Montana Rose (16 page)

Chapter 32

“Oatmeal and burned toast? On Christmas morning? Where’s that big breakfast I was promised?” The look on Tory’s face was one of total disgust.

Jesse glared at him. “Out in the barn fussing over the Christmas present you just couldn’t wait until we ate to give her.”

“Well, I didn’t think she’d be so batty over a bunch of dumb chickens and a cow. And”—Tory frowned, pushing the full bowl aside—“I didn’t think I’d ever have to eat another of your attempts at cooking.” He ruefully eyed the burnt toast.

“Yeah, and I didn’t think I’d have to listen to your complaining either.”

Rose stood at the kitchen door, hand on the knob, listening to the angry words batted back and forth. When she’d heard enough, she stepped inside and set the full pail of milk on the counter then turned to the two people she’d come to love. Smiling to herself, she took in the scowls on both of their faces.

“Stop your scowling,” she ordered with mock severity, looking from one to the other. “It’s Christmas.”

“Well, I’m still hungry,” Tory whined.

“Eat your oatmeal then,” Jesse barked.

“Yuck.” Tory gave the bowl another shove.

“Tory, please quit complaining long enough to go to the cellar and bring me two gallon jars. This milk has to be strained before we drink it.”

When he returned, Rose rinsed the jugs and, taking a thin white dishtowel, spread it over the mouth of one of the jars.

“Need help?” Jesse came over to her side.

“Yes. If you’ll keep the cloth pulled tight, I’ll slowly pour the milk over it and into the jar. That way, we’ll catch any impurities. Once we’ve done that, it’ll go to the spring house to cool, and by tomorrow there will be thick, rich cream to skim off the top. Just think, we’ll have our own butter and cream for baking.” She clapped her hands in glee. “Jesse, we’ll have cream for anything we want to use it for or put it on.”

Jesse smiled. Rose’s joy was contagious. It was easy to get caught up in her delight over what appeared to him more work for an already busy woman.

“And,” she said, her eyes sparkling, “when we’re finished here, we’ll go into the living room. I’m sure I saw presents under that tree. Tory, you won’t starve before we leave for Christmas dinner at Ben and Wisteria’s. I can assure you there will be so much to eat, you’ll swear you’ll never be able to eat again.”

“Hey. Yeah. Presents. I forgot. Come on, you two.” He charged into the living room.

Rose and Jesse looked at each other and laughed.

“Tory,” Jesse called, “put another log on the fire. We’ll be finished here in a minute.”

Rose turned to Jesse. “You did get him something, didn’t you?”

“No, why would I?”

“You didn’t?” Rose’s blue eyes widened. “Jesse, how could you?”

“Guess I forgot I was supposed to.” And the grin he’d been fighting spread across his face.

Rose doubled up her fist and slugged him in the arm.

“Now why’d you do that? You could hurt a person.” Laughter danced in his eyes.

Rose rubbed her knuckles. The muscles in Jesse’s arm were rock hard. “Yes, and the person would be me,” she said. “That’s for lying and scaring me.”

“You know, since you’ve become a rancher, you’ve gotten mighty bossy. Having your own herd has gone to your head.” Jesse liked nothing more than to provoke her quick flashes of temper.

“Hush. Pay attention to what you’re doing. Hold that cloth tight.” Then she asked, “Tory’s really enjoying today, isn’t he?”

“Thanks to you, he enjoyed yesterday and today.” Jesse shook his head, chuckling. “Had you going with that stomachache though, didn’t he?”

“That was mean.” But her happy laugh made a mockery of her words.

When the milk was put away, they joined Tory in the living room and found him sitting cross-legged in front of the tree, a present in his hands.

“About time. Here, this is for you, Jesse.” Tory’s face was a mixture of apprehension and excitement as he handed his brother a long, narrow package.

“Thank you, Tory. It’s a shame I didn’t think to get anything for you.”

“You didn’t? Uh, that’s okay.” He shrugged, trying to hide his disappointment.

“Jesse Rivers, you stop that right now,” Rose scolded with mock severity.

“Well, I might have forgotten. I’ve been awfully busy buying cows and chickens.”

“Aww, I knew you didn’t forget.” But the relief in his voice said differently.

Jesse winked at his brother and swallowed hard. Today couldn’t get any better. Maybe with more days like today, the past would be forgotten and they’d both heal.

Jesse tore the brown paper from the box, set it aside, and gently removed the lid. He looked at the object nestled there, blinked, and, biting his lips, looked away.

“I didn’t put it on our account, Jesse,” Tory said worriedly, watching Jesse’s reaction. “I’m going to do some chores at the mercantile until it’s paid for. They, uh, they said there was plenty for me to do. I won’t forget I have chores here, too. I won’t.”

