Rose (21 page)

“I wouldn’t even let myself daydream about being married to you,” George said.

He spoke softly, slowly, one arm under him, the other across her belly, their hands clasped together. She wiggled a little until his head rested more comfortably in the hollow between her breast and her shoulder.

“But I used to dream about it.” He chuckled softly. “My brothers were always our children.”

“I don’t think Monty would like that.” Rose felt reassured. If he wanted children in his dreams, it wouldn’t be too long before he wanted them in real life.

Her feeling of contentment continued to grow.

“We lived in a big house, a lot like Ashburn. You had servants and all the dresses you wanted.”

“I never wanted those things.”

He didn’t respond right away. Rose thought he sounded a little sleepy.

“You were so beautiful. We would sit at the table and talk long after dinner had ended. I ordered the servants to always place two branches of candles near you so I could watch the light play on the gold in your hair, the sparkle in your eyes.”

Rose twisted around until she could see his face. His eyelids were drooping. Between the liquor, the hot bath, and the excitement of his wedding, George had been drained of all energy. He was going to sleep right here in her arms.

Surprisingly, she didn’t mind.

“But there was something I wanted to say to you. I wanted to say it every night, but I never did. I can’t figure out why.”

“What was it?” Rose asked. Her voice was as soft as his.

There was a pause.

Rose looked down at George. He was asleep, his head resting on her breast, his hair rough against her tender skin, the weight of him making it difficult for her to breathe. She wouldn’t have moved for all the riches in the world. She was content to be where she was even though nothing about her marriage had gone the way she had dreamed.

She smiled to herself. She’d have been horrified a year ago if anyone had described her wedding day. She might even have
sworn she wouldn’t get married. She could never have imagined she could still be content.

But she was.

She had married the man of her dreams. George wanted and needed her. She had his trust, his admiration, and she was on the way to acquiring his confidence. What more could a woman want from a man?

She would have his body. Tomorrow, or the next day, or the day after that. George was too hot-blooded to hold off for long. Tonight had been lost somewhere between liquor and his fear of fathering a child. Tomorrow would be another day.

His love? That was a more difficult question, one that depended on his past almost as much as his future. But he would say those words one day. Of that she was certain.

As for children, that would come, too. She just felt it. George would want them. Lots of them.

But as much as she wanted a family, she had told the truth when she said she would give it up. She wanted to free him from his fears for his sake, not for hers, or for the sake of the children they might have.

He thought he was made of the same timber as his father. Rose knew her task would be to show him he had all of his father’s and mother’s strengths without their weaknesses.

Except perhaps an inability to look at himself and see just how wonderful he was.

She had every intention of doing her best to make the Randolphs feel like a family once again. It was important to George, therefore it was important to her. But she had no intention of standing by while they took advantage of him. If Jeff didn’t put a cork in it, she would see that his ship soon sailed to another port.

But for the moment she had no battles to fight, no one to defend. She only had to lie here, holding George, and wait for him to wake up.

The feeble light of morning pierced the gray of the room. George stirred and opened his eyes. Nothing came into focus. Where was he? He felt disoriented. At least he knew he wasn’t in his own bed. He had to sit up. He had to find out where he was.

Movement brought a vicious stabbing pain through the center of his head. George collapsed on his pillow, his hands gripping his throbbing head. He tried once more. The pain was just as terrible. A groan escaped him. Was he hurt? Did he have a wound he didn’t remember?

“How do you feel?”

He wasn’t alone. It was hard to tell with his head pounding so, but it sounded like Rose. He must be at home. He must be sick.

He opened his eyes again. Her face slowly materialized out of the sea of mist which seemed to surround him. Gradually the room came into focus. It wasn’t his room. He wasn’t at home.

“You must have drunk more than I thought,” Rose said. “I’ve been trying to wake you for nearly an hour.”

What was she talking about? He never drank. He remembered what it did to his father. It made him angry and mean. He got into fights, said cruel, vicious things. George had sworn he would never drink.

“I’m sorry you feel so rotten, but you’re going to have to get up. Everybody expects to see the new bridegroom.”

Maybe Rose had been drinking. Nothing she said made any sense.

“There’s already a line outside wanting to know how you survived the whiskey
and
your wedding night.”

With the impact of a mule’s kick, the events of the previous day came rushing back. He was married!

And he’d passed out cold on his wedding night.

He didn’t know whether to laugh or slink away in shame.

He decided to laugh. Maybe he wouldn’t feel so humiliated. But the pain was excruciating. Even the movement of the muscles in his face hurt.

“What time is it?” he managed to ask. His voice sounded thick, the words slurred.

“It’s past ten. It’s hot, but it’s going to be a beautiful day.”

“Then why is the room so dark?”

“I thought it might be easier on your eyes.” She walked over to the window and raised the shade. A blinding light caused a splitting pain to drive to the center of George’s brain. He grabbed his head again, the palms of his hands pressed hard against his eyes.

“Yes, a lovely day to be sure.” He meant to sound good-humored, even if a bit reluctant. He just sounded angry.

Rose laughed softly. “I don’t imagine you feel that way at all, but you can’t lie in bed all day. Do you think you can sit up?”

