Texas Rose (4 page)

“Yes, I do. And if you don't think that that boy
loves you down to the soles of his worn cowboy boots, then you and I need to have a serious conversation.”

Rose held up her hand. “No, no more talking. Please. I just want him to leave so I can get on with my life.”

Beth was thoroughly convinced that young people didn't know how to love these days. They kept insisting on getting in their own way.

“Now that I've had a gander at that boy, Rose, it doesn't seem like much of a life without him.”

Before Rose could launch into another argument, Beth left the den and swept majestically into the living room.

She beamed down at Matt, who immediately rose in his seat. Good looking
and
polite. She knew a great catch when she saw one. The thing of it was, to make Rose realize it, too.

“Sorry to leave you alone for so long, Matt.” Beth saw that he'd opened the gold-bound book on the coffee table and had been leafing through it. She jumped at her opportunity. “Oh, you've found my scrapbook.”

Nostalgia had her sinking down beside him on the sofa, ready to page through the book with him.

Only sheer will restrained Matt from doing a double take. The page opened in front of him was of an apparently nude, nubile woman who had strategically
arranged feathers to cover all the important places. He looked from the page to Beth.

“This is you?” he asked.

“Yes.” She was eighteen then and fresh from the ranch. It seemed like a million years ago now. And just like only yesterday. “I was on Broadway. Off-Broadway, actually. Way off.” She'd worked her way up to the legitimate theater, and acquired many wonderful memories and almost as many men along the way. Beth sighed. “It's been a wonderful life.” And then she smiled at Matt. “But you're not here to listen to me reminisce.”

It occurred to him that he felt comfortable with this woman he'd never met before. As comfortable with Beth Wainwright Montgomery Cannon Williams Smith, et cetera as he was with Rose, or had been before she'd dumped him. Maybe it was a family trait, he reasoned. Although Rose was far less outgoing and flamboyant than her aunt. Truthfully, he was glad of that, because if she'd been like Beth, he would have had to stand in line instead of keeping her all for himself.

Matt sensed an ally in Beth and as such, felt that it was only smart to encourage her to continue. “No, please, go ahead.”

Beth patted his hand, her violet eyes sparkling like newly uncorked champagne poured into a fluted glass. “Not just handsome, but smart, too.” She laughed as
she looked at Rose over Matt's head. “This one's a charmer, Rose.”

“Yes,” Rose said, looking pointedly at Matt. “But charm eventually wears thin.”

The remark hit him straight in his heart, like a well-aimed arrow. What was he doing here, humbling himself in front of a woman who had walked out on him, who'd all but told him that she'd had her fun, but the excitement was gone and now it was time to return to their previous lives?

Where the hell was his pride?

“Since I'm here,” he heard himself saying, “I might as well take a long overdue vacation. But this place is so damn confusing,” he confided to Beth, ignoring Rose completely, “I'm going to need someone to be my guide.” He waited for the offer he thought was inevitable. When it didn't come from Beth, he urged, “How about you? Are you up for it?”

To his surprise, Beth shook her head. “Oh, my dear, I would be more than up for it, but I'm right in the middle of teaching an acting class.” Then she beamed as if suddenly struck by a thought that he suspected had been there all along. “But Rose is free.”

He spared Rose a glance. “I don't expect she knows very much of the city.”

“She knows a great deal more than you give her credit for, Matt.”

He shifted in his seat, turning to look at Rose who was on his other side. Was it his imagination, or did she suddenly look pale? “All right, how about it? Will you show me around?”

Why were they playing these games? Why couldn't he just go home? “You don't really want to see the city,” Rose replied.

Matt could feel his temper heating again. There was no doubt about it, Rose could set him off like nobody he knew.

“I said I did, didn't I? Why do you always have to contradict what I say?”

She was in no mood to be diplomatic. “Maybe it's because you never say what you mean.”

Beth clapped her hands together three times before she managed to get their attention.

“Children, children, stop fighting this instant and make nice or I'll send you both to your rooms without any supper.” A complete pushover, even in jest, she rethought that. “Well, that's too harsh, but without dessert at any rate.” She winked.

Rose folded her hands in front of her and let out a deep breath. She supposed she had sounded like a child, arguing just now. And since it looked as if Matt wasn't about to leave unless she agreed to some kind of a tour of the city, she decided that this was the lesser of all evils.

“All right, I'll show you around the city if that's what you really want.”

“I always love a warm invitation,” he said sarcastically.

