Texas Rose Forever (Texas Rose Ranch #1) (7 page)

“That would be awkward since they died when I was a child.” She didn’t say it because she wanted sympathy, she was just stating the facts. She could barely remember her parents, but she was pretty sure that she would have loved to know that they still wanted each other after decades of marriage.

His mouth fell open and then he closed it. “I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you.” When she was little and people found out about her parents and told her that they were sorry, she’d always wanted to ask why. They hadn’t killed her parents, so why were they sorry? She hated the pity in their eyes. She loved being the center of attention except when someone felt sorry for her. That kind of attention she couldn’t handle.

“So we’re on for dinner?” He sounded a little unsure of himself.

“Sounds good to me.” She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.

“We can talk about the bath then.” He took another sip of root beer.

“Okay.” As far as she was concerned, there was nothing to talk about. A long hot bath sounded like heaven and with any luck, she’d talk him into scrubbing her back . . . and maybe her front.

CHAPTER 7

At six-fifteen that evening, Cinco opened the oven door, grabbed two potholders, and pulled out the pot roast, which looked a little too brown. He set it on the stove and tried to convince himself that it was blackened instead of burnt.

A knock sounded on his front door.

He threw the potholders down on the counter next to the stove, walked out of the kitchen, through the dining room, out into the reception hall, around the parlor, and finally to the front door. Nothing in this old house was connected by a central hallway. He opened the door to find CanDee holding two cold Shiner beer bottles. She had great taste.

She held one out to him. “I didn’t know what you had planned for dinner and I’m not that into wine, but beer goes with everything.”

He took the beer and moved aside to let her in. She’d changed into curve-hugging blue jeans and a light-green shirt that tied on one shoulder, leaving the other creamy shoulder bare. If he yanked on the bow at her right shoulder, would the shirt fall off? His hands itched to try it.

She looked around. “Not what I expected.”

“Edith’s will only stipulated that the outside remain pink. All bets were off on the inside.” He leaned against the ornately carved oak staircase. He’d painted the walls a creamy white so that the fancy woodwork around the door casings and the inlaid wooden floors really stood out.

“Somehow, I thought the inside would be as girly as the outside. I imagined dainty velvet settees and needlepoint throw pillows.” She looked into the parlor.

“Sorry to disappoint—nothing dainty here.” He liked overstuffed leather furniture and nothing fussy. “How about a tour?”

He was proud of his house. He’d restored it, and based on his lack of haunting, Edith approved. He offered CanDee his elbow and she took it.

“This is the reception hall.” He pointed to the staircase. “Not sure why it’s named that, but
reception hall
is on the house plans.”

“You have the house plans?”

“Edith drew them on a piece of paper that’s framed in the kitchen. You’ll see in a minute.” He pointed to the room across from the staircase. “This is the parlor . . . not to be mistaken with the sitting room, which is over there.”

He pointed to the room that was catty-corner to the staircase. “Over here is the dining room and through that door is the kitchen.”

He led her to the dining room and on to the kitchen.

“I love the high ceilings, and all of the different rooms. It’s weird, I wonder when halls connecting rooms came into fashion?” She reached up and touched the scrollwork surrounding the door casing. “This woodwork must have taken forever to make.”

“This house took five years to build. It has six bedrooms and one bathroom.”

She looked around his kitchen. He’d kept the original cabinets and sink, but the appliances were commercial stainless steel.

“I like how you’ve kept the history, but updated the house. It’s comfortable and it suits you.” She pointed to the marble-covered kitchen island. “Did you add that?”

“It’s the old kitchen table. I added the marble, but,”—he leaned down and slapped the solid wood leg—“this is Edith’s kitchen table.”

“It looks like the counter added a couple of inches, but isn’t that table a little taller than usual?” She looked around the kitchen. “Come to think of it, aren’t the cabinets a little taller than normal?”

“Good eye. Most kitchen cabinets are thirty-five or so inches high. These are forty-eight inches high. Edith and Mel were tall ladies and liked their world to be their height. God knows, I can understand.” He was willing to bet that CanDee would be a fan of the taller cabinets. Most things were made for people six feet and under. Naomi had hated this kitchen because at five feet, she hadn’t been able to reach anything.