No, he didn’t. He thought the effort would kill him, but he knew he had to try.

“They just sent up a pot of coffee.”

If sitting up didn’t kill him, that would. He hated coffee. If he remembered correctly, he had drunk a hell of a lot of it last night. Somewhere he’d heard the wages of sin were death. Well, he had sinned, but apparently the angels thought death wasn’t punishment enough. They were going to keep him alive until every possible bit of agony had been squeezed out of him.

There was no use putting it off any longer. He had to sit up. If he died in the process, it might not be a bad thing.

George sat up.

He thought his eyes would fall out of his head and yank out the center of his brain. Rose faded into the mists. It was a full minute before he could bring her into focus again.

“I must have really tied one on,” he said. That was obvious to any fool, but his powers of conversation were extremely limited at the moment. He was surprised he remembered enough words to put together a sentence.

“According to Salty, you drank a toast with every man in town.”

“Did anybody think to remind me I don’t drink?”

“Nobody knew.”

“Why would they, when I was busy piling up proof to the contrary?”

George sat on the edge of the bed, his head resting on his hands, his elbows on his knees. He didn’t even want to think of the impression Rose was getting of her new husband. It couldn’t possibly make her chirping merry. He raised his head and was rewarded by new circles of pain boring into the base of his skull.

“Are you ready for some coffee?”

“No, but give it to me anyway. I might as well start paying for my sins.”

George had forgotten how much he hated the taste of coffee. Especially Texas coffee. It tasted as if it had been boiled for hours in a pot with acorns, pecan hulls, and some weed which made it taste like alkali and acid at the same time.

He drank it anyway. He kept hoping someone would soon collect his debts, but it seemed the angel of death had slept late as well. He took another swallow. At least the taste helped him forget some of the pain. Now if he just didn’t get sick.

“Would you like some breakfast?”

“No.” It was a groan rather than a spoken response.

“Good. I’ve got enough here for three people. Mrs. Spreckel said you’re to eat it all. She’s convinced that after last night you need to build up your strength.”

“Mrs. Spreckel?” The name made him think of a hen. A black and white one, all fussy and broody.

“You woke her up at one o’clock wanting hot water. Remember?
You were determined to come to your marriage bed fresh as a daisy.”

If the coffee did kill him, it would be no less than he deserved. Surely his ignominy had already been broadcast far and wide. George breathed a deep sigh, swallowed the rest of the coffee, and handed the cup to Rose.

“Apparently I’ve made an impression that can only be countered by bold action. Bring on the breakfast and gallons of coffee. If I survive, and at the moment I sincerely hope I don’t, we shall parade through the town proud as peacocks, brazen as carpetbaggers, our heads held high, our gazes crossing swords with anyone who dares frown at us. And I shall do my best to pretend I know exactly where the ground is.”

Rose giggled.

George smiled in spite of himself. “Are you ever going to let me live this down?”

“Maybe.”

“You can’t tell the boys. Monty would never let me forget it.”

“You don’t think I would tell anyone, do you?”

“No, but I’ll have to remember not to make Salty angry. Or half the male population of Austin.”

“Salty says the men are rather in awe of you. I’d never think of celebrating my marriage that way, but men are strange, unaccountable creatures.”

“Yes, we are,” George agreed.

Once his eyes adjusted to the glare of the sun, George thoroughly enjoyed himself. He made it a point to stop every female he saw with a frown on her face or a crease on her forehead. He smiled and chatted and flattered until each of them went away with their wits knocked acock by his flood-tide of nonsensical prattle. He stopped people he’d never seen before and told them he was on his honeymoon. He stopped people Rose had never seen before and introduced his new
wife. He was determined to look stupidly, blissfully, irritat-ingly happy. He wanted everyone in Austin to know he had married “that Yankee woman” and was proud of it.

He took Rose to Dobie’s Emporium and tried to buy her clothes she didn’t want. He took her to Hanson’s Wholesale and tried to buy furniture he didn’t need. He took her to the Bon Ton and made Dottie wait on her former waitress. He didn’t have to make sure everyone in Bullock’s Hotel knew he had come in close to midnight demanding a hot bath before he could go to his bride.

Mrs. Spreckel had made sure of that.

They walked arm-in-arm, shopped side by side, whispered in each other’s ear, laughed at jokes only they would understand, and pretended to be completely unaware that anyone else was in the street.

“Sure I’m looking for hands,” George said when Silas Pickett introduced himself and told him he was looking for a job. “But I can’t pay wages until I sell the herd. I’m just providing mounts and food. You have to provide all your own equipment.”

“Fine with me.”

“Ever do any work with cattle?”

“A bit.”

“Then you’re ahead of the rest of us,” George said. “Go talk to Salty. He’s been doing my hiring. I’ve been busy with other things.”

George’s gaze strayed to where Rose had stopped about twenty feet up the boardwalk. She was looking in one of the windows, her attention apparently caught by something. Whatever it was, George made up his mind to buy it for her.

“I heard. I guess congratulations are in order.”

“Thanks,” George said, shaking the hand offered him.

