The Kissing Tree (12 page)

“No, it’s all right, Dawson.” Maybe if she talked about it, shared her feelings of rejection and frustration, she would finally be able to move past . . . her past. So she told Dawson of her two friends and how they hadn’t ever written back.

“Strange,” he commented when she was through. “Maybe it’s not what you think.” Georgiana shook her head back and forth.

“Maybe you’re right,” she agreed, though she couldn’t see how. “Come, you promised to show me your mother’s new pair of swans,” she said, standing. “Let us go to the pond before Thomas has them in such a fright they’ll never come out of hiding.”

Dawson stood, took her hand, and laced his fingers through hers. It felt warm and comforting. She smiled up at him as they walked toward the pond. They hadn’t spoken of her friends again after that, but she’d somehow felt closer to him.

Dismissing thoughts of Dawson, Georgiana turned her musings to Ridge.

She hadn’t seen much of him lately. He had taken Jeremiah with him over to the land office in Castle Rock to conduct some business for her grandfather. It was more than that though. It was as if he was purposely avoiding her, skipping meals and spending most of his free time either out in the barn or in the bunkhouse so he didn’t have to see her. Today at breakfast was the first time she’d laid eyes on him in more than a week, and still he had avoided looking her in the eyes.

He must regret having ever kissed me,
she thought
.
Why else would he be acting the way he is?

Georgiana contemplated his kiss. She knew she would never regret it. An excess flood of moisture came to her mouth just thinking of it. Would that it had held as much meaning for him as it had for her. A now familiar tingling sensation spread through her limbs whenever she so much as pictured his face. He didn’t even have to be physically near anymore to affect her in such a way. She knew no other man could ever awaken in her such longing . . . such depth of emotion. If she ended up marrying Dawson, would she be content to live her life without ever again experiencing such a deep stirring within her? She may not have a choice. She was suddenly unsure in which direction her life was headed, but that didn’t stop her from pondering on Ridge’s kiss further. Georgiana sighed.

Meals were tense for a while with Jimmy. He had brooded for days after witnessing their passionate exchange. Unfortunately, it hadn’t discouraged him enough to stop him from vying for her attention. Actually, it seemed quite the opposite. Between Ridge’s kiss and her sudden barrage of “love notes,” as the men had started calling them—no thanks to Jonas—Jimmy had become even more persistent. He had somehow deduced that if he didn’t make his move quickly, either Ridge or the doting and persistent Mr. Alexander would secure her heart.

Poor Jimmy. She’d felt bad, and the situation was out of control. A week ago, she had asked him to go for an evening walk with her. It had been difficult, but she finally found the words to explain to him that though she adored him and considered him most amiable, she did not possess any feelings for him beyond friendship. When his face still appeared hopeful, even after all that, she assured him she wouldn’t be changing her mind in the future.

She felt a huge sense of relief when Jimmy finally seemed to accept what she was saying. Surprisingly, he only sulked for a few days before returning to his normally cheerful self. His demeanor became more confident and relaxed, and she began to truly enjoy his friendship.

Abruptly and without warning, a huge gust of wind hit Georgiana square in the chest, almost knocking her backward onto the ground. Quickly, she glanced at the sky and saw that dark, ominous clouds now covered the meadow completely. She had been too deep in thought to notice the changes occurring about her. A twinge of regret at having pushed her instincts aside made her nervous, and a powerful sense of foreboding rose within her.

Hastily jumping down from the stone, Georgiana forgot her feet were still bare until she felt something sharp pierce through the tender flesh of her left foot. She cried out in pain. Immediately sitting back on the stone, she lifted her foot to examine it. A sharp, jagged piece of shale was embedded deep into her skin. She winced before grabbing the protruding edge of the shale and looking away. Quickly, she pulled the treacherous piece of rock from her foot. Blood instantly oozed from the gash.

Using the hem of her dress, Georgiana pressed the cloth tightly against the wound to stop the flow of blood. The wind was now starting to tear feverishly past her, and she knew she needed to make haste. She waited only a few moments before releasing her foot and attempting to stand.

As she limped back to her belongings, Georgiana felt the first few drops of rain. Trying to hurry, she made her way over to where her canvas now lay on the ground. Removing her shawl, she wrapped it around her painting as best she could. She hurriedly gathered her scattered tubes of paint and brushes, haphazardly tossing them into her satchel.

