The Kissing Tree

The Kissing Tree

Prudence Bice

Sweetwater Books

An Imprint of Cedar Fort, Inc.

Springville, Utah

© 2011 Prudence Bice

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form whatsoever, whether by graphic, visual, electronic, film, microfilm, tape recording, or any other means, without prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief passages embodied in critical reviews and articles.

ISBN 13: 978-1-59955-936-0

Published by Sweetwater Books, an imprint of Cedar Fort, Inc., 2373 W. 700 S., Springville, UT 84663

Distributed by Cedar Fort, Inc., www.cedarfort.com

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Bice, Prudence, 1967-, author.

The kissing tree / Prudence Louise Bice.

p. cm.

Summary: A young woman returns to her childhood home and discovers that

she still loves a young man she had a crush on six years earlier.

ISBN 978-1-59955-936-0

1. Young women--Fiction. 2. Ranch life--Fiction. 3. Colorado--Fiction.

I. Title.

PS3602.I27K57 2011

813’.6--dc23

2011033544

Cover design by Angela D. Olsen

Cover design © 2011 by Lyle Mortimer

Edited and typeset by Melissa J. Caldwell

Formatted for Kindle by Simon Shepherd

For Carol

. . . a friend for all the seasons of my life

Also by Prudence Bice

The Widower’s Wife

Special thanks to Jocelyn Skousen—for your time, talents, and, of course, never-ending patience. What would I do without you? Thanks to Pam Bice, my amazing sister-in-law, for answering my random phone calls when that one word I was looking for was eluding me and for your encouragement and effort in making this story happen. Thank you, Jelynn Nielsen, for your time and input, and to Joan Cottle for making sure I wasn’t full of blarney. Our chance encounter wasn’t just chance. Thanks to all of Cedar Fort’s talented staff and the excellent job you do, specifically, Jennifer Fielding, Angela Olsen, and my awesome editor Melissa Caldwell. Also, thanks for, once again, giving me the opportunity to share my love for writing with others. To all my family and friends, especially my children, Teila, Natasha, Krista, Kiley, and Joshua; your unconditional love and support buoys me up when I am discouraged, always giving me the strength I need to keep putting one foot in front of the other. And last but never least, to my husband, Ray. Your love and encouragement, devotion, and great romancin’ will always be my inspiration.

Georgie ran behind the tree in a fit of giggles, slowly peeking around to see if he had followed her. Sure enough, he was standing not far away watching her curiously.

Her plan had worked. Now she just had to decide what to do next. She needed to get him to come closer so he was officially standing under the tree’s low-hanging branches. Georgie took another quick glance at him before ducking behind the tree again. Oh, he was so cute with his wavy brown hair and those big, honey-colored eyes. Even the sprinkling of freckles that adorned his nose were simply adorable.

All of a sudden a sense of shyness came over her. Could she really do it, or would she chicken out at the last minute? Oh, why did Sammy have to go and dare her to lure Ridge over to the kissing tree and kiss him—
on the lips
—before she left town? At almost thirteen years old, this would be her first kiss. Already, she knew she should have gone straight home from school instead of going swimming and fishing with her two best friends. Her mother was probably wondering where she had run off. Besides, Georgie still had to pack before they left for their summer holiday the day after tomorrow.

Her family, which included her mother and two younger brothers, was leaving for a month to visit with her mother’s sister, who lived on the east coast. Although she was thrilled for the train ride, her spirits were dampened to know it would be her Aunt Cecelia waiting at the end of such a new and exciting adventure.

Georgie had decided she didn’t like her Aunt Cecelia very much. Though she had never met her in person, she had overheard many conversations between her mother and grandparents concerning her mother’s controlling sister. From what she had gathered, her grandparents were worried how Georgie and her brothers would be received. Apparently her aunt had a particular distaste for children. “Especially children fathered by a lowly Irish immigrant,
”
she’d heard Grandad exclaim sarcastically
.
Needless to say, Georgie wished with every bone in her body that something would come up that would prevent them from making the trip.