“I love it.” CanDee ran her hands along the marble island. “For once, the world rises to meet me instead of me bending down to meet it.” She turned back around to smile at him. “I’m beginning to see that Edith ran the show. Because Mel ran the ranch, I assumed that she was dominant, but now I see that Edith was in charge.”

“I’m pretty sure that life was Edith’s way or the highway.” He covered the pot roast with foil. According to the recipe, it needed to “sit” a while.

“Wait a minute. There are six bedrooms and only one bathroom?” She leaned against the island. “I’m losing faith in Edith.”

“Don’t rush to judgment too quickly. Edith fought hard for that bathroom.” He put the lid on the mashed potatoes to keep them warm. “Indoor toilets were rare and some thought unsanitary. Apparently Mel thought that it was disgusting to use the bathroom indoors. Think about it. At the time, the only way to use the facilities involved a bedpan or a bucket—”

“I got it. So Mel was against it.” She cocked her head to the left. “What did Edith do?”

He smiled. He loved this story. “She waited until Mel was out of town on a cattle drive and had the bathroom installed in the seventh bedroom. There was no way for Mel to undo it after everything was installed.”

“Way to go, Edith.” CanDee’s eyes scrunched up. “How do you know this?”

“Edith kept a journal.” He pointed to the five rows of leather-bound volumes lining the built-in wooden shelves behind the table.

“Holy crap.” She walked to the shelves. “These are all her journals?”

“Yes. She started journaling at the age of ten and didn’t stop until she died at seventy. Mel bought her a new journal every year.” He turned off the fire under the green beans. “I thought you might like them.”

CanDee rubbed her hands together in anticipation. “I can’t wait to dive into them.”

“I can see that you appreciate history as much as I do.” The longer he knew her, the more he found they had in common.

“The thing I love most about history isn’t the major events, but the people. I like learning about the lives of everyday people. It seems that no matter the time, people are always the same. There’s a book by Noah Smithwick called
The Evolution of a State
—”

“
Or Recollections of Old Texas Days
. It’s one of my favorites. Lacy Kendall Lehman—you know, husband to the fair Brunhilda—bought Smithwick’s land grant. After Smithwick was convicted of being a ‘bad citizen’ for helping one of his buddies escape custody while on trial for murder, Stephen F. Austin kicked Smithwick out of the settlement that is now Fredericksburg and the surrounding area. Part of this ranch was Smithwick’s.”

“Well, that never made it into the book.”

“Technically, he was kicked out of the state of Texas, but he never left. I loved that he basically wandered around Texas and wrote about it.” He’d never been able to discuss books and history with Naomi because the only thing she’d cared about was collecting whatevers. One day it was silver spoons and the next it was carnival glass bowls. Thank God he’d put an end to it before she’d started collecting Picassos.

“Me too. I love the part where he goes to San Antonio and finds the ladies grinding corn into masa. He can’t figure out why anyone would mix water with the masa, roll it out, and grill it. And then he bites into his first corn tortilla and he’s like ‘Oh yeah, baby, bring it on.
’
” She pulled a journal out at random and carefully flipped it open. “Edith had amazing penmanship.”

“She was a schoolteacher before she ran off with my great-great-aunt. They met in New Orleans when Edith was there with her father, who captained a riverboat on the Mississippi. They were on their last day before they headed back to Keokuk, Iowa, where Edith lived.” He pointed to the journals again. “According to her, it was love at first sight and instead of getting on her father’s boat, she ran off with Mel. They took a boat from New Orleans to Matagorda Bay and a train up from South Texas.”

“That sounds romantic.” CanDee scanned a page and then flipped to another one. “See, Mel had a little romance in her.” She shook her head. “Maybe. Travel back then must have been a pain in the ass. What happened when Mel brought a lady home and told everyone they were an item?”

“Mel’s mother, Prudence, replied, ‘Forgive her, Jesus, she fell in love with a Yankee.’ Prudence was so unhappy about the match that she told everyone that Edith was from New Orleans.” He shrugged. “I guess Edith’s being female wasn’t as hard to take as her being from the North.”

“I take it the Roses were Confederates?” She sat at the kitchen table and crossed her legs.