Just as she reached out to grab her easel, another powerful gust of wind ripped through the meadow, successfully knocking her and the easel over and throwing them against a fallen log.

For the second time, Georgiana cried out in pain as she came down hard on her wounded foot. How would she ever make it back in this storm with her injury? She needed to find where she had left her shoes and put them on. By now, the wind was blowing so hard, both dirt and debris were flying aimlessly through the air, and the rain was beginning to come down in sheets.

Getting down on her knees, Georgiana crawled around, trying to find her shoes and stockings. Mercilessly her hair became tangled in some brush as the wind whipped it about. She chastised herself for having even taken it down. It took forever to set herself free, but when she did, she hastily stood up, not wanting it to become entangled again. Glancing around her frantically, she wished for somewhere, anywhere, that looked safe. She needed to find some shelter fast.

As Georgiana tried to decide which direction to go, she heard a loud crack from behind her. Turning around, she watched as a large branch broke free from a tree across the meadow and began flying through the air directly at her. In shock, she stood frozen.

Just before it reached her, Georgiana closed her eyes. Something hard rammed into her side, knocking the breath out of her. The side of her head slammed into the ground, and she momentarily lost consciousness. When she came to, she could hardly breathe for the weight that was upon her, but at least she was alive. As she tried to push off the object, her fingers felt the texture of fabric, not tree bark. She realized it wasn’t the weight of the tree branch pinning her down, crushing the breath out of her, but a man. For a moment she panicked, but then she heard him shout above the chaos going on around them.

“Georgie, are ya hurt?” He leaned back, and she looked up into Ridge’s face.

“Ridge?” Her voice was barely audible because she could hardly gather enough air to speak “How did you . . . ?”

“Later,” he growled, a worried look etched on his features. “Right now we need to get outta here. We’re sittin’ targets here in the open. Didn’t ya hear me callin’ your name?” His face was directly above her, but most of his words were whipped away with the wind. She lay there, injured, frightened, the very life being squeezed out of her, but even in their precarious state, her heart raced because of his nearness.

She shook her head. “It’s too loud to hear you,” she whispered with great effort. As if he suddenly realized he was crushing her, Ridge shifted his weight and sat up. Georgiana immediately and eagerly sucked in big gulps of air. Ridge reached over and helped her to a sitting position, putting his arm around her shoulder protectively. Georgiana had often wondered what it would feel like to be cuddled beneath one of Ridge’s arms. How ironic that it would take a wicked storm to compel him to do it. Still, she found herself leaning in a little closer.

“Do you think you can stand?” he asked loudly. It was easier to hear him as they sat side-by-side, huddled close.

“I’m not sure. I’ve cut my foot pretty badly.”

Ridge released his arm and moved opposite her, grabbing her foot to examine it.

“Confound it, woman! Where are your shoes?” Ridge grumbled loudly when he saw her damaged foot. He took his handkerchief from his pocket, and with the aid of the rain, began wiping the dirt and blood gently away. As he worked, he muttered under his breath in frustration. Curious, she leaned closer to him to hear what he was saying. “Blasted female, always taking her shoes off,” was all she managed to hear.

When he was finished examining her foot, he grabbed onto her petticoat and tore a small section from it, wrapping the piece securely around the wound. Afterward, he pulled a bandanna from his back pocket and tied it over the top for extra protection.

“The cut is bad. We need to get your shoes back on so your foot doesn’t get hurt further.” This time he grasped her shoulders and pulled her closer to him as he spoke.

“I can’t seem to find them,” she cried out. He was less than happy with her new revelation, and it didn’t help that another branch, though much smaller this time, flew over their heads, barely missing them again.

“Where is your coat then?” he shouted. The noise around them was getting louder and stole the sound of his voice away. She shook her head confused as she felt herself starting to panic, her heart rate increasing.

“Georgie,” he grabbed her shoulders and pulled her close this time so his mouth was next to her ear. “Your coat . . . where did you leave it?” Despite the cold rain and wind beating down on them, his warm breath still managed to tickle her neck. She could feel goose bumps forming, and her heart raced even faster. She couldn’t blame it all on the storm.

“I didn’t bring one . . . only a shawl.” She leaned her head against the side of his as she shouted back.