When nothing seemed to be happening—no chaotic or unforeseen distraction to keep them home—Georgie had done her best to talk her mother into leaving her at home with Grandad and Nana. Although she would miss out on the fun of riding her first ever steam locomotive, she would rather spend her summer vacation at home with them than under the watchful and critical eye of her aunt. Unfortunately, to her great dismay, her mother had insisted they all must go together as a family. Sighing deeply, Georgie resigned herself again to the fact that an unfair amount of her summer holiday was ruined and she would just have to pray the time went by fast.

Suddenly, something rustled at her feet, pulling her from her thoughts. Georgie looked down to see the biggest bullfrog she had seen all year nestled in a small, damp, ivy-laden hollow of the tree’s enormous trunk. Ridge and his buddies still raced frogs sometimes, betting on whose would be the fastest. Looking down at the monstrous specimen, Georgiana grinned. This was sure to get his attention. The rest of her plan fell into place.

Inching back around, she looked over at Ridge again. He was still staring at her, though a bit curiously now, like maybe he was wondering if she had bats in her belfry. At least he’d moved a little closer. Smiling secretly to herself, not able to look away from the warm, sweet honey of his eyes, she thought,
He really is delicious. I don’t think I’ll mind stealing that kiss after all.
Georgie willed away the sudden heat of blush that colored her cheeks at her impulsive and flirtatious thought before stepping out from behind the tree trunk.

“Come closer,” she said, beckoning to Ridge, “I wanna show ya somethin’.” He still looked a little doubtful but took a tentative step forward anyway. “Oh, come on, Ridge,” she coaxed. “You’ll miss it!”

Turning back to the tree, Georgie crouched down low as if to get a better look, feigning a great deal of interest in the ugly old spotted frog while frantically motioning for Ridge to follow her lead. “Hurry,” she pleaded again excitedly, “before he gets away!” Finally, Georgie could hear the crackling of the undergrowth and then feel his warm breath at her neck as he leaned in close behind her. Goose bumps involuntarily crept down her spine at his nearness.

“Wow, that’s about the biggest ole bullfrog I ever did see!” Ridge exclaimed enthusiastically. “Do ya mind if I catch ’im and bring ’im home? This one’s even bigger than the one Jeremiah caught down by the crik on Saturday. I’m sure to win the race now.”

“Sure,” Georgie agreed, not daring to look back at him.

“Great!” Ridge declared and at once leaned in even closer, with his hands at the ready.

Suddenly, before she lost her nerve, Georgie turned toward him and planted a quick kiss right on his lips. The shock of it caused him to fall onto his backside, and his dumbfounded and bewildered look nearly made her laugh out loud.

She hadn’t planned on saying anything, just running off. So Georgie surprised herself when, after standing up, she placed her hands dramatically onto her hips and triumphant words came tumbling out of her mouth.

“There you have it, Ridge Carson.” She beamed down at him, proud she hadn’t lost her nerve. “I’ve stolen a kiss, and you can never have it back!”

Turning quickly before he could see the blush that adorned her cheeks, Georgie ran off toward Samantha, who was hiding up the way. She grabbed Samantha’s hand, and they hurried down the road back toward Georgie’s house, both giggling and whispering conspiratorially.

Smiling to himself, Ridge watched them go, still unable to move from where he had landed, the bullfrog temporarily forgotten. As the two girls rounded the bend in the road, he watched as a ribbon tore loose from Georgie’s hair and lodged itself in a nearby bush.

The stagecoach slowed, turned the corner, and began descending the last low, rolling hill just as the mountains were beginning to cradle the summer sun. The town was awash in the sun’s glowing warmth when Miss Georgiana McLaughlin caught her first, long-awaited glimpse. She felt that warmth now envelop her whole body as she recalled the happy memories she had left behind in the dry Colorado air five years ago, memories which now swirled around in her pretty head and turned up the corners of her perfect, heart-shaped lips. The closer the stage drew to town, the fuller her smile became, until finally her face was alight with a look of sheer joy.