Beth intervened. “Make up and say yes, dear, before I show you your room.”

Almost in shock, Rose stared at Beth and then Matt, praying that Beth was using some like of poetic license. “He's staying here?”

“Well, there was a suitcase in the hall next to his foot and I assumed it was his,” Beth told her.

It could stay in the hallway for all Rose cared—along with him. “Just because he has a suitcase doesn't mean he has to put it here. This isn't a hotel.” The moment she said it, she regretted it, knowing what was coming.

Beth didn't disappoint her. “No, of course not, but I took you in, didn't I?”

Rose tried to rally and dig herself out of the hole she'd fallen into. “I'm family.”

Beth merely nodded sagely. Her near-death experience on the operating table several years ago had made her reestablish communication between herself and a higher power.

“We're all one big family in God's eyes, dear.” She turned to Matt. “And Matt obviously needs a room, don't you, dear?”

He rose to his feet. “I was going to a hotel.”

Leaning on the arm of the sofa, Beth pushed herself upright. “I'll save you the trouble. Third door on the
left. Guest bedroom. I love having guests,” she confided.

“Ms. Wainwright—”

“Call me Beth, please. And I won't hear another word about it. Keep arguing and you'll hurt my feelings. You wouldn't want to do that, now, would you?”

Matt shook his head in compliance, but Rose opened her mouth to protest. “But—”

“Good.” Rose clapped her hands together. “Then it's settled. You're staying. It's a big apartment. We won't get in each other's way.”

Unless, of course, I orchestrate something,
Beth added silently.

R
ose was keenly aware that Matt was in the next room, settling in.

There was another guest bedroom on the other side of her aunt's room. Why hadn't Beth given him that one? Why the one next to hers? What was she trying to do to her? Rose thought moodily. It was hard enough dealing with emotions and hormones that were completely out of kilter because of her condition without having to put up with barbarians not only at the gate, but storming through those same gates, as well.

Matt had told Beth that he was planning to stay in New York about a week or two. He'd been looking at Rose when he'd said it, as if the length of time depended strictly on her.

If that was the case, he should be on a plane for home right now, Rose thought, frustrated.

Making up her mind to convince Beth to withdraw her invitation to Matt, Rose left her bedroom and went looking for her aunt.

Instead she ran into a mini army of people carrying covered dishes toward the terrace.

Following their path with her eyes, Rose found Beth. She was holding court on the terrace. Right in the middle of things, as always, stood Beth, pointing and issuing soft-spoken orders like a general mantled in a flowing caftan.

Rose stepped out of the way of a young, trim-waisted man in black livery carrying a small box. Feeling like someone in the middle of Atlantis moments before the fatal earthquake, she made a beeline for her aunt.

“Aunt Beth, what is all this?”

“Right there will be fine, dear,” she said to the young woman with the salad bowl. Beth spared Rose a quick glance over her shoulder. “Why, it's dinner, darling. What does it look like?”

There were crystal goblets, a very fancy bottle of what appeared to be ginger ale, another of champagne. Covered entrée dishes sat atop a table graced with a cream-colored lace cloth and overlooking the park that dusk was slowly covering.

“Throwing a couple of steaks in the frying pan and tossing in a salad is dinner,” Rose informed her. “This is a conspiracy.”

Beth laughed and patted Rose's cheek. “Nonsense, Rose, there's no conspiracy.” She leaned into her niece, lowering her voice. “You know, it's a known fact that some women in your condition start becoming paranoid.”

Rose stiffened and turned around, looking toward
the living room to make sure that Matt wasn't anywhere in the vicinity.

“Aunt Beth—” she said between clenched teeth. This was supposed to remain a family secret and here Beth was, talking about it in the middle of a circus of strangers.

Beth lowered her voice even more. “I'm whispering, honey. Even you can't hear me.” She came to attention as another man came out on the terrace with a small, narrow box in his hands. “Oh, put that right there. I'll take care of it.”

Ignoring the crisis Rose was going through, Beth began putting out long, tapered candles.

Rose's eyes widened. “Candles?” she cried as her aunt lit first one, then the other. “You ordered candles? Since when are candles part of dinner?”

“There's dinner,” Beth told her, raising, and lowering her delicately sculptured eyebrows mischievously, “and then there's dinner.”

And it was obvious that she was supposed to be the main course.

“This is not going to happen,” Rose protested.

Beth put the lighter into the deep recess of her pocket.

“Dinner?” she asked innocently.

