you to sit a horse is enough for one day.” With Rosa’s hand under his, he pulled the two horses side by side.

The crunch of the grass under their hooves and the creaking leather sounded small under the vast sky. She watched Weston like she did back in the kitchen during shearing season. Rosa liked the way his shirt hung off his straight back and hugged his shoulders. That was nice. She also liked the way his lasso, rifle, and six-shooters were all within easy reach, available in the split second he needed them. He sat lightly in the saddle, too, efficiently communicating his will to his horse with a feather touch here, a cheeky click there. Mounted, he had a feline quality, smooth and dangerous, like a jaguar that could patiently stalk or quickly strike.

He caught her watching him, but instead of being self-conscious, he winked and went back to monitoring their path. Yes, she was impressed with the man who’d evidently forgotten to release her hand, and who rode so close that their legs brushed with every stride.

They entered the shaded grove lining the creek’s path. The fresh scent of pine sharpened her senses just as the cool air refreshed her. He’d been quiet but not moody. His tentative attempts at humor gave her the courage to ask.

“There’s something else I’d like you to teach me.”

“What’s that?”

“You taught Samuel how to shoot a gun. Could you show me?”

“I don’t know, Mrs. Garner.” He tightened his grip over her hand. “I’ve seen you angry. Not sure I want a gun in your hands when you lose your temper.”

She’d heard a similar sentiment expressed more than once. His smile crinkled his rugged face. Obviously Weston wasn’t too afraid of her.

With a tug, she pulled her hand free and let Smokey wander ahead a pace until he stopped near the creek bank. Looking over her shoulder, she called back to him. “Maybe if I knew how to shoot, you’d behave yourself.” Her dimples showed. She knew it. Rosa didn’t smile wide often, but she could tell he appreciated it. His eyes lingered on her lips, as if he’d finally given himself permission to see her, to acknowledge her as a woman.

She waited as Weston maneuvered his horse around until he was at her side. Unburdened by decorum, his eyes roamed her face freely, saying more than he’d dared hint at before. Her smile softened as he drew near.

“I have trouble behaving myself when . . .” He blinked hard. “I have trouble behaving . . .”

Then he looked away.

The change that came over him bewildered Rosa. His mouth set firmly; his shoulders drooped. With a weary tug, he reined away.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” But his tone didn’t convince her. “Go on. Don’t wait on me.”

Go on? How could she go on without him? She bit her lip, but he wasn’t looking and couldn’t see her frustration. Unsure of how to direct her mount, she let Smokey meander across the low creek and up the bank.