She had been away so very long. Georgiana had expected the town to look different. But though she could see a few new additions to the familiar buildings that lined the old boardwalk, the place still looked like it held the same homey quality and feel you could only get from a small town—a town where everyone knows each other intimately, whether you want them to or not. Nonetheless, their knowing is a small price to pay for the acute sense of belonging.

Georgiana had been only thirteen years old when her mother had uprooted the family and moved them to live with her aunt in New York. Aunt Cecelia’s house never held any warmth whatsoever, nor did it foster any sense of attachment.

Despite her distress at their move, Georgiana had never been angry with her mother. She understood her mother’s need to escape the memories and constant reminders of the love she’d lost. Georgiana’s father had been her mother’s whole world, and though she possessed a genuine love for her children, she could not bring herself to get past her grief in order to see the hope and promises the future still offered.

Georgiana and her brothers harbored their own heartache concerning their father’s death, in addition to missing their home and grandparents. Nevertheless, they had borne the incivility and abuse from Aunt Cecelia for their mother’s sake. Georgiana had witnessed enough of her mother’s tears during that first year after their father was taken to realize the move might be her mother’s only hope of finding peace.

However, that which had bruised Georgiana’s heart most of all was the loss of her two closest friends. She hadn’t been able to say good-bye when at the last minute their traveling plans were altered. But because at the time Georgiana thought they were only vacationing with their aunt for a month, she hadn’t brooded long at not bidding her friends a fond farewell. It was later, when their mother sat all three of them down and told them they would not be returning to Crystal Creek but would instead live with their aunt permanently that her heart had felt the sickening shock of it all.

At first, she questioned whether she had heard her mother’s words correctly. Why couldn’t she see what a terrible mistake it would be for them to continue at their aunt’s home? There was nothing for them there . . . no admiration or favorable sentiment, and certainly no love. The ostentatious house was an empty shell. Staying would feel like they were being sentenced for some reprehensible crime and imprisoned in a dark, cold place that would slowly eat away their souls until they were as empty as the house itself.

For days Georgiana had cried and pled relentlessly to be allowed to return. Grandad and Nana needed her, and it wasn’t
fair
to leave them alone. But alas, even the incessant begging from William and Aden, Georgiana’s brothers, could not change their mother’s mind. She was resolute in her decision. Besides her mother’s need to be away from the memories haunting her, Aunt Cecelia had convinced their mother that she could offer them so much more if they stayed in New York. Georgiana and her brothers would attend the best schools and have many more opportunities than they would ever have living on a poorly managed and shabbily outfitted cattle ranch out west. This, Aunt Cecelia had proclaimed in front of Georgiana and her brothers, taking no thought or care as to their tender feelings concerning the matter.

Such harsh and unfounded insults had chafed sorely at Georgiana’s pride in her grandparents’ livelihood and thus fueled her anger. She had scarcely been able to hide the dismay caused by her aunt’s unjustifiable statements. Impertinent and caustic words in defense of her grandparents peppered her young tongue and fought to be set free. They were barely bridled. Georgiana’s restraint was only maintained because she hoped she could change her mother’s mind if she did not aggravate the situation further. She would yet attempt to make her mother see the disadvantages of such an arrangement.

Finally, after days and weeks of pleading, Georgiana had given up. Despairingly, she accepted her fate. She would one day return, she’d promised herself. She would find a way back to the place where her heart belonged.

The first year passed slowly. Her aunt was never overly generous, but her pride dictated she see her sister’s children properly educated, outfitted, and introduced into society. The school they attended was definitely larger and more sophisticated than the one-room schoolhouse back in Crystal Creek, and so were the egos of the spoiled and overprivileged children who attended there. Georgiana chose to keep to herself, often fondly remembering bygone days when she was never lacking for the comfortable companionship of either of her two dearest friends.