“Only Prudence. Carlton wanted to stay out of things. According to Edith, since he was the bastard son of Santa Anna and Emily Morgan, he felt like Texas should have stayed independent. I get his point. After all, his mother did basically prostitute herself to Santa Anna so that the Texas troops could get the drop on him and win the Battle of San Jacinto. Texas independence had cost Carlton’s family—my family—a lot. He must have been pissed that Texas threw independence away to join the United States.”

CanDee brought the diary to her nose and sniffed it. “Is it my imagination or does this journal smell like roses?”

“Good nose. Edith wore a perfume called La France Rose. I don’t know if she sprayed it on the pages or if it rubbed off when she was writing, but most of her journals smell like roses.” It seemed impossible that Edith’s scent had lasted this long, but there it was.

“That’s awesome.” CanDee burst out laughing. “Listen to this.” She held the journal up and read, “
At lunch, Mel walked in through the front door tracking mud and dung all over my freshly polished floors. I have asked her time and time again to please remove her boots and leave them on the porch, but she refuses to comply. Since she prefers the smell of muck and dung to my freshly polished floors, I have moved her things into the barn where she can feel free to track filth wherever she chooses. I hope she finds the smell more to her liking
.”

CanDee grinned. “That’s awesome. Edith’s feisty. I love it.”

“Wait until you read the entry about the new dress.” He took two plates out of the cabinet, grabbed a couple of forks and knives, and picked up his beer. He headed to the table and put down his handful on the kitchen table.

“Let me.” CanDee stood up. “I’ll set the table. Where are the napkins?” She looked around.

“See that roll of paper towels?” He pointed to the roll of Bounty
on the island.

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Edith would not approve.
I’m betting that she was a proper-cloth-napkin kind of girl. Well, I guess she had to be because paper towels weren’t invented until much later.”

“As a matter of fact, she was. Apparently Mel liked to use her sleeve to wipe her mouth, so Edith cut off all of the sleeves on Mel’s work shirts and refused to sew them back on until Mel learned to use a napkin.” That had to be one of his favorite stories.

He set a plate at the place he normally used and one next to it.

“Sit down. I’m setting the table.” She tore off two “napkins” from the paper towel roll.

Maybe some actual napkins would be nice. Not the cloth ones, but paper napkins. Then again, they were just thinner paper towels folded a couple of times. It seemed stupid to buy two separate paper products when one did both jobs. Still, CanDee was super girlie. Last night in her frilly peach dress and heels and even now in her jeans, she was ultra feminine. She seemed to favor little fussy earrings and shiny lip gloss. She’d probably like some real cloth napkins. It couldn’t hurt to check them out on Amazon.

She walked back to the table, folded the paper towel in half, placed it on the right side of his plate, and set the knife on top of it. She repeated the process with her plate. “So, tell me about the new dress.”

He leaned back in his chair, crossed his legs at the ankles, and took a healthy swig of Shiner. “I don’t remember what the year was, but Edith wanted to buy a new dress for some party that she was having. Mel told her no, that she already had more dresses than any one person needed. Now, it’s not that they couldn’t afford a new dress, it’s just that Mel thought it was frivolous. Edith asked and asked and asked, but Mel shut her down every time. So . . . Edith being Edith, she went directly to Roseville Furniture where she had a charge account and bought all new furniture for the parlor to go with the old dress she was forced to wear.”

“Someone’s passive-aggressive.” She propped a fist on her hip. “I wonder if Mel knew what she was getting into when she brought Edith home from New Orleans.”

“I’ve wondered that too, but I guess Mel was happy because they were together for forty years. I think everyone needs an Edith in their lives.” He admired Edith’s spunk and her quirky sense of humor. In her journals, she didn’t seem whiny or pouty, she just went after whatever she wanted and found a way to get it. When his ex-wife hadn’t gotten her way, she’d thrown things and pouted for days.

“Everyone needs an Edith.” CaDee nodded. “I like that.”

He watched her moving around his kitchen. She seemed like someone who lived life on her terms, which was very Edith. CanDee wasn’t a pouter or a whiner, but at first, Naomi hadn’t appeared to be either.

“What did Mel do about the new furniture?”