Montana Rose (15 page)

Chapter 29

“Ooooh, I feel sick. My stomach hurts.” Tory gave a loud groan. “Ooooh,” he groaned again, even louder.

Jesse made a face and shook his head. Tory was overdoing the groaning and was now doubled so far over he was close to crawling.

Rose ran to his side. “Jesse, don’t just stand there, help me get him to the sofa.”

Jesse rushed to Tory’s side and attempted to guide him to the sofa, but Tory was enjoying every minute of being the star of this play and chose to crumble to the floor, leaving Jesse supporting his full body weight.

“Ooof,” Jesse muttered as he grabbed Tory around the chest. “Dang it, Tory, you can help. It’s only a few feet to the sofa, you can walk that far.” He gave him a hard squeeze that Rose couldn’t see.

“Can’t,” Tory groaned, hiding a grin, “hurts too bad. You’ll have to carry me, Jesse.”

“What?”

“Jesse, do something. Can’t you see he’s in pain? Of course he’ll carry you to the sofa, Tory.” Rose bent over and placed her arm under Tory’s legs. “I’ll help.”

“Oh, hell,” Jesse muttered. “I’ll get him, Rose. Step back, he’s too heavy for you.”

“I’ll run upstairs and get a pillow and blanket. I’m sure it’s all those cookies. If he doesn’t improve, you’ll have to go for Ben.” She flew out of the room, her words trailing behind her.

“Get up, you big faker. If you think I’m lugging you to the sofa, think again. And knock off the groaning.”

“Well, I’m terribly sick.” Tory moaned again, loud enough Rose heard him upstairs.

He winked at Jesse and fell on the sofa. “Help me, big brother. Maybe if you patted my forehead it would ease the pain.”

“I’ll ease the pain,” Jesse said through gritted teeth.

Rose burst into the room then gently put a pillow behind Tory’s head. “Don’t just stand there, Jesse, take off his boots.” She barked orders, scowling at Jesse to hurry with each task. “Get the dishpan out of the kitchen in case he’s going to be sick.”

“He’s not going to throw up,” Jesse snapped, giving Tory a hard look.

“I might,” Tory whispered weakly. “Better get the dishpan, Jesse. Hurry.”

“Jesse Rivers, whatever is the matter with you? Tory is sick, and you’re just standing there like some unfeeling dolt. Now please, do as I ask. It’s my fault. I let him eat all those cookies.”

“It’s not your fault, Rose,” Jesse muttered, hurrying from the room after fixing Tory with a narrowed-eye glare.

Returning, he plunked the pan on the floor close to Tory’s head.

“Before you go out to do the chores, would you mind getting a pan of cool water and a cloth so I can bathe his face?” Rose asked. “I bet a cool cloth on your forehead would feel good wouldn’t it, Tory?”

“It sure would. Jesse, you don’t mind, do you? Brother?” Tory said in a faint voice.

“Of course he doesn’t.”

“No, of course I don’t. Why, I’ll just trot right in there and get that for you, Lil’ Brother. It’s the least I can do.” He bent close to Tory’s ear and in a hot whisper said, “Live it up. ‘Cause tomorrow you’ll be well and I’ll remember.”

Tory’s eyes flew open and he gave a fearful look at Jesse’s retreating back.

“I’ll sit by your side until you feel better, Tory,” Rose said. “You concentrate on getting better for Christmas tomorrow.”

“I’ll be fine, Miss Rose. But I do feel better with you beside me.”

When Jesse came in from the cold Montana night, Rose stopped him at the living room door. Finger to her lips, she silently motioned him back into the hall.

“He finally dozed off. I don’t think we should wake him to go to his own bed, do you?”

“No. If he’s asleep, waking him might just start it up again.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“Guess I’ll bed down here in case he needs anything.” Jesse held his breath.

“No. Before he went to sleep, Tory asked me to stay with him. I’ll make a bed in that big chair.”

Jesse could have hugged his brother. Maybe he wouldn’t get even with him tomorrow after all.

“That doesn’t seem right,” he weakly protested. “But, if you think you should
.
Tell you what, I’ll get up real early, start the fires, put the coffee on, and see that there won’t be any chores to do the rest of the day. I’ll make it up to you, Rose.”

His gaze held hers as he combed a hand through his hair. It was all she could do not to smooth it back in place.

“I’ll make sure the fireplace is banked to last all night. Tomorrow you’ll wake up to the smell of coffee and a special day to look forward to. This will be a Christmas no one will forget.”

Rose knew she would never forget. If she had nothing else of this man, she’d have her memories.