“I guess it won’t be too long before you’re building a place in town.”

“Why do you say that?” George asked, surprised.

“I just assumed,” the ex-soldier said, clearly aware he’d said the wrong thing. “You selling your herd, just getting married. A beautiful wife doesn’t seem to belong on a dirt farm in the brush country.”

“I’m selling steers to buy breeding stock. In five years my six brothers and I plan to have a lot more than a dirt farm. Salty’s back at the hotel. I’ve got to join my wife.”

George put the man out of his mind. It was much more pleasing to think about Rose.

She turned away when she saw him coming. She even tried to position herself between him and the window, but he saw it nonetheless. It rested on a piece of black velvet cloth and winked wickedly in the sunlight.

A gold ring set with a large, yellow topaz. It was beautiful. It would be perfect with her coloring. He knew she wanted it. The effort she made to distract his attention only underlined how much.

But he couldn’t afford it. They had barely enough money to last until they sold the herd. And it was the family’s money. He had none of his own.

George tucked her arm in his and guided her over to the jeweler’s window. “Do you like that ring?” he asked. He had to mention it. She never would.

“Which one?” Rose asked. But her eyes found the topaz ring immediately.

“The one with the yellow stone. I think it would look pretty with your eyes.”

“Maybe,” Rose said, turning away, “but I can’t wear it in my eyes. Besides, it’s much too expensive. I never knew topaz could cost so much.”

“Would you like it?”

“I don’t know. I’m not sure I like that shade of amber. It’s so dark.”

George thought it looked perfect.

“Besides, I’m waiting for you to sell the herd. Then you can buy me something really expensive. How do you think I would look in rubies and sapphires?”

He thought she’d look just lovely, but she was still trying to draw his attention away from the ring. He cast one last glance at it as they walked away. He’d love to give it to her, but he’d have to wait until he had some money of his own. He didn’t know how many years it would be before he could spend that kind of money on a ring.

He knew Rose wouldn’t mind waiting, but he would.

It was the shaking earth that woke her.

Rose sat up with a start. She couldn’t see anything in the inky darkness that surrounded her. They were on their way home, and George had insisted they make camp in a nearly impenetrable patch of brush. She turned to where he had bedded down next to her.

He was gone!

“George!” It was a strangled cry.

“Shhh!” Silas Pickett hissed from nearby. He and the other men were standing with the horses to keep them quiet. “George and Salty went to see what’s going on,” Silas said. “He said we were to stay here no matter what.”

Rose waited, huddled in her blanket, fear causing her teeth to chatter. She immediately thought of the Indians she and Zac had seen. Were these Cortina’s men? Had the dreaded bandit general reached this far into Texas? And where was the army? Weren’t they supposed to protect Texas citizens from Indians and bandits?

The brush next to her rustled, and she nearly screamed with fright when George appeared at her side. She fell into his arms.

“It’s some Mexicans stealing several hundred head of cattle,” he told her.

“Do they have any of ours?” she asked fearfully.

“Our ranch is too far away.”

“Are they Cortina’s men?”

“I don’t know, but I didn’t ask. There were forty or fifty of them.”

“Will they come after our herd?” she asked.

“Probably,” George answered.

“What will you do?”

“Fight.”

“But how can you fight so many?”

“If we don’t, they’ll take everything we have.”

Rose had almost forgotten that the frontier wasn’t as safe as Austin. She had forgotten that George and his brothers might have to fight and die for their land.

“Get everything loaded up. We’re moving out.”

George’s order terrified her. “Why? Do they know we’re here?”

“No. We’re going to scatter the herd.”

Panic seized Rose. “What can you do against so many?”

“Nothing much, but I can’t watch them steal those cattle and not try to do something about it. There aren’t enough of us to steal them back, but if we can turn the herd, start them stampeding back toward their home ground, maybe their owners will have time to catch up.”

“I want to go with you.”

“No. You and Silas will take the wagon and start toward the ranch. The rest of us will catch up with you before dawn.”

“But you don’t even have a horse.”

“I’m hoping Silas will lend me his.”

Silas nodded his agreement.

Rose knew there was no use arguing with George, not about fighting.

“They’re coming,” Salty said, racing up to the thicket where George had set up his ambush.

“How many are in front?”

“Just two. Alex and I already took out the lookouts.”

George grinned. “I wish I’d had you in my command during the war. We could have given them some sleepless nights.”

“You sure all you want to do is turn the herd?” Salty asked.

“It’s all we can do,” George said. “If we try killing as many as we can, we’ll have half the outlaws in Mexico on our backs. I won’t endanger Rose’s life, not for somebody else’s longhorns. Now take your position. When you hear my yell, come out shooting.”

Salty grinned. “You think the Rebel yell will put the fear of God into these bandits?”

“It always worked on the Yankees. It ought to scare the hell out of this rabble.”

George’s whole body trembled with excitement. Like a wild stallion with the smell of a rival in his nostrils, he could hardly wait to signal the attack. It felt good to be back in command. He only wished he had enough support to wipe out every bandit who dared cross the Rio Grande. He’d even be willing to take the fight to Cortina’s own backyard.