"A MIDNIGHT RIDE? Neither one of us has ever been on a horse before," Rose said. "Doing it for the first time in the dark sounds suicidal."
"Not exactly at midnight, just when it gets dark. There's a full moon," her niece explained. "It will be romantic.
Romantic was the last thing she wanted to be, especially when she was around Andrew. Rose settled Pookie in his bed besides hers and wished she was a million miles away. Or at least two thousand miles, in her safe little summerhouse.
"And you haven't spent much time with Bobby," her niece continued, while fixing her hair in front of the mirror. "You want to get to know him better, don't you?"
"I want to go home," she said, petting the little dog. *Before I make another mistake. Before I embarrass myself again. Before you do something you might regret for the rest of your life.* "And I want to take you with me."
Francisca turned to gaze at her with horror. "Not yet, Aunt Roro, Please!"
Rose closed her eyes and sank back against the pillows. She'd spent most of her day acting as if Andrew was a perfectly ordinary man showing her the antique stores in his part of Texas. She'd kept her shoulders straight and her smile pleasant and she'd tried very hard not to talk about Chicago and what they'd done there together.
"Are you sick?"
"No." Rose opened her eyes to see Francisca's face a foot away. "Why on earth do you want to get married, honey? You are only twenty-one."
"I'm ready. And I'm in love."
"Being in love has nothing to do with it. You just think you are in love."
Francisca put her hands over her ears and grinned.
"What, Aunt Roro? I can't hear you."
"I should give up," Rose told Pookie, who looked very sleepy. "I should leave her here and you and I should go back to New England."
"Not until after you learn how to ride," Francisca said, taking her hand. "Come on. Mrs Martin cooked something that smells wonderful, and Bobby will be waiting for us ."
And Andrew, too, no doubt. She didn't know whether to run downstairs or hide under the covers.
Rose took a deep breath and heaved herself off the bed. What was she so anxious about? They'd talked about Chicago, and there was nothing else to say. Surely the worst was over.
She was sure of it hours later, after having a roast beef dinner with Bobby. Andrew was nowhere to be seen, thank goodness. She told herself she was relieved and not disappointed. Bobby was charming, entertaining them with stories of life on the ranch.
Of course Francisca hung on his every word, and Rose knew her niece pictured herself riding-and possibly roping-with the best of them here on the range.
Rose had her doubts about straddling a horse and trotting off into the moonlight, but Francisca wouldn't hear her refusals. And Rose couldn't let her niece go off into the dark with a young man whose testosterone levels were higher than his IQ. It was almost dark when they changed into jeans and put on the long-sleeved shirts Bobby lent them.
"It will be fun," Francisca insisted, hauling Rose across the yard toward the biggest barn. "Andrew's going to make sure that you are safe."
"He is?" She actually felt the heels of her borrowed boots dig into the dirt.
"Sure. Don't you like him?"
"What I like him or not doesn't have anything to do with anything." Rose peered through the dusk and thought she saw Andrew's large form in the barn doorway. Oh, no. Didn't he have anything else to besides act as a tour guide? And tomorrow he had tickets to a quilt show, something a ninety-year-old woman would enjoy.
And she herself would love. A Texas quilt might be a perfect souvenir of this trip, if she decided she wanted to remember it. Rose sighed. "I have never been comfortable around horses."
"Me, either," Francisca admitted, hauling her aunt closer to the barn where two men led horses out the door and toward the women. "But it's time to be brave."
"Brave?" Andrew stopped a horse in front of Rose. "Is Ms Marti afraid of horses?"
She eyed the brown beast with the white patch on its forehead. It's mane was a shade lighter than the rest of him, and he surveyed her with calm brown eyes. "Yes."
"You have never ridden?" Andrew asked.
"No." She ignored Andrew's smile and eyed the horse. "What's his name?"
"Rocket."
"Uh-oh." She was going to die. She just knew it.
Andrew took her wrist gently between his fingers and placed her right hand on the horse's nose.
"Say hello," he ordered, keeping his hand on hers as she touched the velvet area of Rocket's head. She didn't know if the goose bumps on her arm came from touching the horse or being touched by the cowboy.
"He doesn't bite?"
Andrew bent down to her, keeping his voice low.
"None of us do."
*****
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