“I’d better—”

“I’ll just go—”

Both spoke at once.

“Go ahead,” Jesse said in a gravelly voice. “You were saying . . .”

“I’ll just go get some blankets and a pillow.”

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

“Of course. This room is heavenly and that chair just begs to be snuggled in.”

Jesse gave a low chuckle. “Like this room, huh? I agree it’s a big improvement. Before you came, I didn’t realize this house could be anything but a cold, unwelcoming structure. You’ve made it possible. I just wish I . . .”

He bit off the rest of the words and walked over to the fireplace, struggling with re-gaining control of his emotions.

Rose stood there, holding her breath, an uncertain look on her face. What was he going to say? And how would she have answered if the words had been what she hoped they’d be?

Chapter 30

The wan light of a winter morning crept into the room. Rose stretched and groaned. Blinking to clear the sleep from her eyes and her mind, she drew the blanket tighter around her. What was she doing in a chair in the living room wrapped in a blanket? From the crick in her back, she’d obviously spent the night here. Yawning, she glanced over to the sofa and Tory’s sleeping body. Of course, he’d been sick. It was all coming back to her.

Still groggy, she searched through the cobwebs of sleep as an insistent thought tried to break through. What was it? What was niggling at her, demanding acknowledgment? She burrowed deeper into the warm blanket. Suddenly, like a bolt of lightning, she propelled out of the chair. The blanket fell to the floor, unnoticed. Wincing as her foot touched the cold floor, Rose ignored the chill, and a smile took over her face. Today was Christmas. Of course, that was the elusive thought, urging her awake.

“Brrr. It’s cold out there.” Jesse’s voice preceded him into the room. He came over to her chair, a steaming mug of coffee in his hand.

“I promised you’d wake up to the smell of coffee. And I always keep my word.”

She took the mug and watched as he went over to the fireplace and added another log.

“I’d rather have the snow than this blasted cold,” he said over his shoulder.

“Me, too, especially today.” Rose took a sip of the delicious brew. “Mmmm. Perfect.”

“Like your coffee, huh?”

She sat back down in the chair, cradling the warmth of the mug in her hands.

“Yes.”

“You said ‘especially today.’ What’s so special about today?” he asked innocently as he sauntered over.

“I can’t believe it. You’ve actually forgotten?” Then Rose saw the twinkle in his eye and noticed he was fighting back a grin.

Jesse didn’t think it possible, but Rose was even more beautiful this morning. Her hair hung long and thick down her back, not yet restricted in preparation for the day’s work. His eyes moved over her and his breathing quickened as he caught a tender expression on her face. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear it was a look of
—
No, he was being fanciful. In a flash it was gone
,
imagined. Blame it on the early morning, heralding a special day.

“Have you had your coffee yet?” she asked.

“Yep, hours ago. Chores done for the day.”

“Then I’ll dash upstairs and get dressed. We’ll have a big breakfast since we missed supper last night.”

“Sounds great. I have to admit, those cookies ran out hours ago.”

The warmth that filled him as he stood by her chair wasn’t because of the happily burning fireplace. But he couldn’t allow himself to ignore the cold fingers of reality accompanying that warmth. Unbidden, his father’s angry face, fists raised, loomed before him, and he knew what he was feeling for Rose had to be pushed down, denied and forgotten.

“Jesse.” Her voice penetrated the memory. “Are you okay? You have such a strange look on your face. You’re not getting sick, too, are you?”

“No, Rose. I’m not sick. Just a touch of reality.” And with those cryptic words, he turned away from the desirable woman.

Jesse waited until he heard her leave the room then went over to sofa.

“Wake-up, you big faker,” he growled in his brother’s ear, giving him a good shake.

“Go away. I’m tired.”

“Yeah, well so am I. And I’ve been up for hours doing all the chores while my poor recovering brother lay in his warm cozy blankets.”

“Well, you’re the oldest,” Tory mumbled, his face pressed into the pillow. “I’m just the little brother who needs his sleep.” He dragged the blanket over his head.

“You’re right. I’ll just go eat that big breakfast Miss Rose is preparing, then come back and sit in front of the fireplace admiring that big tree . . .”

“Christmas.” The word and the boy exploded simultaneously. “It’s Christmas!” he shouted. Hopping from one foot to the other, he slid on his pants. “You should have gotten me up earlier.” Then in a loud whisper, he said, “You haven’t already given her the present
,
the surprise, have you?”

“No, but if you don’t lower your voice it won’t be a surprise. We’ll have to do that right after breakfast. As full as that cow’s bag is, she’s going to need milking sooner than I thought. That is, unless you know how to milk?” He grinned wickedly.

