Coming Up Roses (16 page)

No. Rose knew she had to keep on with the
Wild West. For her own sake and her family’s. No matter how
uncomfortable living away from family could be. At least she had
Annie.

“
What are the other words you wanted to
know about?” Annie asked.

Dragging her brain back from the dismal
swamp into which it had been sinking, Rose sighed and said, “Let me
see.
Staple
. Mr. May said
rice is a staple for the Japanese. And
metaphor
. I don’t have any idea what a metaphor
is.”

So the two ladies looked up words in Annie’s
dictionary, and Rose repeated the words individually and in
sentences until she was pretty sure she wouldn’t again forget what
any of them meant. God alone knew what the morrow might bring. For
all she knew, H.L. May would keep piling words on her until she
smothered under a heap of them.

She was so exhausted when she finally got to
bed that night, she didn’t even turn over for eight hours.

# # #

H.L. had decided Rose probably needed one
more day of softening up before he began to probe deeply into her
background. Or maybe not.

He’d play it by ear. He arrived even earlier
at the Wild West encampment today than he had the day before, his
eagerness to see Rose propelling him. Not, of course, that he
wanted to see Rose because she was Rose, but because she was the
best story ever to land in his lap. So to speak.

The notion of having Rose Gilhooley on his
lap was such an appealing one, H.L. had trouble banishing it from
his mind. The problem was solved a moment later when he moseyed
into the arena and saw Rose in the distance, practicing with one of
her white horses. H.L. couldn’t tell the two beasts apart.

Deciding he didn’t want to interrupt her and
also that it might be fun to observe her for a while without her
being aware of his presence, he found a seat in the grandstand that
was partially obscured from Rose’s line of sight by a pillar. He
drew out a notebook and a pencil, and started writing even before
he’d sat down.

Rose Gilhooley was an inspiring object.
Seldom at a loss for words, H.L. found they flowed like water from
his brain to his pencil to the page when Rose was the subject du
jour.

As graceful on horseback as
a firefly at night
, streamed out in lead onto the
paper.

Miss Gilhooley rides like
the wind. This reporter finds it no wonder that her Indian chums
gifted her with the name Wind Dancer. She belongs to the wind, as
naturally as if she were herself a force of
nature
.

H.L. watched Rose and pondered the words he’d
just jotted down. He didn’t want to get too flowery in his praise
of Rose, because folks might get the wrong impression. They might
think he was enamored of Rose herself instead of her remarkable
skill as a horsewoman. Not that H.L. didn’t think she was cute as a
bug, because he did. But, being the cosmopolitan man of the world
that he was, he didn’t find innocence all that exciting. He liked
women with a few years on them. Experienced women. Women who knew
what was what. Women who weren’t breakable.

Breakable
?
Where the hell had that come from? H.L. squinted down at the page
and realized he’d written,
Miss Gilhooley,
for all her poise and gumption, wears an air of fragility that
would do a fairy princess proud
. Good God. H.L. drew a
heavy line through that sentence, knowing it was
preposterous.

Or was it? He gasped as Rose, using
some gesture invisible to her audience, made her pretty white horse
rear up onto its back legs and seem to dance across the field. How
did she
do
that. Hell, H.L.,
who didn’t have much truck with horses on a regular basis, would
have fallen off and bashed his head long before the horse quit
prancing, as it did now. Without waiting for Rose to catch her
breath, the horse then took off at a dead run and made two entire
circuits of the arena before veering into what would have been
center stage, if it had been on one, and stopping with another lift
of its front legs. The sequence of events was tremendously
dramatic, which he guessed was the point, but they scared the tar
out of him for Rose’s sake.

Although his intention had been to write most
of today’s story without Rose even knowing he was there, H.L.
couldn’t stop himself from leaping to his feet, cheering loudly,
and applauding.

Rose gave a visible start, began to slide
sideways, and made a grab for her horse’s mane. H.L. watched,
horrified. Never in a million years would he have guessed that
being startled might cause her trouble on horseback. She was so
competent. So secure. So damnably cool when she rode.

