Roses (54 page)

She wondered if she’d find him as attractive as she remembered—if he’d developed a paunch or was beginning to lose his hair.
Her infatuation had faded with time, and another man had come along to make her forget Matt Warwick altogether. As for him,
there had been the beauty in California to whom he’d become engaged: “A debutante from San Francisco,” Aunt Mary had said.
“Very lovely, though she doesn’t seem quite right for Matt, in my opinion.”

The marriage had not happened, and the man in her life had flown away—literally—so here they were now, both unattached and
back at the gazebo, so to speak.

The doorbell rang, and her heart jumped. She grabbed her purse and the viewing dress in its plastic cleaner’s bag and hurried
to answer it before Sassie could bustle out from the kitchen and talk Matt into staying for lunch. In the hall, she glanced
into the mirror and grimaced. She’d not been able to mask the dim shadows under her eyes or do much with hair that showed
her hurried departure from Lubbock. She sighed. Well, she would have to do. She opened the door.

Their grins broke simultaneously. “Well, look at you,” he said.

“Please don’t. I can clean up better—honestly.”

“Don’t do it for my sake,” he said. “I might not be able to take it.”

Her grin widened. “You’re so much as I remember, Matt Warwick.”

“I’ll take it that’s good?”

“That’s splendid,” she said.

He laughed and gave her his hand to draw her out onto the porch. “I just spotted a covered-dish brigade headed this way. Should
we get out of here before you’re waylaid?”

“Please,” she said, and they locked hands and flew like conspirators down the steps to a Range Rover marked Warwick Industries
on its doors. Once under way, she settled back, sighing audibly, feeling the tension drain out of her.

“Long night, huh?” Matt said.

“One of the longest of my life. How’s your grandfather?”

“Hard to tell. He’s the toughest man I’ve ever known—even at ninety—but Mary’s death may be his undoing.”

“I was afraid of that. They were awfully close friends.”

“Oh, they were much more than that,” Matt said.

“What do you mean?”

“I’ll tell you about it over lunch, and you’re staring, by the way. Not fair. I’ve got to keep my eyes on my driving.”

She flushed. She found him actually
more
of what she remembered—completely hewn and polished off, like strong, solid wood, and she liked the hint of premature gray
showing at his temples. “I’m curious, Matt—no, amazed—at how you’ve managed to escape the snares of some wily female for so
long.”

He chuckled. “
You
go first. I heard there was someone… an air force pilot.”

“There was. He was stationed at Reese Air Force Base near Lubbock. We met on the side of the road when my car ran out of gas.”

Matt hiked a brow at her. “Ran out of gas? A sensible girl like you?”

“Somebody siphoned off all but the gas fumes. You can’t imagine how good a United States Air Force officer looks to a girl
alone on a long, deserted road at ten o’clock at night.”

“And what were you doing on a long, deserted road? Better still, what was
he
doing there?”

“I was driving in from the fields. We’d had a long day of harvesting. I never noticed the gas gauge that morning. He was out
for a drive. One of his friends in the squadron had been killed that afternoon on a training mission. He took me to a gas
station. I bought a five-gallon drum, and he drove me back to my car with it.”

“And then he followed you home.”

Rachel nodded. “He followed me home.” She toyed with the handkerchief. “But it didn’t work out. Our careers didn’t mesh. I’m
a woman of the earth, and he’s a man of the air. Now, what about you? I seem to recall a San Francisco belle almost getting
you to the altar.”

“Another case of irreconcilable differences.”

“Oh.” His flat tone discouraged further questions, and she wondered if he still carried a torch for the girl he didn’t marry.
They must have had
some
differences for her to let Matt get away. “By the way, here’s your handkerchief,” she said.

“Keep it. You may need it before we’re through.”

They drove to a coffee shop next to a Holiday Inn on the interstate, Matt explaining his choice as the only place where they’d
have a chance to eat and talk undisturbed. “Otherwise,” he said, “everybody and his second cousin will be stopping by our
table to offer condolences.”

“The handicap to living in a small community, I guess,” Rachel said, “but I confess it’s what I like about little towns… the
feeling of everybody sharing the same nest. Are you glad to be back?” She’d been told his grandfather had stepped down and
he’d taken his position as president of the company.

