The Kissing Tree (2 page)

Her observations were interrupted when a bout of raucous laughter came bellowing up the street. She didn’t have to look to know where it came from. The saloon was obviously still a flourishing business.

Taking in a deep breath, Georgiana let it out slowly as she took another glance up and then back down the boardwalk. She wanted to see everything at once, but it was getting late. It wouldn’t be long before all the businesses were closed up for the night, with the exception of the saloon, of course.

“Oh, Grandad.” She turned back to him and hugged her arms around her middle. “It feels so good to be home.”

Thrusting her arms out, Georgiana spun herself around a couple of times in a moment of pure exhilaration, once again ignoring the assiduous and exacting lessons on how a proper young woman was expected to act in the public eye.

On her second time around, she caught a glimpse of a tall man standing in the road watching her. Startled that she had an attending audience, Georgiana lost her balance and stumbled. She let out a small scream as she started to fall backward off the steps. A look of astonishment was plastered on her grandfather’s face, and he tried to grasp her outstretched hand in an attempt to keep her from falling. Almost instantly the look was replaced by a grin and a hearty laugh as Georgiana felt herself being caught from behind by a pair of long, sturdy arms.

“Whoa there, missy,” she heard a deep and inherently masculine voice say. “That there is not a proper place to be dancin’ and prancin’ about.” Georgiana gasped. She looked up into the unmistakable yet grown-up face of Ridge Carson. He smiled and continued as if he hadn’t a clue who she was. “Though, if you’re needin’ a lesson or two, I might be willin’ to give it a go with ya, but definitely somewhere . . .” He paused, unabashedly winked at her, and pronounced, “More private.”

Georgiana fought hard to keep the heat of a blush from her face. This was definitely not the scene she had pictured were she to happen upon her old acquaintance Ridge Carson. In fact, on the off chance he still lived in Crystal Creek, she had played out in her mind an entirely different version of their first meeting. She knew how she would act and what she would say. And of course, they would both be standing a very respectable distance apart.

To her great dismay, he was not only close . . . she was in his arms! His strong and disturbingly comfortable arms! That fact alone was making her aware, and admittedly a little startled, that Ridge Carson somehow had even more of an effect on her now than he’d had so long ago. Since all of her well-planned and scripted words had vanished from her head the moment she had looked into his face, Georgiana continued to silently gaze up at him.

Ridge!
Her mind reeled.
It’s really you!
Her eyes were drawn to his mouth, and she remembered the last time she had seen him five years ago, a look of shock engraved on his face as she stole a kiss and fled. Now here he was rescuing her from a most humiliating circumstance, and all she could think about was that kiss.
What would Ms. Wilmington say if she saw me now?
Georgiana pondered, even as she continued staring dumbfounded at his lips.

Suddenly realizing how quiet it was, and that he obviously was waiting for her to respond, Georgiana cleared her throat and pulled her attention away from his mouth, only to be captured by his heavenly eyes and the familiar mirth they held. Her heart markedly skipped a beat. She fondly recalled how often she had witnessed that look when he had teased her unrelentingly as a young girl. Again she was struck dumb as a swarm of memories flew through her head.

Without warning, a muffled sound erupted from deep within him, shaking his frame and jolting her back into the present. He was laughing at her, she realized. Not only did she now have to fight harder to keep the blush, which threatened to reveal her embarrassment, at bay, but she was also struggling to keep her temper subdued.

“Pardon me, sir,” she began, sounding as flustered as she felt, though choosing to address him formally. “Thank you for coming to my rescue, but if you would kindly . . . please . . . put me down. I . . .” Calm down, she told herself. Speak fluently and with confidence. The confidence part was difficult because he was still holding her close, and everywhere her body touched his, she felt a heightened tingling sensation. She needed to be free from this sudden rush of confusing emotions.

“Sir, I must insist for propriety’s sake, you release me this minute!” she managed to request, pleased her voice finally contained the proper tone and quality expected of a woman with measurable social breeding.

When Ridge made no immediate move to grant her request, she looked over to her grandfather for assistance. Her grandfather had finally stopped laughing, and she begged with her eyes for him to intercede on her behalf.

“Ridge.” Her grandfather descended the stairs and stepped forward, taking her free hand and urging Ridge to set her down. He released her slowly, lowering her feet to the ground. “Ye be knowin’ me granddaughter, Georgiana, do ye not? Used ta live at the ranch with me and me wife . . . her kin too. Left ’bout five years past and moved east to New York.” Georgiana saw a puzzled look cross Ridge’s handsome face. Did he really not know who she was?