“Huh? Not on your life. Anyway, Rose’d be mad if we didn’t let her do the first milking.”

“Yeah.” Jesse laughed. “And aren’t we lucky that’s the truth of it?”

“Let’s forget breakfast and give it to her now,” he wheedled, slipping his shirt over his head and stumbling toward the door.

Rose was entering the room and quickly stepped to the side. “Careful, Tory. Would it be safe to say you are over any sickness and know what morning this is?” She paused, then asked, “Give what to her now?”

“Huh?” Tory’s mouth hung open as he grasped for answers.

“Feet that big shouldn’t be put in one’s mouth,” Jesse muttered, giving Tory a push. “Let Rose go first and we’ll . . .” He took a deep breath, his mind racing for a way to cover the blunder
,
something, anything. “. . . strike a bargain with her,” he blurted.

Rose raised her eyes to the tall man. “A bargain?”

“Sure,” Jesse fumbled. “A bargain. How about, since it’s Christmas, Tory and I will do the dishes and clean up after that big breakfast you’re going to cook. How’s that for a
—
a bargain?”

Rose’s eyebrows drew together as she looked from man to boy. “I guess. Sure, that’s fair.”

“Well it don’t sound fair to me,” Tory said loudly, following Rose into the kitchen. “Come on, Jesse. I can’t wait. Let’s do it now.”

“After breakfast.” Jesse ground the words through clenched teeth. “It can wait until after breakfast.”

“No, it can’t.” Tory’s face was a contradiction of stubbornness and excitement.

“Stop right now.” Rose held up a hand, silencing the two. “What is this all about? I refuse to have my Christmas morning ruined with bickering.”

“Yeah, Jesse, you’re ruining her Christmas morning.” Tory gave him a superior smirk.

Rose turned her face expectantly to Jesse, her blue eyes piercing.

“Okay,” Jesse said resignedly. “My stomach’s rubbing my backbone, but what the heck. Rose, get a heavy coat on. You too, Tory.”

“A coat?” Rose asked. “Whatever for?”

“Rose,” Jesse said in a low beleaguered voice, “just do as I ask, okay? No more questions.”

Tory ran to the porch and started grabbing coats off the pegs.

He threw them at the two adults, struggling into his, then jerked open the door and stepped into the cold Montana dawn.

Chapter 31

Rose stopped so suddenly Jesse stumbled into her. She raised her face to the sky, her eyes closed in ecstasy.

His large hand fell across the middle of her back, steadying her.

“Whoa. I about knocked you over.”

“Oh, Jesse, look.”

He did, but not up at the sky. Rose’s face was damp and minute crystals winked on her eyelids. His breath caught, and he knew this day, this woman, would be forever etched in his memory.

“Snow,” she breathed softly. “It’s snowing.” She flung her arms upward and, laughing, whirled around, catching the wet flakes on her tongue.

“Snow for Christmas,” she said. “Nothing can top this. Absolutely nothing. I wished so hard for snow. Now I have everything I want to make today perfect.”

“You think so, huh?” His heart filled to bursting as he pulled her to him. “Well, Tory and I have something to show you that just might change your mind.”

“Nope. Couldn’t.” She gave a happy skip as he urged her toward the open barn door and an impatiently waiting Tory.

“Jesse, make her close her eyes,” Tory shouted.

“You heard the man, er, boy. Close your eyes.”

“My eyes? Whatever for? If I close my eyes I might . . .”

With trembling fingers, Jesse placed them on each of her eyelids and gently closed them. “There,” he whispered. “Now give me your hand
.
Keep them shut. Trust me.”

Rose knew at that moment she loved Jesse Rivers and trusted him with her heart. If only he felt the same way.

Tory grabbed Rose’s other hand, breaking the spell cast between the two.

“No peeking, Miss Rose. Not until Jesse and I say you can look.”

Rose chuckled. “I won’t. I promise.”

Sounds greeted her as she was led farther into the barn. Sounds and warmth. What was it? She closed her eyes even tighter and willed herself to recognize what her ears were telling her.

“Chickens,” she squealed. “There’s chickens and . . . and a rooster. Can I look?” she begged. “I’m opening my eyes.”

“Not yet.” Tory slapped his palm across her eyes. “Darn chickens,” he grumbled.

“Tory, it’s okay.” Jesse laughed. “Let her look.”

Reluctantly, he removed his hand.

Rose’s eyes snapped open, and she turned toward the cages of chickens angrily letting them know that being penned up wasn’t their idea of a good morning.