Matt consulted the menu. “I believe I can say now more than ever.”

Rachel felt her cheeks warm with a feeling she’d not known for a long time. “Could we talk awhile before ordering?” she suggested.

Matt promptly laid aside the menu. “Only coffee for now,” he said to the waitress.

When she’d moved away, Rachel said, “Okay, give. What makes you say that Aunt Mary and your grandfather were more than friends?”

“This will come as a shock,” he said, and commenced to describe Mary’s moment of confusion on the courthouse common when she’d
mistaken him for his grandfather. “There was something so plaintive in her voice and the way she held out her arms to me,”
he concluded. “It just about broke my heart.”

“And she honestly said, ‘Percy, my love’?”

“Her words exactly. And when I told Granddad of the incident, he admitted the same feelings for her and that he’d loved her
since the day she was born.”

Rachel sat back, stunned. She had never suspected a romantic interest between Aunt Mary and Percy. “Then why in the world
didn’t they marry?”

Matt lifted his coffee mug to his lips—for time to frame his answer, she thought. After he’d drunk and carefully set down
the mug, he said, “Somerset happened, so Granddad said.”

A scene unfolded in her head. She was sitting with Aunt Mary in the Ledbetter house, where she had finished pouring out news
of her devastating breakup with Steve Scarborough. She was twenty-five. Aunt Mary had listened with unnerving calmness, her
green eyes smoky. Finally she spoke:
I think you may be making a mistake you’ll regret bitterly someday, Rachel. No attachment is worth giving up the man you love.

Rachel heard her in disbelief. She’d expected Aunt Mary to applaud her decision. Steve wanted no part of farming. He had grown
up the son of a Kansas wheat farmer and knew too well the thankless demands the land imposed. But what did Aunt Mary know?
Uncle Ollie had always supported her love of land and family name. She’d never had to choose between her vocation and the
man she loved. Her back stiffened.
There are other fish in the sea, Aunt Mary
,
one who’ll understand that I am my attachment—that I am what I do
. She’d smiled slightly.
Maybe I’ll get lucky and meet an Ollie DuMont
.

But chances are never another Steve Scarborough
.

Matt said, “Rachel?”

Rachel blinked and was back in the present. “Did… your grandfather explain what he meant by that statement?”

“That was all I could get from him, but I’m assuming it had to do with another one of those irreconcilable differences. Somewhere
along the way, my grandmother learned of their relationship. I suppose it’s the reason they’ve lived apart all these years
and why she hates Mary.”

The waitress returned to take their order, pencil poised and eyebrow quirked at Rachel, still sitting mute and blank-eyed.
“We’ll have the lunch special,” Matt ordered for both of them, and when she had gone, he covered Rachel’s hand with his. “I
know this has come as a surprise, Rachel, but Mary married a good man. None could have loved her more, not even Granddad.”

She said slowly, “She always seemed so happy with him.”

“She was content. There’s a difference. Did you and your mother ever patch things up?”

The question startled her out of her daze. “No, we never did.” She said in pleased surprise, “You still remember what I confided
to you in the gazebo?”

“Almost every teary word, and I’m sorry nothing’s changed. Let’s see if I remember how it went. Against your mother’s wishes—and
her testamentary hopes for your father—you went on to get your degree in… agronomy, wasn’t it? Since then you’ve been learning
the cotton business at Mary’s knee.”

“That says it all,” she said, flattered that he had kept up with her through the years. “When it came right down to it, I
couldn’t abandon what I was meant to do.”

“Any regrets?”

“Oh, sure, but I would have had worse regrets if I hadn’t followed through.”

“You’re sure of that?”

“I’m sure.”

He said with an admiring shake of his head, “You’re very fortunate to be so positive.”

“Only about that. Why are you grinning?”

He picked up his coffee cup. “A bit of private humor. I was remembering something somebody said recently about apples.”

A
T THE FUNERAL HOME
, she felt Matt’s presence like a bracing wind at her back. A hard moment came when she first looked upon her great-aunt in
death. She lay under a sheet, her face a mask of cold, ancient beauty, the dark lashes and widow’s peak stark, the Toliver
dimple austere in her bloodless flesh. “You… haven’t done anything to her yet?” Matt asked the mortician, an arm tight around
Rachel’s waist.

