Chemistry Lessons (13 page)

The bull turned ever so slightly. Destry inched his truck forward. The
bull stepped away from the bumper.

“Come on,” Rosie yelled with a growl in her voice. Her cat spit and screamed
inside its bag, scratching to escape, it’s little claws poking through the canvas.

The steers and cows crowded against the ones up ahead. Rosie kept
yelling, Destry continued to inch the truck forward, and eventually the
bottleneck broke up. The cattle walked together down the hill, away from Destry’s
truck. The only problem was that they were still on the road and going the same
direction as Destry.

“Are the cattle going to let us herd them back to the Bells’ ranch?” he
asked.

“Hard to tell,” Rosie said, rolling up her window. “They’ve walked at
least two miles to get up here. I’d be surprised if they let us drive them all
the way home.”

“Two miles? That’s a long way.”

“They’re just following their instincts. Animals always seek higher
ground during floods.”

Destry looked at the speedometer. They were traveling at less than five
miles an hour. At this rate, it’d take more than an hour to get Rosie back
home. He didn’t mind that at all. “I know it’s none of my business, but you
ought to let Tanner get you a diamond.”

“Why? They’re expensive, they get in the way, and aren’t practical for
a rancher. Diamonds are overrated,” she said, the intensity of her words
telling him how serious she was about this. “Do you know how they’re mined?
Those poor men in Africa slave away for pennies while the rich moguls do
nothing. I don’t want to support that.”

As the cattle ran downhill, he put on the brakes to ease up on them a
little. He didn’t want to create some sort of stampede.

He had never heard a woman speak so passionately about the diamond
trade. Not only did he agree with her, it made him wish all the more that she
wasn’t engaged to Tanner. “There are a lot of other stones that are mined more
compassionately. Rubies, emeralds, and sapphires are all nice.”

Rosie shook her head. “It just seems so archaic—as if Tanner and I are
going to own each other. We might as well wear ear tags like these cattle.”

Destry laughed. “You make it sound like an engagement ring is some sort
of medieval torture device.” He brought the truck to a complete stop and looked
her in the eyes. She didn’t seem to comprehend the way a man feels about the
woman he loves, or at least the way he should feel about her. Maybe Tanner wasn’t
the perfect guy, but she should at least feel loved and valued as his future
bride. How could he help her see that? “Do you want a man’s perspective?”

She received a text and summarized it for Destry, ignoring his question
for the moment. “Mr. Bell’s ready to block the road up ahead with his truck.
Hopefully, the cattle will turn into his ranch when they get to his roadblock.”
She slid her phone back into her purse, and pointed ahead to the cattle, who
were slowing to a leisurely pace. “Better keep up with them.”

Destry drove the truck forward at three miles per hour, following the
cattle as they plodded along. She hadn’t agreed to hear a man’s perspective,
but she hadn’t refused either. He jumped back into the subject before he had
time to think better of it. “Tanner probably sees an engagement ring as a
symbol of his love. It’s something you can keep with you always. Every time you
see it, he wants you to remember how valuable you are to him.”

“A plain gold band could do that just as well as a diamond.”

He stopped the truck to look in her eyes. “True, but I think Tanner
wants to give you a symbol that’s as unique as your love.”

Rosie laughed and turned away to look out the window. “You sound like
you might own a jewelry store . . .  If Tanner really feels that way, I guess I
wouldn’t mind a ring. I just don’t want a diamond.”

 “What about a citrine ring?” he asked, speaking his thoughts as they
came to him. “It’s a clear, golden stone. You strike me as golden—like that
little man who spins straw into gold.”

She returned her gaze to his. “You mean Rumpelstilskin?”

“Or King Midas.” There he’d gone again, comparing her to a man—make
that two men. He paused, taking the time to think through his words before he
spoke. He wanted her to see herself the way he saw her. “What I’m trying to say
is that you have a golden touch with your animals. You take injured strays that
no one wants and turn them into well-groomed, healthy pets. And then there’s
the way you treat your grandfather. Everything about you is pure gold.”