“Hmm,” he answered casually, bringing his hand to his chin while rubbing it thoughtfully. “Think I might recall ya havin’ some family livin’ with you back a spell, Angus.” He then was quiet for a moment as he looked from Georgiana to her grandfather, still rubbing his chin. “Remember a couple of young’uns . . . boys, I think. Must’ve been your grandsons. Were a bit younger than I was, so we never did get on much together.” He continued to look thoughtfully as if he was trying hard to remember who she was. Then dropping his hand from his chin and shaking his head, he added, “Ain’t sure I remember any girls.”

Georgiana didn’t know why exactly, but instantly she was angry. Although proper decorum dictated she keep the infuriated and affronted look from her face, she could not withhold the caustic tone that slipped from her tongue.

“Well, you might not remember me,
Mr. Ridge Carson
,” she spat the words, “but I surely remember you! Quite the troublemaker you were, always getting the schoolmaster in an uproar. You made it most miserable for the rest of us as I recall.”

She wasn’t being quite truthful, but he had hurt her feelings by forgetting her so easily. He hadn’t really been a troublemaker, mostly just a rascal and a tease. The other children, including her, thoroughly enjoyed the way he kept the schoolmaster hopping with his mischief and tomfoolery. Georgiana hadn’t forgotten either, how he had teased her rather exclusively at times and remembered too just how well she had enjoyed it. Ridge had been her friend . . . a good friend. Could he really have forgotten her so easily?

“Hmm.” He stood back, and his eyes traveled from the tip of her head down to her toes and back up again. “Maybe I remember a girl after all,” he continued. “Seems every school has one,” he remarked candidly, and Georgiana could feel her face becoming hot again. Still eyeing her, he walked around her one full circle, coming to stop directly before her. When his gaze at last came to rest upon her face, he added, “Some even have two!”

“And what, may I ask, are you implying with that remark, Mr. Carson?” she countered sarcastically. Her face was really red now. Not from embarrassment but from trying to control her temper.

“Ain’t implyin’ nothin’,
Miss McLaughlin
.” He toned his voice to mimic her sarcasm, which did nothing to soften her anger. “Just tellin’ it how it was.” Now he began walking side to side, looking her up and down again. His face appeared as though he was trying to recall some memory. Suddenly he stopped and faced her once more.

“Ah, yes . . . it’s comin’ back ta me now. How could I forget such a sassy young thing?” He leaned forward to look deeper into her eyes. Georgiana’s heart sped up. Even though she was livid with him, his nearness affected her so. “Yes . . . yes,” he went on, leaning even further forward, his lips only inches from hers. She prayed he had no idea how hard she was fighting to keep from closing the gap. “I’m thinkin’ she even had the same pert little nose and stormy-colored eyes,” he said slowly and then finally stood back up straight. Abruptly, Georgiana’s hand came up to cover her nose but only briefly. “I believe,” he continued while rubbing an imaginary sore spot on his behind, “that she might’ve even been the cause of a sound lickin’ I got when I played a joke once on Schoolmaster Robinson. Took me quite by surprise her bein’ a tattletale an’ all. Would’ve never pegged her for one.”

Georgiana remembered what he was referring to, and after a moment of surprise that he had known it was her who had gotten him into trouble, her anger abated and a feeling of shame welled up to replace it.

It really hadn’t been her fault. She would have never purposely tattled on Ridge. The schoolmaster had tricked her into answering him during his interrogation of her. She had been so nervous and the schoolmaster so cross. When she realized she had let on to who was responsible, she had begun to cry. Schoolmaster Robinson assured her no one would be the wiser about who had “spilled the beans.” This only made her cry harder, causing him to become agitated. He then dismissed her to go home, and she had gladly obliged.

Ridge hadn’t acted angry with her then, so she assumed the schoolmaster had kept his word. Had he really known all along it was she who had betrayed him?

Georgiana looked over at him speculatively. He appeared to be trying hard to maintain an angry and irritable persona, but the corner of his mouth kept twitching as if it was determined to break into a half grin. Was he teasing her just now? She had been able to read him almost like a book before she’d left. With so many empty years between them now, she was no longer sure.