“You bought chickens. Thank you, thank you. I love this surprise. Tory, you were right. It couldn’t wait. We have to build them a hen house.” Just then the rooster gave out another loud crow. “Oops,” she chuckled. “I should say chicken house. Until then, they’ll have to stay in the barn. Can we fence off an area so they can get out of those little pens?” Rose was firing off questions and talking so fast, she missed the nod Jesse gave Tory over her head.

“Miss Rose . . .”

“Rose, Tory. Please call me Rose when there’s just the three of us. But, you will need to call me Miss Rose when we’re around others,” she admonished distractedly.

The three of us.
The words tore at Jesse.

“There’s more Miss, uh, Rose.” Tory gave her hand a tug leading her over to an enclosed paddock.

“More?” She laughed. “What more could there be? There must be at least twenty chickens here.”

“Twenty-five,” Jesse mumbled, his voice hoarse with emotion. “Twenty-five, but Tory’s right. There is more.” He opened the paddock door.

The milk cow turned her head at the sound, and gave them an inquisitive look as if to say, “Who are you?” Her big brown eyes, full of expression, peeked out from under long black lashes. Then she blew through her nose, and went back to the more important task of munching her hay
,
not at all perturbed at sharing her stall. Her tail swished back and forth, swatting at imaginary flies as she shifted from one foot to another, her full bag swinging between bony hips.

“No.” The word exploded from Rose with a gush of air. “No, it can’t be.”

“Well, it sure is,” Jesse said with a grin.

“A milk cow,” Rose whispered, reaching out to run her hand across the cow’s smooth hide. Then she turned to the waiting man and boy, tears streaming down her face. “You bought me a milk cow. You
-
You bought me a Christmas present.”

Jesse folded her into his arms. “Hey, we didn’t mean to make your cry. Don’t you like her? ‘Cause if you don’t we can probably take her back . . .”

“Don’t you dare, Jesse Rivers. I-I love her.” She brushed her hand across her face. “These are tears of joy, silly. Come here, Tory, I need to hug you.”

Red-faced, Tory moved closer.

Rose threw her arms around the boy then stretched them even more to include the watching man.

“Thank you so much. Oh, darn, I’m going to cry some more.”

“You’re welcome, Rose,” Jesse said huskily. “She’s yours, and that fellow waiting for his bucket of milk is yours, too.”

“A calf?”

“In the next stall.”

Rose’s hand flew to her mouth. “This is the best present I’ve ever had. The best Christmas ever. How on earth did you two sneak this all in without me knowing?” Then a glint entered her eyes and she put her hands on her hips in mock displeasure.

“You tricked me. You weren’t sick at all, were you, Tory? All that groaning and clutching your stomach
,
it was just an act.”

Tory grinned, unashamed at being found out. “We had to think of some way to keep you from looking out when Mr. Watson delivered them last night.”

“I ought to beat both of you. I was worried to death. I almost sent for Ben, thinking you were seriously ill.”

“Sorry,” Tory chortled.

“Yeah,” Jesse echoed.

“No, you’re not. You two aren’t sorry at all. And”—Rose’s smile grew even wider—“neither am I. Cream, milk, and eggs. We’ll never have to depend on the Watsons again.”

“Like I said, Rose, they’re yours. The start of your herd for your ranch. When you leave, they go with you.”

When you leave.

The words hung between them, casting a pall on the celebrating.

Unaware of the charged emotions, Tory piped up, “Well, I’m ready for that big breakfast. I’m starving.”

“Not so fast, mister. We’re looking at a cow that needs milking and chickens that need out of those small pens.” Rose cast her eyes around the area. “No milk bucket, no stool, no stanchion.” A look of dismay crossed her face.

Jesse stepped out of the paddock, returning with a shiny new milk bucket in one hand and a three-legged stool in the other.

“We bought the bucket in town, and Tory coaxed the stool away from Mr. Watson’s daughter.”

“Yeah, and you can’t imagine the ribbing I got.” Tory gave them a wounded look.

“You two have thought of everything,” Rose said softly, her eyes pooling once more with tears. She took the stool and bucket from Jesse’s hands.

“Watson said she was an easy milker. He claims she stands there while you do the job,” Jesse said.

Rose shook her head as she placed the bucket under the cow and gingerly sat on the stool.

“Jesse.” Her quiet voice floated softly over her shoulder as the sound of milk pinging against the side of the bucket filled the air. “You are like no man I’ve ever known. Arrogant, sarcastic, bossy, and”—her voice faltered—“thoughtful and wonderful. So very wonderful.”