His heart, which had flown to his
throat—again—when he saw her slip, settled down again when she
regained her balance. “I’m sorry, Miss Gilhooley!” he called,
meaning it sincerely. “I didn’t mean to alarm you.”

“
For heaven’s sake, Mr. May, please
don’t burst out clapping like that when I’m practicing. I didn’t
know you were there, and poor Betsy almost had an attack of
apoplexy.” She guided the horse toward H.L., looking cranky. “And
so did I.”

H.L. got the impression she’d like to scold
him for an hour or two. In truth, he felt bad for having scared her
and her horse. Although he wasn’t accustomed to offering apologies,
he did this time. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t realize how fully you
concentrate when you’re working.” He shook his head. “I should
have, I guess. You wouldn’t be able to do what you do if you didn’t
have an amazing capacity for concentration.”

Her scowl evaporated and was replaced by an
expression of bemusement. “Oh. Yes, I suppose you’re right.”

He eyed her uncertainly. Hadn’t she already
figured that one out on her own? “Yeah.” He cleared his throat.
“Um, well, if you’re through practicing, how about we visit some
more of the Exposition?” He gave her one of his patented charming
grins, the ones virtually guaranteed to level rooms full of women,
not to mention actors and politicians.

It didn’t work on Rose, who continued to
frown down at him from her perch on the horse. “I don’t know. I
mean, I know I agreed to be interviewed by you for your articles,
but I didn’t realize the interviewing process would take up so much
of my time.” She appeared more than a little skeptical. “And yours.
Besides, you haven’t really even interviewed me. All you’ve done is
take me to lunch and on the Ferris Wheel.”

“
Are you complaining, Miss Gilhooley?”
H.L. tried for a twinkle, although inside he was peeved. Dammit! It
wasn’t often he spent this much time and energy on a project. The
least this project could do was appreciate him for it.

She heaved an exasperated sigh. “No, I’m not
complaining. In fact, I suppose I should thank you.”

“
Don’t strain yourself,” he advised
grouchily.

Another sigh, this one larger and sounding
more exasperated, exited

Rose’s budlike mouth. “I beg your pardon. I
didn’t mean to sound so ill-natured, Mr. May.”

He bowed, aiming for irony. From the sour
look on her face, he achieved it.

“
There’s no cause for you to be upset
with me,” she said tightly. “I need to take care of Betsy, and
change my clothes, and I’ll be with you shortly.”

“
Do you mind if I mosey along with you?
I’d like to document the care you give your horses.”

She slid from Betsy’s back. H.L. caught his
breath, not having anticipated this action, and fearing for the
health of her limbs. But she alighted on the ground rather like a
feather coming to rest after coming loose from a bird’s tail. Great
God Almighty, but she was good on a horse! Without his telling it
to, his brain composed a sentence describing Rose’s descent from
her horse’s back.

“
What’s the matter?” she asked,
squinting up at him as if she suspected him of dire motives.
Apparently, she’d heard his gasp of alarm.

This time his grin was spontaneous and wasn’t
meant to convey anything but pleasure in her company. “Nothing. It
just startled me when you dismounted. You sure are an abrupt young
lady, Miss Gilhooley. Has anyone ever told you that before?”

She still looked skeptical. “No, they
haven’t.”

“
Well, you are. So, may I accompany you
to the stables?” Believing he might look less menacing to this
innocent girl-woman if he hunched a little, he did so, and stuck
his hands in his trouser’s pockets. There. If he didn’t look
innocent now, he didn’t know what else he could do.

Rose didn’t appear significantly less wary.
Nor did she sound it when she said sharply, “You’ve seen me take
care of a horse. It was a different horse, but the principle’s the
same.”

“
But I wasn’t taking notes then,” he
said meekly.

She huffed. “Oh, all right. Follow me.”

Before she left the arena, she grabbed a pair
of moccasins from a nearby bench. H.L. hadn’t noticed them there,
probably because they were so tiny. Rose slipped them on before she
clicked to her horse and moved off in the direction of the
stable.