“We were waiting for the dress,” the man replied.

Later, in meetings with the funeral director, florist, and minister, Matt’s calm manner and quiet voice steered her over the
emotional hurdles of selecting a casket, flowers, and the order of the service. Finally, their appointments completed, he
asked, “Where next?” They were seated in the Range Rover in the parking lot of the First Methodist Church. His hand lay on
the back of her seat, and she felt his resistance to touch her hair. “You must be awfully tired. I should take you back.”

She heard reluctance in his concern. “What time is it?”

He glanced at his wristwatch. “Four o’clock.”

“It’s early yet,” she said.

“So where else may I take you?”

“Would you drive me out to Somerset?”

B
ack at Warwick Hall, Matt was relieved to find his grandfather in the library, looking rested and immaculately attired in
an ivory silk sport shirt and sharply creased slacks. He was mixing a Scotch and water at the bar. “Want one of these?” he
asked as Matt strode in.

“I’m already high enough.”

Percy gave him a schoolmaster’s stare. “Oh, me,” he said, and took down another tumbler. “I was afraid this was going to happen.
You’re smitten with Rachel Toliver. Sassie said you were together when she called to invite us to supper.”

“I’m more than smitten, Granddad. I haven’t felt like this since… well, never.” Not even with Cecile, he thought. He had been
gone from Rachel five minutes and already he was missing her. He’d let her out in front of the Toliver mansion, feeling a
moment’s bereavement when she opened the car door. He’d watched her walk up the steps, his heart tensed as if she might disappear
before his eyes, and on the verandah she’d turned and given him a smile. “See you in a little while,” she’d mouthed, and he’d
thought, out of the blue, For the rest of my life, I hope.

“I can’t explain it,” he said, dropping into a club chair before the massive fireplace. “I don’t understand it myself, but
I don’t have to. Recognizing it is enough. I feel as if we’ve known each other all our lives and were just waiting for the
right moment to come together.”

Percy handed him his drink. “Are you sure this is not infatuation? You knew she’d be beautiful, and in a way you
have
known each other all your lives.”

“Don’t insult my experience, Granddad. I’ve been around the block enough times to know the difference between infatuation
and the real thing.”

“And do you sense she feels the same?”

“Unless I’ve become rusty at reading signals.”

He thought back to an hour ago when they were standing on the porch at the Ledbetter house, looking out over the budding fields
of Somerset. There were blossoms on the plants—acorn squash blossoms, she said, the flower that had started it all for her.
He saw the fatigue and sorrow on her face give way to a quiet radiance, as if she’d moved from the shadows into light… Eve
gazing over Eden. He’d moved behind her to share the sight over her head, and for a surreal moment he’d felt like Adam and
they the only two people in the world.

“It’s beautiful,” he’d said. “I can understand why you love it.”

“You can?” She had turned to him with a flash of delighted surprise in her eyes. They were beautiful eyes, reflecting the
green of the land she loved. “I’m happy to hear that,” she’d said.

Now, seeing his grandfather’s skeptical look, he asked, “Why the reservations, Granddad? Is it because you and Mary didn’t
make it happen?”

Percy lowered himself into a companion chair and said quietly, “Because Rachel’s a Toliver, son.”

“What exactly does that mean?”

“It means she seems to have a tendency to put the land first, before husband, home, and family.”

“Is that what drove you and Mary apart, what you meant by ‘Somerset happened’? She put Somerset before you?”

“That’s the sum of it. By the time we realized what fools we’d been, it was too late. Don’t get me wrong. I think the world
of the girl. I’d like nothing better than to see you and Rachel finish what Mary and I started, but she seems headed in the
same direction Mary chose.”

“And why is that so bad?”

“Because she makes life choices based on her commitment to her Toliver calling.”

“You’re thinking of that pilot she turned down because she wouldn’t give up everything she loved to follow him, aren’t you?”
Matt could hear his voice hardening in Rachel’s defense. “Well, she made the right decision, no matter how much she cared
for the guy. Rachel knows she couldn’t be happy anywhere else but here in Howbutker where her roots are, doing what she does
best, just as Cecile and I both knew.”