As if her aunt didn't know. “No,” Rose insisted, “what you're trying to achieve with dinner.”

Her expression was suddenly completely without a trace of guile as her aunt turned to look at her. Rose
could see how Beth had easily been regarded as a consummate actress in her time.

“Full stomachs and smiles, my dear,” Beth told her. “That's my only goal.” She looked at the minions she had summoned from her favorite restaurant, Claude's, and nodded, obviously well pleased. “Perfect.”

Looking at the table as the servers backed away, melting into the background like dutiful fairy godmothers, Rose suddenly honed in on a glaring fact.

She looked accusingly at Beth. “Why are there only two places set?”

Beth's answer was simplicity itself. “Because only two people are eating.”

It was bad enough when she'd thought this was for the three of them. A sinking feeling took over the pit of her stomach as she asked the question to which she already knew the answer, and hoped against hope that she was wrong. “
Which
two people?”

Beth looked no older than Rose as she replied, “Guess.”

“Oh no.” Beth shook her head adamantly. “I'm sorry, but no, I am not going to be left alone with him. I absolutely refuse.”

Beth was apparently oblivious to the desperation behind Beth's words.

“It can't be helped, darling. I have a class to teach at the college.”

Desperate, Rose looked for a way out. “Then I'll go with you. I've never heard you teach.”

Beth waved a hand at the thought. “Long and boring. You wouldn't like it.”

Rose had no intentions of giving up easily. “So I'll fall asleep. I could use the rest.”

Beth looked at the table.

“No. You could use the nourishment. You're eating for two, you know.” She slipped her arm around Rose's shoulders. “That's a very nice man in the other room, dear. He's not going to leap over the table and have his way with you.” And then she stepped back and grinned wickedly as she glanced at Rose's trim figure. A figure that was going to expand very soon. “From where I stand, it looks like you've already both had your way with each other.”

Rose remembered now how her father used to rant about how stubborn and headstrong his older sister was, not to mention unorthodox. Except that he'd called it flaky. For once, her father had understated a problem.

Rose felt a headache coming on. All over her body. “Aunt Beth, you're not helping.”

Beth glanced at her watch.

“Why, my dear, I don't know what you mean. I just wanted you to have a nice dinner while I was gone. And now Matt is here to keep you company so you won't be alone.” She was preparing to make her exit. An actress was nothing if she didn't know how
to make entrances and exits. Even a retired one. “You could do a great deal worse than have a handsome male looking at you across the table. Believe me.” She winked. “I know.”

Her nerves were not up to this. Maybe Aunt Beth enjoyed these kinds of things, but she didn't. She wanted nothing more than peace and quiet. “I'm trying to put all that behind me.”

Beth looked pointedly at Rose's flat stomach. “Some of it, I'm afraid, is ahead of you.” She paused to brush a quick kiss across her niece's cheek and to squeeze her hand. “It's going to be all right, Rose. I promise.”

Rose frowned. No, it wasn't. She knew that, had accepted it. Why couldn't Beth? “You're not in a position to make promises like that.”

Beth shook her head. “Sometimes I swear you sound just like your father. Stop it,” she chided playfully before she withdrew from the terrace.

She left Rose standing alone with Cornish game hen, sweet corn in wine sauce, mashed potatoes and a sinking feeling in her stomach. Pressing her lips together, she stared into the flickering flame of the candle closest to her, almost hypnotized.

Could wishes be made on candles that weren't sitting on top of a birthday cake?

If they could, she knew what she'd wish for. That she'd have a second chance at doing things differently. At doing them right. This time, she wouldn't
get pregnant. That way, her affair with Matt could continue a little longer.

But that seemed to be capriciously out of her control. She wasn't supposed to have gotten pregnant. Heaven knew she'd taken precautions. She'd gone to her doctor and asked for birth control pills. He'd told her, as he'd written out the prescription, that even the best precautions were not one hundred percent foolproof.

That was her, all right, she thought cynically. A fool. A fool for loving a Carson when she was a Wainwright. A fool for skipping along the edge of a precipice in what was clearly delineated as earthquake country.

And now, she thought, her hand over her stomach, she'd slipped but good and the earthquake was imminent.

But not, she told herself, if she didn't say anything. It was up to her to prevent this major disaster. And telling her family who the baby's father was would be setting them all up for one hell of a disaster.

As would telling Matt that she was pregnant with his baby.