When her fourteenth birthday arrived, she had been greatly relieved to quit her aunt’s home and move into the Harriet Wilmington’s School for Proper Young Ladies as was expected. The school became a haven, a place to be herself and to be free from her aunt’s constant nagging and belittling. She’d enjoyed her three years under the security and refined tutelage of Ms. Wilmington’s well-regarded institution. The normal length of attendance was two years, but Georgiana had been gloriously offered a position to stay on an extra term. A tutor was needed to attend to some of the more challenged students. She had eagerly accepted. It was during that year, having more free time to herself, she had discovered her love and talent for painting.

Georgiana’s fingers twitched as she gazed once more at the beautiful sunset now layering strands of yellow and gold along the rooftops, reflecting a warmth that made the town seem even more inviting. Would that she could stop time this very moment so she could take out her easel and capture this day of coming home on canvas. For surely, this town was the only place that had ever felt like home.

A sudden thought caused a tear to escape and gently trail down her soft cheek. She had not forgotten the reason she had been allowed to return to this place. The warm and loving visage of her Nana McLaughlin passed before her mind—soft gray hair wound loosely into a bun at the back of her neck and a faraway look in her warm, dove-gray eyes as she retold tale after tale of her life back in Ireland. Georgiana, even after these many years, could still remember the sweet, pleasant sound of her grandmother’s voice and the music in her laughter.

Taking a deep breath, Georgiana sighed sorrowfully. Her grandmother was gone now. Georgiana had always thought she and her family would return. She had hoped beyond measure even for a short visit. But year after year, they had remained, and now she would never see her dear grandmother alive again on this earth.

Nana,
Georgiana thought, choking back the emotion that threatened to overwhelm her,
I am sorry, so very sorry I didn’t come home in time.
Pulling a handkerchief from a small, delicately beaded handbag, she dabbed at her wet cheeks.

When her grandfather had written her mother asking if Georgiana could come and live with him at the ranch until he could find more permanent help, her aunt had been furious, ordering her mother to send a note of refusal immediately. Georgiana had been seeing a young man quite seriously for some time, and though she had already decided she could not commit her heart to him as yet, her aunt was pushing for a speedy engagement.

Mr. Dawson Alexander was in line to inherit a great fortune and was indeed a most suitable choice in her aunt’s eyes. Georgiana had to admit Dawson was a good man, and she liked him very much. Not only was he considerate and benevolent toward others, he bore no semblance to the other haughty, spoiled aristocrats who shared the selfsame elevated status. He was but one year older than she was, and they had many things in common. In the short time she had known him, she had come to care for not only him, but also the rest of his family. Their generosity and loving nature bestowed so freely upon her attested to the reason Dawson was such a gallant and amicable man.

Much to her dismay and frustration, Georgiana always had a feeling lingering in the depths of her heart and mind that kept her from loving him fully. He was most dear to her, being such the man he was, but she invariably held back. Whatever was causing her to forestall any real commitment to a formal relationship with him stemmed from this feeling . . . this terribly
inconvenient
feeling hidden deep within her.

Georgiana had endeavored to discover and absolve that which troubled her heart and gave her cause to postpone Dawson’s repeated attempts at courting her, but she had failed. The only thing she knew for sure was it somehow connected to the pain and loss she had suffered in her tender childhood years. So often she had longed for the home she had once known, for her grandparents she missed so deeply, for the friendships she had been torn from. She had never, in five years, truly become accustomed to living in New York. And though she had learned and experienced many wonderful things, a feeling of contentment and belonging had always eluded her. By returning to Colorado, the only place she’d ever really considered home, she hoped she would finally make peace with all she had lost and free her heart so she could marry Dawson.

After she had overheard her aunt’s blatant and insistent demands concerning the matter of her returning, Georgiana had gone to her mother privately and pled her own cause. This time her mother did not deny her. Sensing her deep unrest, her mother knew Georgiana owned an intense emotional need to return to Crystal Creek, quite possibly as strong a need to return as her mother had to escape so many years before. Georgiana also suspected her mother harbored profound guilt for tearing her children away from their grandparents and friends. So, to Georgiana’s delight and satisfaction, her mother had given her explicit permission to return and give aid to her grandfather.

