The Kissing Tree (13 page)

“But how did you know where I was?”

“From your paintings,” he replied. “I was hopin’ you’d gone off to the same place today. I’ve seen them mountains before. Storm and I like to get out by ourselves once in a while. That there meadow was a particular favorite spot a summer ago. Though after today, I’m thinkin’ I might be inclined to avoid it permanently.”

On an impulse, Georgiana leaned forward and grabbed one of his hands, holding it between both of hers. At once goose bumps broke out on her skin and her breathing increased. She tried hard to ignore her body’s reaction.

“Thank you, Ridge. Thank you for saving my life out there.” Then, surprising herself, she lifted the palm of his hand to her lips and kissed it.

“Georgiana, I . . .” He didn’t finish the sentence but instead stood and took a small step forward so he was directly in front of her. She let go of his hand. Leaning forward, he placed both his hands about her waist and lifted her up to stand before him.

The quilt fell from around her shoulders to the floor.

Releasing her waist, he lifted a hand slowly to her face, brushed a strand of her long blonde hair to the side, and tucked it behind her ear. His fingers then delicately traced her jawline until his hand came to rest beneath her chin. Tilting her head up slightly, he looked deeply into her eyes.

“Georgiana,” he spoke her name softly, the sound of it so tender and loving, its intonation resounded in her heart. She was spellbound, staring into the warmth of his eyes. As his lips neared her own, she instinctively closed her eyes and eagerly awaited his touch.

“Georgie girl?”

Georgiana was startled when she heard her grandfather call out her name from the other side of the door. Then, instead of feeling the anticipated touch of Ridge’s lips, she felt herself being gently but firmly pushed back into the chair she had just been so beautifully drawn out of. She watched as Ridge barely missed stumbling over the chair standing behind him and scrambled to the opposite side of the room.

“Georgie?” her grandfather called again, but this time the door slammed open from the force of the wind behind it. Georgiana jumped from both the sound and the sight, because there in the doorway next to her grandfather, looking like a drowned city rat, stood Dawson.

Georgiana stood up for a moment, sat back down, and stood up once again. She couldn’t believe Dawson was here, but there he stood, dripping wet and smiling from ear to ear. He made no move to step forward but waited politely to be invited in. Even with the rain beating hard against his back, he was ever a gentleman. Sadly, she was having trouble finding her voice. Her grandfather came to her rescue.

“Look who Tiny found in town today.”

Georgiana still said nothing. He came into the house and beckoned Dawson to follow him. “Come on in out of the rain, lad. If ye stand any longer in that there storm, ye will surely be blown away.”

Dawson came inside, and Angus took his overcoat while Georgiana stood gawking. What was he doing here? Had he written to say he was coming? Admittedly she still hadn’t read the last batch of letters.

She quickly glanced at Ridge, aware he was monitoring her reactions closely, and turned her attention back to Dawson. He was smiling at her tentatively. It was good to see him, despite the shock and the fact that his timing was extremely bad.

Her grandfather cleared his throat loudly. They were all staring at her, waiting for her to speak, and here she stood, still gaping at them in silence as she sorted her thoughts. From somewhere in her memory, she heard the voice of Ms. Wilmington saying, “A lady never gawks, but rather, when caught by surprise, she exercises the utmost control in both her facial expressions and her mannerisms, thus quickly gaining the upper hand in any situation.” Encouraged by that thought, Georgiana finally found her voice.

“Dawson . . . ,” she began. Ridge continued to watch. Feeling the weight of his stare was causing her mind to have trouble forming cognitive thoughts. “Dawson, I . . . I . . . ” Suddenly Dawson hurried forward and gathered her up into his arms.

“I’ve missed you too, Georgiana, most terribly. I warned you I would come to fetch you if you stayed away too long.”

“But Dawson . . . how . . . when did you—”

Before she could finish her sentence, his lips were upon hers. She was so stunned, so taken aback, she couldn’t think how to respond until she heard the front door slam shut.

She managed to push Dawson off just in time to see her grandfather follow Ridge out the door.

“Dawson, what are you doing here?”

“What do you mean, love? I told you . . . I missed you and I couldn’t stand to be away from you a moment longer.” She had freed herself from his embrace, so he reached down and took her hands. “Didn’t you miss me?” His eyes seemed to be pleading with her to answer in the affirmative.

“Yes, of course I’ve missed you,” she answered, feeling a twinge of guilt. “It’s just that I’m surprised to see you. So much has happened today. I’m afraid you’re the last person I expected to see standing in the doorway in the middle of this wicked storm.” She let go of his hands and sat down again in the chair, clasping her hands conveniently together so he couldn’t grab them. “When did you arrive?”