Rosie’s gaze flickered his way before she bent back over the bag of
cat. “Thank you, Destry. No one’s ever said anything like that before. Most
people think I’m crazy for taking in so many animals.”

“There’s more about you that’s golden that I didn’t mention. You have a
kind of shimmering beauty. You couldn’t hide it if you tried.” Maybe he’d gone
a little overboard, speaking his thoughts too freely, but he wasn’t sorry for
saying it. If all Tanner did for her was provide security, it was worth it for
Destry to explain how he saw her while he still had a chance. Still, he decided
to tone down the sentiment. “I’m not sure whether citrine would work for an
engagement ring, though. It’s only a semi-precious stone.”

She forced out a laugh. “Well, there’s no way I can get a citrine now.
Every time I look at one, I’m going to think of how you said I have a shimmering
beauty.”

He stifled a smile. “Sorry. I’ll keep my mouth shut about the other
gems. I wouldn’t want to ruin all of them for Tanner.”

In silence, they followed the cattle to where Mr. Bell’s truck blocked
the road. Flat ranch land stretched out on either side. As the rain slowed to a
gray, misty drizzle, the sun broke through the clouds, casting rays of light down
onto the grassy fields of emerald green. He had never seen this land look so
beautiful, and he was beginning to get a glimpse of how Rosie could love it so
much in all its extremes—why she wanted to own a piece of it.

His attention was drawn back to the cattle on the road. Mr. Bell’s plan
was to force them to turn down the lane that led to his ranch. But instead of
turning, the cattle stepped off onto the shoulder, walked around his truck, and
kept going in the direction of Morrisville.

Rosie ran her hands through her hair. “Animals are so erratic during flood
weather.”

Mr. Bell ran on foot after his cattle. Rosie and Destry got out of the
truck and followed behind.

It took Destry a minute to notice that Rosie hobbled along on only one
shoe. “Hold on,” he called, going back to his truck. He fished a pair of flip-flops
from the cab and held them up for her to see. “You can wear these.”

“Thank you. You’ve been so accommodating through this whole mess.” She
took the spare flip-flops and put them on, but they were too big for her to do
much walking.

He wished she could see that his actions stemmed from much more than
just a desire to be polite. Sure, he knew all the right things to do when it
came to social etiquette and business etiquette, but this was different. His
comfort, his happiness had begun to depend on her own.

Wearing his wet boots, he ran ahead. Since the cattle had already
walked a few miles, it was easy to outpace them. He watched for the big bull,
always keeping a few cows between them. Mimicking Mr. Bell’s actions, he
extended his arms to the side, attempting to block the path of the cows. They
stopped, as did the steers near Mr. Bell.

Rosie, standing on the opposite side of the herd, managed to get a few
of them to turn. With some more prodding, Mr. Bell turned the others, and soon
the cattle sauntered back in the direction of their ranch.

Rosie and Destry hurried back to the warmth of the truck. He removed
his mud-covered boots, splattering mud onto the new upholstery, and set them
next to the wriggling bag of cat.

“I don’t think Clementine can stand another minute in this truck,”
Rosie said, unzipping the bag. Clementine burst out and scrambled out of Rosie’s
open door. She sat, watching her pet dart past the cows and disappear into the
tall grass. “It’ll be easier on her to find her own way home than to sit in the
truck for another hour.”

“What about the river?” Destry asked.

Rosie shut her door and turned to Destry with a resigned smile. “I’ve
seen her up here before. There’s a pipe that goes across the river where she
likes to sun herself during the summer.”

Destry watched the cat dart through a hole in a nearby fence. “Everything’s
an adventure out here.”

Mr. Bell moved his truck out of the way, waving his thanks, and Destry
turned the key in his ignition.

Rosie pulled the seatbelt  and clicked it tight. “Country life isn’t
what you expected, is it?”

He certainly hadn’t expected to meet a woman like Rosie. “I like it
more than I thought I would.” He pulled forward along the road. “There are only
a few things I miss.”

“Like what?”