Oh, her aunt had ranted and raved and threatened to send them all away. How could Georgiana, after living in the marrow of high society, be subjected to such deplorable living conditions as a ranch house in Colorado with a bunch of uncouth, uncivilized men no less? It was highly improper. And what of poor Mr. Alexander? Was he expected to just wait for her to return?

In the end, her mother had won, insisting it was only a visit and would not be permanent. Besides, her mother pointed out, it was her family’s responsibility, as well as Christian duty, to come to her father-in-law’s assistance during his time of mourning and need. What was the purpose of teaching responsibility and good breeding if, at the first test of character, Georgiana was not encouraged to take the higher road?

Bravo for Mother
, Georgiana thought. She had thrown all of Aunt Cecelia’s haughtiness and pomposity back in her face, and the argument had ended. Besides, her mother knew—though she would never let on to Aunt Cecelia—that it would be far from torturous for Georgiana to return to Colorado.

It had taken five years—five long years—but here she was . . .
home
 . . . at last.

Finally, the stage pulled to a stop, and Georgiana nervously clutched her valise and handbag and stepped from the coach. Looking one by one into the faces of the few strangers that loitered about the stage depot, her heart at once leapt for joy the moment she caught sight of her grandfather. Forgetting all her well-groomed manners taught by Ms. Wilmington, she dropped her things and ran heedlessly up the wooden steps toward him, throwing herself into his open arms. Both tears of joy at seeing him again and of sadness over the deep loss she felt for losing her grandmother ran unrestrained down her cheeks.

“Grandad . . . Grandad,” she managed in between her frenzy of emotions, “I missed you so!” She pulled herself back to look into his weathered yet wonderfully familiar face.

“Georgiana, me darlin’ girl,” he said, smiling and brushing an aged hand across his wrinkled cheeks to banish his own tears of joy. The sound of his voice brought with it a rush of memories both bitter and sweet. Still, her heart was lightened. “Well then, stand ye back,” he continued, “and let me be gettin’ a good look at ye, now.” But his eyes never left her face. “Aye, ’tis a splendid sight ye are, and my how ye be grown! Were it not fer that golden hair of yar mother’s and yar grandmother’s eyes, I might’ve never recognized me wee girl, grown to be a woman.” Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out a handkerchief and handed it to her. “Best ye be moppin’ up some of those tears, now. We canna be havin’ you wash us both right outta town with ’em.” He chuckled, and it made her smile and warmed her heart. She hugged him again before stepping back and dutifully drying her eyes.

When she was finished, Georgiana took a deep breath and looked around her. It was almost as if she had never left. Across the street was Whitaker’s Mercantile. Through the window she could see a woman rhythmically sweeping a broom back and forth. She fancied it must be Mrs. Whitaker, cleaning up the store before closing time. A couple of old gentlemen sat out front at a feeble-looking table in a couple of mismatched chairs playing a game of checkers. It was a familiar sight.

Next to the mercantile sat the barbershop. The barber, old Mr. . . . she couldn’t recall his name . . . was outside spit-shining his windows before closing shop, just like he’d always done. She had speculated many times why a man, who had no hair whatsoever, would want to spend his days cutting and shaving the heads and faces of those who had plenty.

Mrs. Perkins’s dress shop was next. There were a couple of dresses hanging in the windows assuredly meant to display the latest fashions. She would never think of telling Mrs. Perkins that the dresses on display were actually quite outdated from what was now being touted as fashionable in New York. Of course, New York was always one of the first to follow the latest styles coming from Paris. She herself was wearing a tailored traveling suit, which consisted of a pink gored skirt, white ruffled blouse, and a short, pink bolero jacket with perfectly puffed sleeves. Its design was acclaimed to be the epitome of chic among the upper-class socialites, especially when doing a bit of traveling.