Jesse hooked an arm around Tory’s neck and pulled him into his chest. “Tory, I wasn’t worried. I was overwhelmed. I’ve never had a Christmas gift before, but I can’t imagine anything better than this knife.”

Tory stepped back and looked into his brother’s eyes. “You really like it?”

“I really like it,” Jesse said hoarsely. He cleared his throat, “I really like it.” He lifted the knife from the box. It wouldn’t have been handled any more carefully had it been solid gold.

“Mr. Benson said it was real good for doing heavy work.”

“That it is.” Jesse carefully ran his thumb along the four-inch fixed blade. “Sharp little dickens.” He chuckled, giving it a jiggle. “Doesn’t weigh much.”

“Is that good?” Tory asked, his brow wrinkling.

“Sure is. That’s a sturdy leather handle.” Jesse turned the knife over in his hand, his smile widening. “Tory, this is about seven inches of fine craftsmanship. It’s a knife to be proud of. First thing tomorrow, we’ll make a leather sheath for it.” He gave Tory another crushing hug.

“Aw.” Embarrassed, Tory pulled away. “It wasn’t nothing.”

“Tell you what, kid, if that’s nothing, you can give me nothing every Christmas. Now, how about you open your present from me?”

“Gosh, this Christmas thing is great.” Tory tore into Jesse’s package, ripping off the paper covering a hinged, wooden box. He turned the small clasp and opened the lid. “Paints,” he whispered. “Brushes,” he said in another whisper. “There must be fifty colors. I’ve never seen this many paints.”

“Oh, Tory,” Rose said, smiling. “You have every color needed to bring your plants and flowers alive.” Then she handed him her gift. “This will be a good companion for your paints.”

With more restraint, Tory removed the wrapping and held a thick book in his hands. “Miss Rose, this is your botany book.”

“
Was
my botany book, Tory. Now it’s yours. You’re the botanist, and by rights should have a resource manual.”

Tory gave a big sigh. “Thanks, Jesse, Rose. I’ll never forget today.” He started to re-wrap the paints when a small slip of paper fell out. It was an advertisement from a mail order catalog. Slowly, Tory read the words, then looked up at Jesse.

“It’s an advertisement for a Botany Field Kit. ‘
Everything a botanist needs for collecting and documenting specimens,’
he read aloud.

“Mr. Benson ordered it for me. Sorry you have to wait,” Jesse said softly.

“Sorry,” Tory exploded. “Well, I’m not sorry. This is a kit a real botanist uses.”

“Well, Tory,” Jesse mumbled, “to me you are a real botanist. I couldn’t be prouder.”

Awkward with emotion, both brothers grabbed the other’s hand and squeezed.

“Okay, you two, I refuse to cry anymore on Christmas Day,” Rose interrupted. “Jesse, here’s my gift.”

“Darn it, Rose. I don’t have anything under the tree for you.”

“Well, why should you? The best gift ever is out in the barn clucking and munching hay.”

Jesse pulled a book from behind his back. “Here.”

“I thought you said you didn’t have anything under the tree for me?” Rose chided.

“It’s not under the tree
,
now anyway.” Jesse’s face broke into a grin. “Hope you like it. I didn’t wrap—”

“You didn’t have to. Oh.” Her eyes widened. “It’s a book on raising sheep.” She shook her head. “I’ve vowed never again to put all my eggs in one basket. I planned to raise sheep as well as beef. Thank you so much, Jesse.” She shifted toward him as though to thank him with a hug, then pulled back.

A look of disappointment crossed Jesse’s face. He lowered his head, concentrating on the gift in his hands. “Is it good to eat?” He tried to joke.

“Absolutely not.”

Jesse laid aside the paper and took out a hand-knitted scarf. “It’s beautiful.” He ran his large, work-roughened hands down the soft wool.

“It’s brown with flecks of green. Like your eyes.” Mortified at what had slipped out, Rose started gathering up the discarded paper. “I’ll just take this into the kitchen. We’ll have to be leaving before long for Wisteria and Ben’s.” She hurried out of the room, not seeing Jesse’s gaze follow her.

Chapter 33

The months passed, leaving Christmas a fond memory. Rose and Jesse skirted around each other, both denying feelings too frightening to acknowledge.

Spring was magical in its fresh awakening. Tender shoots of grass shot up, and heifers dropped healthy calves. It was as if the ranch was basking in the peace that had settled over it. Jesse worked from early morning light to dusk, coming in tired, but happier than he ever imagined. Tory worked beside him and Rose often joined them doing her share and more. And if she and Jesse’s eyes often met and rested on each other, it was only mutual pleasure in what they were doing. Of course it was.