He glanced over at her, making sure she wasn’t offended. Her wide eyes
reflected only curiosity. “Like fresh crabs,” he said, “and used bookstores. I
can still get books online, but I miss browsing.” The rain had stopped, and a
pale rainbow peeked through the dark clouds. It felt natural to sit in the
truck with Rosie, as if he’d done it a million times. What he wouldn’t give to
do it a million more times.

“When we get to Morrisville,” Rosie said, her voice brightening with
excitement. “We should stop at Cottage Industries.”

“What’s Cottage Industries?”

“Only my favorite store.” She gave him a sly smile but didn’t
elaborate.

Destry spent the next twenty minutes wondering what Rosie’s favorite
store would be like. He was certain they wouldn’t have fresh crabs, but maybe
if he was lucky, they’d have a shelf or two of used books. He also pictured a
place full of birdcages, kittens, and aquariums.

Once they got to Morrisville, Rosie directed him to a house just west
of the town’s center. It was a big old Victorian painted white with a clapboard
sign hanging in front that said “Open.” Rosie pointed to the flowerbed of
zinnias out front, explaining that her grandmother had recommended them to the
owner.

“Do you think they’ll mind if my boots are muddy?” Destry asked.

Rosie gestured toward the oversize flip-flops she had borrowed from
him. “As long as we’re wearing shoes, I think we’re okay.”

Inside, the place was half tag sale, half craft store. It smelled of
old wood and citrus. Rosie led Destry past some antique furniture to a room
filled with vintage toys and trinkets. “It’s not exactly a bookstore,” she
said, “but they have shelves of books here and there.” Together, they perused a
stack of comic books. Destry found a Batman comic in a plastic, protective
sleeve. “I would have loved this when I was kid.”

“Are you a Batman fan?”

“Not so much anymore.” He made his voice go deep, matching Christian
Bale’s gravel and bite as Batman. “He’s too bent on revenge.”

Rosie burst out laughing, just as he’d hoped. “So who do you like now?”
she asked. “For a superhero?”

He placed the comic back on the shelf, wishing this moment could last. “Spiderman.
Who’s your favorite?”

She didn’t hesitate. “Captain America.”

He should have guessed that. “Always rooting for the underdog. I like that
about you.”

Rosie sifted through a collection of skeleton keys in a big wooden
bowl. “Someone has to.”

They wandered into the next room, stocked with old farm tools and Western
memorabilia. The musty scent of old newspapers, leather books, and oil engulfed
him, but it was pleasant and not at all annoying. Sickles, gears, pulleys, and
saws hung on the wall. Destry picked through a jumble of tools that filled a
rusty old box—wrenches, hammers, and files—some still in very good condition. “I
know what most of these are for, but what’s this?” He held up a curved
apparatus that looked like it could substitute for Captain Hook’s prosthetic
hand.

“That’s for lifting hay bales. You stick the hook under the twine that
holds the bail together.”

He found something else that looked like a mix between tongs and
scissors. “And this?”

“Sheep Shearers.” She wandered to a shelf of paperback Westerns,
holding up the first one she came to. “I thought you wanted to look at books.”

“Not until I stump you.” He wondered how much extra time that could buy
him with her. She seemed to be enjoying herself. He held a tool with a wooden
handle attached to concentric metal circles, each with a sharp edge. “Now this
is what I call a medieval torture device.”

“That’s a curry comb. It’s like a back scratcher for horses. They love
it.” She pointed to a tool at the top of the book shelf. “See that
corkscrew-looking thing.” The giant tool had three metal prongs and looked
something like a giant corkscrew. “I have no idea what that’s for.”

Destry picked it up. “Neither do I.”

Rosie motioned for him to join her. “So now you’ve stumped me. Come
look at these books.”

Destry hesitated to admit that he’d never read a Western. “Got any
recommendations for me?”

“What kind do you like?”

He grabbed a copy of
The Shootist
. “I saw this movie once.” He
put the book back on the shelf. “But to tell the truth, I haven’t read a lot of
Westerns.”

“I have. After you read a few, the women are all too sweet and
helpless.” She picked one by Tony Hillerman off the shelf. “Here’s one I liked.
It’s more of a Mystery than a Western.”

So Rosie wasn’t a fan of Westerns either. He turned the book over to
read the back cover. “This is set on the Navajo reservation.”