H.L.’s gaze went to her feet. The moccasins,
small or not, seemed to fit her perfectly. And, as her bloomer-type
skirt ended shortly below her knees, he also got a good gander at
her calves and ankles. He couldn’t recall ever seeing better
looking calves and ankles. With an effort, he dragged his gaze from
her lower-body assets and concentrated on her face, which was
pleasant to look at, too.

Because he was supposedly here in order to do
his job, he decided to ask a question or two as they walked along.
“So, Miss Gilhooley, where’d you get these horses? Are they Kansas
natives, too?”

She shot him a suspicious glance. H.L.
resented it. What the devil was she suspicious of? Surely she
didn’t suspect him of improper motives, did she? Before he could
dwell on it, she answered his question.

“
No. The first horse I trained,
Gingerbread, is a bay gelding I bought from Little Elk’s brother in
Kansas. I used him for the first year or so I was with the Wild
West, but the colonel thought it would look better if I were to
ride a white horse during performances, so he gave me Fairy and I
taught her what to do.”

“
Interesting. So, while you rode your
own horse, you were training this one on the side?”

“
Not this one. This is Betsy. She’s a
stand-by the colonel bought in case Fairy’s ever laid up. These two
are mares. Gingerbread was much bigger than either Fairy or
Betsy.”

“
I see.” H.L. tried to envision the
diminutive Rose on a much larger horse, but his mind boggled at the
image. “Do you still ride Gingerbread?” He didn’t understand why
his heart had suddenly started pounding, as if with
dread.

“
Sometimes, but poor Ginger’s kind of
old now, and I only ride him for exercise.”

“
Exercise? Good God, Miss Gilhooley,
what do you need to exercise for?”

She looked exasperated again. “Not me, Mr.
May, Gingerbread. If a horse just stands around eating all the
time, it’ll get fat and out of shape. That’s not fair to the
horse.”

“
Ah. I see.”

There was a lot to this horse business. H.L.
decided he was glad he lived in the great city of Chicago and
didn’t have to worry about taking care of cattle.

Chapter Nine

Annie’s words swirled in Rose’s head as
she changed clothes in her tent after tending to Betsy. She’d left
H.L. cooling his heels in the stables.
I’d
hate to see you get hurt by a sophisticated big-city
reporter
, Annie had told her.

Was H.L. May only after a bit of sport, as
Annie suspected? The notion made Rose’s chest ache. Thus far in
their short association, H.L. May had been rude, brash, arrogant,
and inquisitive, and he’d flirted with her once, but was he
dishonorable? She couldn’t tell.

Her brain told her to watch her step; that
H.L. May had the ability to hurt her more deeply than anything had
ever hurt her before, barring the death of her father. Her heart
told her to open up, enjoy herself in his company, and let fate
take care of itself. The two organs were, in other words, in direct
opposition to each other.

Rose told herself she’d be better off
ignoring her heart and listening to her brain. If H.L. May’s
motives were pure, she’d surely suffer less if she followed her
brain and told her heart to take a hike. And if his motives were
impure, she’d only get herself into trouble if she paid attention
to her heart. Plus, if his intentions were wicked, she’d feel like
a blithering idiot if she fell for his wiles.

If, that is, he was in fact using wiles on
her to achieve untoward goals, which she couldn’t tell since she’d
had no experience with wiles, per se. The men she’d met so far in
her life whose intentions had been bad, had been obvious about
them. H.L. May, if he were a villain, was keeping his evil
intentions a very dark secret.

Her heart said, “Relax.”

Her brain said, “Be on guard.”

“
You’re being a fool, Rose Gilhooley,”
she finally barked at both of them. “He only wants a
story.”

So much for that. Rose felt calmer once she’d
settled the issue, at least for the moment.

She’d worn her pretty yellow outfit
yesterday. Today, since the weather promised to be warm and
spring-like again, she opted for another new ensemble she’d bought
during her shopping spree with Annie. The color was a dark navy
blue, but the material was a lightweight cotton calico, and the
entire ensemble was trimmed in white, like a sailor suit. Annie
claimed Rose looked absolutely adorable in it. Rose hoped her best
friend was right and not merely being polite. She trusted Annie,
who wasn’t accustomed to fibbing.