“Georgie! Have you completely forgotten how fast the weather can change up here?” He looked angry now as he pushed her back to study her face. “Well, where’s your shawl then?”

Sheepishly, Georgiana pointed over to her painting. It was not doing any good protecting her work anymore, and her shawl was rendered useless, being soaked with rain and covered with paint.

Ridge shook his head, took off his own coat, and began helping her into it.

“Please, Ridge. I’ll be fine,” she protested, but he shook his head again and looked at her sternly.

“Hush, woman, we need to get outta here . . . now!” he said harshly. “I left my horse tied up there,” he continued, pointing to the trees that bordered the meadow on the right. He was worried. She could hear it in his voice and see it in his face as she watched his eyes scanning the trees for the exact spot his horse waited, even though it was near impossible to see anything through rain and flying debris around them.

Ridge stood up and gently helped her to her feet. Without warning, he scooped her up into his arms and began running in the direction he had just pointed. Georgiana gasped when another loud crack thundered behind her. Closing her eyes, she held onto Ridge more tightly.

When they reached the trees, the force of the wind immediately lessened and the sheets of rain were replaced by a hard drizzle. She spotted Ridge’s horse right away.

Ridge lifted her up into the saddle, careful not to hurt her foot, and climbed up behind her. He held the reins tightly in one hand and wrapped his other securely around her waist. Georgiana tried hard not to think of the effect it was having on her to be so close to him. She was sure he could feel her heart pounding. She worked hard to steady her breathing in an attempt to calm herself.

It didn’t take much encouragement to get Storm moving. The horse seemed to be as eager as they were to get out of there, and consequently they made good time getting back.

Once home, Ridge hopped down, opened the barn door, and led them through. He eased Georgiana back into his arms and sat her down on a bale of hay while he removed his horse’s saddle and put him into his stall. Walking over to Georgiana, he lifted her into his arms again and carried her to the house.

Setting her down on one of the kitchen chairs, Ridge lit a lantern and quickly went to work stoking the fire and putting water on to boil. He dropped a threaded needle into the pot. Next, removing his wet coat from around her, he hung it by the door and fetched a quilt from one of the parlor chairs, wrapping it securely around her shoulders.

“Ridge?” she called his name softly, but he didn’t seem to hear. Instead, he walked to the cupboard, withdrew a bottle of whisky and some clean strips of linen, and laid them out on the table.

By this time, the water had started to boil, and Ridge dipped a clean wash rag into it. Grabbing the soap from the sink, he brought it and the pot with him to the table. Finally, he pulled up a chair in front of her and sat down.

He gently lifted her foot onto his lap and unwrapped the bloodied bandanna and cloth. Her cut was still bleeding, but not as profusely. Ridge cleaned it thoroughly, first with the soap and then with the whisky. Both stung her raw skin, but she tried to hold her foot still, managing to wince only a time or two.

When at last he retrieved the needle and thread from the pot, he paused. For the first time since making it back to the ranch, Ridge looked into her eyes.

“This will hurt,” he warned, all harshness gone from his voice, “but it is a deep wound and will heal faster if it is stitched.” Georgiana nodded but said nothing.

He had been right about it hurting, and she was grateful she had been able to keep from crying out. However, she couldn’t keep the tears from her eyes.

When the last stitch was completed, he took the clean strips of linen and wrapped them around her foot. Leaning back in his chair, he let out a weary sigh. She could visually see the tension releasing from his body as he relaxed.

The house was so quiet, so peaceful, that it made the storm outside seem even more brutal. It was then she realized that all this time they had been alone. She hadn’t seen her grandfather or the others.

“Where is everyone?” she asked thoughtfully. “And how did you know where to find me?”

“A large birch tree in the west pasture was blown over by the wind and breached a portion of the fence. Some of the cattle got through. I ’spect everyone is still out either gatherin’ the cattle or movin’ the tree and fixin’ the fence.” He lifted her foot from his lap and placed it on the floor before he continued. “Your grandfather was worried ’bout ya when the storm started and sent Jeremiah to the house to warn ya to secure the windows and be prepared for a bad one. That was ’bout the time the wind really got wild. We headed over to check on the herd and spotted the felled tree. When Jeremiah came ridin’ up with the note ya left about headin’ out to paint for a bit before supper, your grandfather asked me ta hurry and find ya.”