For the Roses

The question caught him off guard. 'What did you just ask?'

She asked again. He didn't laugh because she looked so damned sincere.

'What made you think about kissing?'

She wasn't about to tell him the truth. Every single time she looked at him, she thought about kissing. From the moment she'd witnessed how kind and gentle he'd been with his temperamental stallion, she'd thought about little else. She wanted him to kiss her, and even though she knew that what she wanted was quite brazen, she didn't care.

'I was just curious. Have you?'

'I guess I have.'

'Do you think about kissing someone first, then you kiss her, or is it all more spontaneous?'

'You think about the strangest things.'

'Yes, I do.'

They reached the entrance to the bunkhouse. He put his hand on the doorknob and turned to look at her.

'Do you remember what I told you earlier in the day when we were looking down at your valley? React first with the mind, then with the heart. There's your answer. I always think before I act.'

She looked disappointed. 'You're a very disciplined man, aren't you?'

'I like to think I am.'

She shook her head. He didn't know what to make of her obvious disapproval. Being disciplined was an asset, not a liability. Didn't she understand that basic principle?

'I'm not so disciplined.'

He nodded. He had already come to the same conclusion. He opened the door and backed up a space so she could go inside first if she was so inclined.

She didn't move from the doorstep. 'There are twelve beds inside, but you'll be all alone tonight. If you need anything, please let one of us know.'

'Where does Douglas want MacHugh bedded down?'

'Put him in the first stall on the left,' she answered. 'There's more room. I imagine his feed is waiting for him. Do you think he'll be more agreeable to going inside now that he's had time to get used to us?'

'Yes.'

'What about you, Harrison? Are you getting used to us?'

Her question made him smile. 'Yes, I am.'

She smiled up at him. God, she was pretty.

'May I ask a favor of you?'

She was standing just a foot away from him, with her face turned up toward his, and, Lord, her eyes had turned into the color of sapphires in the moonlight. He didn't dare look at her mouth. He knew he'd forget his control if he did, for even now he was thinking about what she was going to feel like pressed up tight against him. The urge to taste her was making him rigid. Her softness and her warmth beckoned him to lean down and take what she wasn't even offering.

He was out of his mind. 'What favor do you ask?'

His voice sounded brittle to him. She didn't seem to notice. She obviously didn't realize the effect she was having on him either, or she wouldn't have leaned up on her tiptoes so she could get closer. She smelled wonderful. Like wildflowers after the rain. She rested the palms of her hands against his chest. His heart began to hammer a wild beat inside.

'Will you think about kissing me?'

He hadn't thought about anything else.

'Hell, no, I won't think about kissing you.'

His rejection stung. She thought he acted as though she'd just asked him to think about kissing a goat. She was immediately embarrassed by her boldness. Her hands fell to her sides. She had made a complete fool of herself, but she was going to have to wait until later to die of mortification. Now the only important issue was trying to maintain a little dignity.

It took work on her part. And, Lord, it was a terrible strain. She wanted to pick up her skirts and run like lightning back to the house, but she wasn't about to act like a child. She stood her ground and forced herself to look up at him again, just the way a fully grown-up woman would.

'I couldn't help but notice how appalled you sounded. Was the idea atrocious to you?'

'I wasn't appalled. Men don't become appalled.'

He sounded angry now. She didn't ask him if he was, though, because she supposed he would only tell her men didn't ever get angry either.

'Good night, Harrison. Sleep well.'

She wasn't jesting with him. The crazy woman didn't have a clue what she had just done to him. Sleep was out of the question.

He leaned against the doorframe and watched her walk back to the house. She acted as if she didn't have a care in the world. She had just turned his mind into mush and his stomach into knots, and, damn it all, he wouldn't have been surprised if she'd started in humming.

He wondered how blase she would be if he told her what he really wanted to do to her, and what he wanted her to do to him with her sweet, provocative mouth.

He could stop himself from wanting to take her to his bed. He reminded himself he was a man, not an animal, and he could certainly control his primitive urges. He had almost convinced himself too, but then he happened to notice the gentle sway of her hips when she walked, and his imagination immediately filled his mind with all sorts of carnal images.

Sleep well? Not bloody likely.

August 4, 1862

Dear Mama Rose,

We had a terrible scare last week. Mary Rose got real sick. We should have known she wasn't feeling good earlier in the day, but none of us even considered that sickness could be the culprit for her unusual foul mood. She always acts real cheerful, but Tuesday last, she started out behaving like a hellion. She got worse by afternoon. Douglas had washed her favorite blanket, the one she likes to hold up against her nose while she sucks on her thumb, and when she spotted it drying on the bushes, she threw a tantrum none of us will ever forget. Our ears are still ringing from her piercing screams. She missed her nap altogether and wore herself out crying. She wouldn't even let Adam comfort her, and she wouldn't eat a bite of her supper. Since she usually has a good appetite, we finally realized something was wrong. By midnight, she was burning up with fever.

We all took turns sitting with her and sponging her off, and when we weren't holding her hand or rocking her in the chair, we were running into each other while we paced.

The fever lasted three days and nights. She looked so little and helpless in her bed. She needed a doctor, but there weren't any to be had, not even in Hammond.

I don't believe I've ever been so afraid in all my life. Cole was frightened too, but he hid it behind his anger. He went on and on about how wrong we had been to bring a baby into the wilderness. He was wrung out with his guilt, and so were we. We knew he was right, but what were we supposed to do back then? Leave the baby in the garbage so the rats could get to her?

Loving someone this little and fragile scares all of us. She depends on us for every little thing. We always have to remember to cut her meat into tiny squares so she won't choke, and making sure she doesn't step on a snake takes everyone's constant attention. Some days I get so scared inside worrying about her, I can barely get to sleep.

I prayed all the while she was sick. I even tried to bargain my life for hers. I guess God wanted us all to stay around a little longer though, because on Saturday morning, the fever broke and Mary Rose came back to us.

Douglas and Adam and I were so relieved, tears came into our eyes. I'm not ashamed to admit it because no one saw us. Cole hid his tears too. He ran outside and didn't come back home for almost an hour. We