Which was why she needed him out of here as quickly as possible. That meant no romantic, candle-lit dinners, no contact, no nothing. The longer he was here, the greater her risk of breaking down and telling him about the baby.

As much as she didn't want to marry Matt just to
give the baby a name, she knew that her heart would be irreparably broken if he didn't even make the offer. And there was no guarantee that he would. They'd never talked about marriage, never even hinted at it. It was a subject they'd both mutely agreed was closed to them. Theirs had been a purely, intensely physical relationship.

It was supposed to have been without strings.

But now a string threatened to hang them both.

“Wow.”

Rose swung around, the sound of Matt's voice taking her heart prisoner.

But he was looking at the table, not her. Despite the situation, it made her smile. He'd always had a weakness for good food.

Stepping up to the table, he pulled out a chair and held it for Rose, waiting. She had no choice but to sit. “Your aunt always eats like this?”

It was a meal. One meal. How bad could it be? And she was hungry. Rose spread the napkin on her lap, avoiding looking at Matt. “Tonight she's not eating at all.”

Beth had said as much to him, stopping by his room before she'd left. He continued to play dumb. “I noticed the two settings. Then it's just you and me?”

Her appetite suddenly fled. “You go ahead, I'm not hungry.”

Fork already in hand, Matt put it down. “I'm not
about to eat all this by myself. I'm hungry, but I'm not a pig.” He saw the grin slip over her lips. It warmed his heart to see it again. He'd forgotten just how much it could light up everything around her, including him. “What?”

She poured dressing on her salad, just to have something to do with her hands. “Just remembering the time you ate everything but the basket when we went on that picnic.” She raised her eyes to his. “Your appetite was incredible.”

His eyes skimmed over her. He hadn't known it was possible to miss someone so much in such a short period of time. “Yeah, I remember.”

Rose felt a blush creeping up her neck, coloring her cheeks. “I was talking about the food.”

“That, too.”

For form sake, and because he was hungry, Matt tried to concentrate on the meal in front of him and to just make small talk. He was successful for about fifteen minutes, then, unable to avoid the question that had been nagging at him throughout the meal, he pushed aside his plate and surprised her by reaching for her hand.

“Why did you end it, Rose?”

Damn, and here she thought he wasn't going to bring anything up. She shrugged as she pulled away her hand. “I told you, it played itself out.”

“No, it didn't.” If that was what she was telling herself, then she was lying to both of them. “I can
feel it still humming between us,” he insisted. He reached for her hand again. “Chemistry.”

She pulled her hand away at the last moment. The look in his eyes was so intense, it took effort not to look away. But she tried to make light of it.

“That's just the weather here. Lots of things hum in the air.”

He didn't want to pretend anymore, but he couldn't tell her what he'd discovered was in his heart if she didn't feel the same way, if she kept denying that there was anything between them. “Can you honestly say you don't feel anything at all for me?”

I feel everything for you, but it doesn't change anything.
She lifted her shoulders and let them drop carelessly.

“I feel friendship.”

When she looked away, he took her chin in his hand and forced her to look at him again. “That's not what I'm talking about.”

Her eyes narrowed and she dug in. “But that's what I'm talking about.”

He stood, dragging her to her feet with him. “Kiss me.”

That was the last thing in the world she wanted to do. Because she wanted to so much.

Rose tried to move away, but he held her hand fast. “Matt—”

His fingers curled around her, holding her hand to his chest. “Kiss me, and if you don't feel anything,
then I'll go. A simple test, that's all.” He searched her face, trying to see if he was making a complete idiot of himself, or if his gut instincts were right after all. “That's all the condemned man asks, just a simple test.”

Panic sliced through her. If she kissed him, he'd know. “The condemned man is supposed to get a last meal, not a last kiss.”

“We've bent a few rules before,” he reminded her, thinking of the affair they'd been drawn into almost against their will. “We can bend them again.”

“Matt—” There was no getting away from it. Rose blew out a breath. She could do this, she told herself. She could pretend, just this once. She would kiss him as if she were kissing her brother. As long as she kept Justin's image fixed in her head, she could do this. Mentally, she crossed her fingers that she wasn't making a huge mistake. “All right, just one kiss—and then you'll go?”

“If you don't feel anything,” Matt qualified.

Taking another deep breath, Rose steeled herself. She offered her lips up to him as if she were bracing herself to kiss a frog.

Matt slipped his hands along her face, framing it with his powerful, sun-darkened fingers.

Praying, Rose told herself to breathe evenly as his mouth lowered to hers.