Dawson sat down in the chair opposite her that Ridge had been sitting in moments before.

“On the afternoon stage. It was pure luck I happened upon one of your grandfather’s cowhands.” He stopped to smile charmingly, and she couldn’t help but return his smile. “Especially since I loathed wasting any of the time I have to spend with you. I promised my father I wouldn’t stay longer than two weeks. That reminds me, Mother sends her love and asked me to tell you she misses your visits immensely.”

“Your mother is very kind.”

“Alysa also wanted you to know the leaves are just beginning to turn, and if you hurry home, you won’t miss painting them.” Alysa was Dawson’s ten-year-old sister. Georgiana adored her.

“And how are Thomas and Viviana, and, of course, your father?”

“They are all in good health, but they miss you terribly as well.”

When he finished speaking, his eyes fell to her lips. Georgiana worried he might try repeating his earlier unexpected greeting. Suddenly, her mouth became very dry, so she stood up and limped over to the sink.

“Can I offer you any refreshment?” she asked, reaching for a cup from the cupboard. “I could make some herb tea if you like.”

“Still the gracious hostess, I see,” Dawson teased, a smile alighting his face.

Georgiana had almost forgotten his playful manner and how it was so endearing.

“It might do well to take the chill off,” she suggested.

“I believe you might be right, so yes, my lady, I graciously accept your offer.”

He continued to talk about his family while Georgiana took down the kettle, pumped water into it, and placed it on the cook stove, which was still warm. She didn’t bother stoking the fire. She knew Dawson liked his tea warm, not hot. She took down another cup and filled it with water for herself, being careful not to splash any on the floor as she hobbled back over to her chair.

It was then Dawson finally noticed she was limping.

“My dear, you’ve been injured.” Dawson leapt to his feet to aid her the rest of the way to the table. “What has happened to your foot?” he asked, helping her into the chair, and sat back down across from her.

The sincere look of concern on his face touched her. She did miss this man. She had been lonely for such a long time before they had become friends. She had reveled in the fact she had found a confidant and friend in Mr. Dawson Alexander.

“I am afraid my foolishness resulted in a rather unfortunate accident, that being a rather bothersome cut to my foot.”

Dawson jumped to his feet once again, his look of concern deepening.

“We should fetch the doctor. I will ask your grandfather to lend me a horse, and I’ll—”

“Dawson, I’m fine . . . really,” Georgiana interrupted, motioning for him to sit back down. “It has been cared for properly, I assure you.”

“But you can’t be too careful,” he warned, the worry evident in his voice. “I couldn’t bear the thought of anything happening to you.”

“It’s not that serious and will mend itself in no time,” she reassured him.

When she took a drink, a tangled lock of her hair fell forward. At once, she realized what a fright she must look with her hair down, damp, and disheveled from the storm.

Embarrassed, she quickly ran her fingers through it, untangling it as best she could before nimbly working it into a braid and rolling it into a loose bun. She secured the bun with the few pins that thankfully had remained in her pocket. When she was finished, she stood up and carefully walked back over to fetch the kettle and finish preparing Dawson’s tea. He never took his eyes off her the whole time she’d reworked her hair in silence, and when she got up, he followed over to help.

“Let me finish this, Georgiana. You need to rest.”

“Nonsense,” she chided him. Surely she was not so hurt she couldn’t prepare a cup of tea. Besides, she had responsibilities to the men, and she didn’t intend to ignore them because of a little wound. They were all still working out in this beastly storm and would no doubt be cold, tired, and hungry when they came in.

She began hastily taking down pots and pans. Georgiana had promised the men fried chicken tonight with potatoes, and that’s what they were going to get.

“What are you doing?” Dawson asked, looking shocked.

Georgiana turned to face him, placing a hand on each hip. “What do you think I’m doing? I’m fixing dinner,” she replied sternly.

“But surely you can’t with—”

“I can and I will.” She narrowed her eyes at him, and he put his hands up in mock surrender. Dawson was not ignorant of her Irish temper. She had never tried to hide it from him. If she had succeeded in doing so, surely that would mean they weren’t nearly as close as she thought they were.

“But how can you? You can barely stand,” he said, an incredulous look on his face.

“With your help,” Georgiana announced. Reaching over and grabbing her apron from its peg, she threw it at him. The look on his face made her laugh. She knew he wouldn’t put it on. Wearing an apron was always where he drew the line. Dawson had joined her in the kitchen back home a number of times while she was trying out some new recipe or technique she had learned. At first she figured he had devised it as a way to spend more time talking with her, but after a bit of coaxing on her part for him to participate, he seemed to enjoy himself. He would never admit it though.