Continuing to withhold any response to his accusation, Georgiana took the time to make a lingering observation of him as he had made of her only moments before.
My goodness, he has grown!
she thought.
No longer was he the cute, freckle-faced, rascal of a boy she remembered running away from that day so long ago. He was a full-grown man, tall and ruggedly handsome, with a sculpted face and a square jaw that boasted a slight cleft in his chin. No doubt he had been cleanly shaven that morning, but now his face showed signs of manhood. His eyes . . . mmm . . . were still the same warm honey color, but his hair, a deep russet brown, was neatly trimmed. She remembered that he had an unruly tousle of curls as a boy and smiled to herself.

Finally, her eyes traveled to his lips.
Those lips
 . . . thick and expressive, accentuated his grin crooked. He had indeed failed to keep it hidden, making it all the more tempting. Georgiana’s chest rose and fell with a satisfied breath. Her eyes traveled lastly over his arms and torso. No doubt the muscles beneath his shirt were strong and firm, a mass of strength born of hard work and labor. She could only imagine what a sight he would be to look upon. Her cheeks colored at the thought of seeing him without a shirt. It was most improper for her to be envisioning such things.

Ridge cleared his throat, and Georgiana realized she still was staring at his chest. She was tempted to turn her head to the side to hide her embarrassment, but instead she looked him directly in the eyes, lifting her chin ever so slightly.

“Perhaps you are right about me, Mr. Carson.” She noticed how all at once his face fell. He
had
been teasing and for some sentimental reason it pleased her to know he hadn’t outgrown his playful manner. “I apologize for insulting you as well as for causing you undo pain in your youth.” Quickly turning away from his disappointed look, Georgiana addressed her grandfather, who had been observing their exchange with an amused grin on his face. “I am feeling quite fatigued from my long journey, Grandad. Might we head for home?”

“Aye, me girl, ’tis late and best we be headin’ that way now,” he answered and then gave her a sympathetic look. “Well then, how ’bout ye go an’ wait in the wagon while I be fetchin’ yar trunk.”

Georgiana nodded and turned back to Ridge once more before walking away.

“Again, I must thank you, Mr. Carson, for rescuing me from a most precarious and possibly dire circumstance. Further, I apologize for any trouble or delay I might have caused you.” She nodded her head and added, “Good day to you.”

Turning away from him, she gathered her belongings and walked toward her grandfather’s wagon in a stately manner, with poise and grace. She had to at least try to somewhat repair the damage to her genteel image. It was a bit more difficult managing to maintain her poised perfection while climbing up into the wagon seat without anyone’s help. She hadn’t ridden in a wagon in five years. Her hand slipped, and she almost tumbled to the ground before she caught herself. She glanced back to see if anyone had been watching. Her grandfather and Ridge appeared to be deep in conversation while the stagecoach driver unbound the ropes that had held her trunk secure.

Georgiana sat down on the seat, relieved she hadn’t been seen. Straightening her back, she sat up tall and looked directly ahead as she waited. Even when she heard her trunk being loaded into the rear of the wagon and afterward grandfather thanking Ridge, she did not glance behind her. A minute later, Grandad seated himself next to her and headed in the direction of home.

At first they rode in silence, her grandfather sensing she was still upset. It wasn’t long, though, before he began to whistle. Right away, she felt her mood lighten and found herself smiling as she recognized some of the old Irish tunes.

Her grandfather had taught her how to whistle when she was only four years old. She recalled how delighted and proud he had been at her catching on so fast. With that thought in mind, Georgiana joined him as he started on another tune. The rest of the trip home was spent whistling one song after another. By the time they pulled up to the house, her lips were sore.

Her grandfather smiled at her genuinely as he came around to help her down from the wagon. “ ’Tis good to be havin’ ye home again, darlin’.”

“It’s good to be home, Grandad,” she said, taking his offered hand.

After helping her down, he put his arm around her, and she leaned her head on his shoulder as they walked toward the house. Someone had kept the fire going, so even from the outside, the house appeared warm and inviting.

Immediately upon entering the parlor, a rush of feelings nearly overcame Georgiana, and she stepped away from her grandfather. Hers eyes went to the Irish lace curtains that adorned the windows. They then moved to the mantle over the fireplace. There, upon heavily starched, handmade doilies, were scattered photographs, along with mementos and figurines her grandmother had brought over from the Old Country. Homemade quilts, some she supposed she may have put a childish stitch or two in herself, were draped over the couch and the worn, comfortable-looking parlor chairs.