The only black cloud on the horizon was when Rose remembered her vow to leave come spring. More and more, she saw traits in Jesse to admire. He would be so easy to lean on. His strength, tempered with gentle kindness, set him apart from other men she’d known. His firm guidance was turning Tory into a confident young man. And, with each passing day, the time came closer. It was painful to care so much and know that it wasn’t returned.

Jesse was aware a struggle was going on inside of Rose. Too often he caught a faraway look in her eyes. But he was fighting a battle of his own. He refused to name what he felt each time he glanced up and saw this beautiful woman with hair that gleamed like gold and eyes that shot back dark blue shards of life. He relived her chuckle of joy as she watched her calf kick up its heels and run a tight circle under its mother’s watchful eye. The combination of spring air and warm sunshine brought out an exuberant feistiness. Against his will, he lay in bed at night seeing her, smelling the scent of lilacs she carried with her, and hearing her soft laughter when he teased her about naming her milk cow Holly.

“
Holly, what kind of name is that? I suppose if I’d given her to you for Easter, you’d name her Bunny.”

The thrill he experienced seeing her at day’s end had become painful. Rose’s ready smile made problems melt away and tired muscles relax. His mornings started with him eagerly dressing and going into the kitchen, finding her looking like an angel, as she gave him a sweet “hello” and handed him a mug of coffee. Rose was becoming his life’s breath and he fought hard against it.

Each time he saw her avidly reading the book on raising sheep or filling paper with innumerable columns of figures, a cold dread clutched him. Rose would be leaving. And she’d take the sunshine with her. Her drive to have a ranch of her own hadn’t lessened.

Tory knew it, too. “Jesse,” he said one afternoon when they were repairing fencing, “what are we going to do when Rose leaves us?”

The question caught him by surprise. He gave his full attention to nailing the wire to the post he’d just set in the rock hard ground while he searched for an answer. It was a question he’d asked himself many times. He removed his gloves and wiped his arm across his brow.

“I don’t know.” He’d debated on answering as if her leaving or staying made no difference. But, honesty won out. He expected honesty from Tory and owed him the same.

“Do you care?” Tory’s eyes bored into Jesse, daring him to respond falsely.

Jesse cleared his throat and picked back up the hammer and a handful of nails. With unnecessary force, he banged the nail into the post, making that his answer.

“Jesse, do you?” Tory asked with the persistence of youth.

“’Course I do,” Jesse snapped in a low, gravelly voice.

“Then why don’t you do something about it?” he asked, an accusing hint of anger in his words.

“Damn it, Tory, just what would you suggest I do, lock her in the root cellar?” He grabbed another strand of loose wire and with frustrated strength, pulled it tight. His muscled forearm bunched as he drove the nails.

“Hey, you’ll knock the post over hitting it like that.” Tory glared at him. “And, no, I don’t expect you to lock her in the root cellar,” he said sarcastically.

“Yeah,” Jesse growled, “then what do you expect?”

“I expect you oughta marry her, that’s what.”

Jesse whirled around, his fist white as it gripped the hammer. “What did you just say?”

“You heard me, Jesse. I said you should marry her. That way she’d have a ranch. We could divide it three ways.” Tory followed the words with a smile, as if pleased with his rationalization. “She likes it fine here.”

“Oh yeah, Mr. Know Everything, what makes you so sure of that?” Jesse held his breath, needing to hear something reassuring.

“I heard her tell Miss Wisteria she loved this place and how she hated to leave.”

“Tory, if she was so all-fired sad and hating to leave, she wouldn’t. Ranch or no ranch.”

“Well, I still think you should marry her.”

“There’s more to marriage than that.” Jesse shook his head and drove another nail deep into the post. “Lots more,” he added with vehemence.

“What?”

“Love. There has to be love. I’ve seen marriages without it, and it’s not a pretty thing. You have too,” he said as an afterthought.

Tory hung his head. “Yeah, my mom and our dad. They didn’t love each other.”

“Maybe at one time they did, Tory. But our dad ruined whatever feelings your mother had for him. It doesn’t take much temper and fists to kill love. You and I both know that.”

Neither one spoke, and the spring day took on a heavy stillness.

Jesse faced Tory. “I couldn’t do that to her,” he said softly, “no matter what I feel. How do I know I wouldn’t handle things the same way? How do I know I wouldn’t let anger fill me with a red haze until I’d strike out at the one person I love?” That he’d used the present tense was lost on him.

“Do you love her, Jesse?”

“Huh?”

“Rose, do you love her?”

“I don’t dare love her.”

“Then we’ll lose her.” Tory’s voice was flat, filled with helplessness.

Jesse nodded. “I expect so.”