“Yep.”

He’d been wanting to learn more about life on the reservation. “Sounds
good. I think I’ll get this one.”

He followed Rosie through a room full of handmade items. Jars of
jalapeño jelly, crocheted potholders, fluffy hair bows for little girls, and
tole-painted wall décor all competed for attention in the tiny room.

They walked down a short set of stairs to an enormous room that must
have been added to the back of the house. It was obviously meant as a party
room. A few picnic tables sat in the center while arcade games lined the back
wall. Destry spied a game he recognized in the corner. “Is that Wrestle World?”

Rosie grinned. “I played that for hours when I was a kid.”

Destry dug in his pocket for a quarter. “Me too. They had one at our
mall. I used to play while my mom shopped.” He walked to the machine. “You pick
a character first. We’ll play tag team.”

She glanced at her watch. “I guess we have time for one game.”

Destry dropped in the quarter, and Rosie picked a character—Crush
Master.

Destry leaned in to select Max Smash and caught the smell of coconut in
her damp hair. It made him want to linger.

Rosie went first, giggling as she flattened their opponent with a pile
driver. “I forgot how violent this game could get.”

“All this wrestling stuff is just an act,” Destry said as he took his
turn, smashing the other guy with a few kicks and then throwing him out of the
ring. “No one really gets hurt. We’re just doing it to entertain the audience.”

Rosie threw her head back and laughed. Tiffany would have rolled her
eyes. Of course, Tiffany wouldn’t have played the game in the first place.

After more body slams and punches, they advanced to the next level, and
then the next. Rosie wore a continuous smile as she pinned their opponents time
after time. She looked gorgeous, her hair drying into waves, and he couldn’t
help watching her instead of the screen. She had to nudge his arm. “It’s your
turn. Don’t let me down. The fourth level is always the best.”

Destry had no trouble winning the match. All he had to do, after all,
was hit the punch and kick buttons at the right times. Rosie stood beside him,
jumping up when he made a good move and covering her face when he lost points.
She was so close, her arm brushed against his, and it set his nerves on fire.
How many levels did this game have? He’d love to find out.

On the fourth level, the opponents teamed up on them, pitting two
against one. Rosie pursed her lips and let her nostrils flare. He loved to see
her finally show her emotions, even if this was only a game. When his turn
came, he couldn’t resist the urge to glance her way, trying to read her
expressions as she watched him, hoping she felt some of the same attraction he
did. She seemed more interested in watching the screen, though, and reached
across him to push the buttons for him. Then she apologized, blushing. “Sorry.
I tend to take over when I’m excited.”

Destry stopped to watch the pink creep up her neck to her cheeks,
wishing he could touch her smooth skin and kiss her lips. He barely heard the
computerized music signaling that he’d lost his first life. “We make a good
team,” he whispered as his character stood up and faced the opponents one more
time.

“We do.” Rosie reached in front of him, taking over the controls and
saving Max Smash’s second life. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have distracted you.” She
was really taking this game seriously.

Not wanting to let her down, he took back the controls, trying to focus
again on the screen. He didn’t want her to think he was completely incompetent.
“I don’t mind your distractions.”

Rosie remained quiet, jumping a little on her toes, until they advanced
to the fifth level when she shrieked, “We did it!” Her hands flew upward, and
for a moment, Destry thought she might hug him. Instead, her hands settled back
onto the controls. She became intent on the game again, but he doubted it was
the game that had made her suddenly quiet. The fun they were having, the
teamwork, the comfortable ease they shared—would she acknowledge that this
feeling was more than just a part of the game? Did she feel the pull of
attraction? Something more than friendship?

Despite the disaster with her car, he’d never seen her so relaxed. He
could make her happy—much happier than he’d ever seen her with Tanner. And oh,
how he wanted to see her happy like this every day. He couldn’t keep the grin
off his face, but Rosie wouldn’t look him in the eye and share it with him.
Whether she felt something for him or not, she wasn’t ready to act on it. This
was only a fleeting excitement, as if he were up on a surfboard, riding the perfect
wave. It could only last so long.