All of their kitchen rendezvous had, of course, been on the sly. Had Aunt Cecelia ever found out, she would have put an end to them immediately. Never would she have tolerated such a breach of etiquette. It was already a stretch for her to allow Georgiana to continue cooking and sharpening her skills. Nevertheless, Georgiana had not once seen her aunt push aside a dessert or crumpet she had baked.

Dawson looked back at the door and then at her injured foot. She assumed he was weighing in his mind the repercussions of being caught cooking, by a bunch of cowboys no less. Would it damage his reputation too entirely? He must have decided to take the chance because he removed his town coat, hung it on a chair, and began rolling up his sleeves. When he was finished, he walked over to her side and smiled.

“Where would you like me to begin?”

Georgiana motioned over to a sack of potatoes leaning against the door to the pantry.

“If you wouldn’t mind peeling a few potatoes for me, I’ll start frying the chicken. I prepared most everything before I left earlier to paint. If we hurry, we can probably be done before any of the men return.” Before he walked away to begin his given task, Georgiana stood up on her toes and kissed him on the cheek, ignoring the pain that shot through her foot.

He grinned a little wider.

“Thank you, Dawson, for risking your reputation to help me,” she teased, but having to feign her smile. Her foot was hurting her more than she would admit to, but with Dawson’s help, she would no doubt be able to get off it more quickly.

While they cooked, Georgiana told Dawson about what had happened in the meadow that led to her injury. She could see the grateful expression on his face when she told him how Ridge had saved her from being struck. Afterward, she dared not look at him directly. When she talked about Ridge, even as she said his name, her body warmed and a blush came to her cheeks. She worried Dawson would notice.

Her thoughts were instantly drawn back to the moments before Dawson had arrived. Ridge had almost kissed her again. She imagined she could still feel the warmth of his hands on her waist and the tender way he had held his hand against her chin as he looked into her eyes.

Guilt washed over her. Here, directly beside her, stood Dawson. A man she knew loved her dearly and one she greatly admired—maybe even loved back. He must have gone to great lengths to come out so far to see her. Dawson was a city man, through and through. He had no hidden or repressed desires to live on the frontier, and she knew him well enough to know he didn’t particularly enjoy being unclean for very long. The stagecoach ride was probably a great sacrifice, as dirty and dusty as she remembered getting. Now here she was being unfair to him—unfair to both of them, actually. Could she be in love with both men? How would she ever choose between the two?

It was Ridge, though, who seemed to be dominating her thoughts and affecting her so much lately. So much more than Dawson ever had or possibly could, she was beginning to realize. What did that mean for her and Dawson? Could that be her answer? Yes, she couldn’t deny it. She knew now that Ridge was the reason she had never been able to give her heart to Dawson. But now that Dawson was here and had kissed her in front of Ridge, what was she to do?

Letting out a frustrated sigh, Georgiana turned her thoughts from both men and put her energy instead into the meal she was preparing.

◁ ◊ ▷

Ridge stormed into the barn and shook the fresh rain from his coat and hat. Then, grabbing a currycomb, he went over to his horse’s stall and began brushing him down vigorously.

“Confounded, fickle women,” he swore under his breath, and Storm twitched his ears. “Why do they have ta be so . . . so . . .” He didn’t finish his sentence but instead kicked a bucket lying at the foot of the stall. The sound startled the horse, and Ridge gently rubbed Storm’s side and murmured a few soothing words to calm him down before continuing to brush him.

When the barn door opened and closed, he didn’t have to guess who had come in, and soon Angus stood leaning up against the door of the stall.

“Evenin’, Ridge.”

“Evenin’, Angus,” Ridge replied without looking up.

“I’m here to be thankin’ ye for findin’ me girl and bringin’ her home.”

Ridge nodded his head that he accepted his thanks, but he didn’t say anything.

“Surprised I was to see Tiny a totin’ that city lad of Georgiana’s out to the west field with him where we was workin’. Havin’ a tough time of it, we were, when they arrived. That there birch was no wee saplin’. If we tried haulin’ it out of the way with the horses, it would’ve fer certain taken another portion of the fence down with it. So I sent Roddy back to be gettin’ a couple of cross saws. Jonas and Jeremiah were searchin’ for the cattle. When Roddy returned, there was just the three of us, not countin’ Mr. Alexander.” He stopped to shake his head and chuckle softly. “Shocked out of me skin I was when the lad grabbed one end of a saw and started workin’ right along with us.” He looked up at Ridge and watched him for a second. “Never stopped or complained, just kept workin’ till we were done, even helped with fixin’ the fence. I ’spect he might be a pretty good lad after all.”